Author: Lori Handeland
Date: 2014-09-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal Romance; Anthologies; Paranormal; Romance; Vampires
Description: CRESCENT MOON - From New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Lori Handeland SPELLBOUND by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Opal Carew, writing as Amber Carew FOREVER FREED by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Laura Kaye SINS OF THE FLESH by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Caridad Pineiro SPELL BOUND by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Stephanie Julian HAUNTING A COWBOY - A Brand New Story from USA Today Bestselling Author Randi Alexander HUNTRESS FOR HIRE by USA Today Bestselling Author Terry Spear DEAD SEXY by USA Today Bests

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-63311-001-4

Tall, Dark and Paranormal: 10 Thrilling Tales of Sexy Alpha Bad Boys

Box Set Copyright © 2014 by Lori Handeland, Laura Kaye, Caridad Pineiro, Stephanie Julian, Opal Carew, Randi Alexander, Terry Spear, Paige Tyler, Sara Humphreys, Judi Fennell

Cover Design by Kim Killion, The Killion Group

Digital layout by www.formatting4U.com

Crescent Moon

Copyright © by Lori Handeland

Forever Freed

Copyright © by Laura Kaye

Sins of the Flesh

Copyright © by Caridad Pineiro

Spell Bound

Copyright © by Stephanie Julian

Spellbound

Copyright © by Opal Carew

Haunting a Cowboy

Copyright © by Randi Alexander

Huntress for Hire

Copyright © by Terry Spear

Dead Sexy

Copyright © by Paige Tyler

Asmodeus

Copyright © by Sara Humphreys

Beauty and The Best

Copyright © by Judi Fennell

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

Ten Thrilling Tales of Sexy Alpha Bad Boys – from some of the hottest names in paranormal romance, this $.99 limited-time boxed set has something for everyone, from werewolves to vampires, ghosts to demons, and witches to wizards. With over 825,000 words in these ten full-length novels, you’ll spend hours falling in love with each of these wickedly hot heroes.

CRESCENT MOON - From New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Lori Handeland comes an entry in her RITA award winning Nightcreature Novels - For a century there have been whispers of a werewolf in the Crescent City. The discovery of bodies in the swamp draws cryptozoologist, Diana Malone, to Louisiana. When her first guide turns up dead and former Special Forces officer, Adam Ruelle, offers his services, Diana accepts, though local legends label his Cajun family cursed, deranged, even mad. By night, Adam is everything she ever dreamed of in a lover. By day, Diana has her doubts. What is he hiding?

SPELLBOUND by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Opal Carew, writing as Amber Carew - What is Lucinda, a tenth level wizard, to do when Destiny pairs her with a man who is utterly domineering, overwhelmingly masculine, incredibly irresistible and, according to her most trusted friend, extremely dangerous?

FOREVER FREED by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Laura Kaye - When tormented, empathic vampire Lucien Demarco meets Samantha Sutton and her daughter Olivia and they befriend and accept him without fear, he hopes for a second chance at everything he once lost. As red-hot desire sparks between Samantha and Lucien, she tempts the forgotten man within. But as lies, revelations, and old enemies threaten everything Lucien holds dear, he will have to fight for Sam's heart and her life to claim his last chance at a happy forever. Golden Leaf Award Winner for Best Paranormal Romance.

SINS OF THE FLESH by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Caridad Pineiro - Mick Carrera is the kind of man people come to no one else could handle their problems because Mick either solves their problems or eliminates them. But nothing can prepare Mick for his latest problem: genetically engineered Caterina Shaw, a woman who is nothing like what he's been told. Inhuman and yet beautiful, Caterina is determined to fight for her life. As passion erupts between them, danger threatens from those who would eliminate Caterina’s existence to safeguard their secrets.

SPELL BOUND by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Stephanie Julian A warrior born to defend. A young witch who needs his protection. A dangerous desire neither of them expected. If the heat consumes them, it could destroy the very things they've vowed to protect.

HAUNTING A COWBOY - A Brand New Story from USA Today Bestselling Author Randi Alexander When ranch foreman Thad McCade’s life is disrupted by something supernatural, he hires a ghost whisperer to clear his home. But Madam Ruby is not at all what he expected. She’s Cheyenne Redford, she wears a business suit, drives an expensive SUV, and Thad would rather have her whisper in his ear than whisper away his ghost.

HUNTRESS FOR HIRE by USA Today Bestselling Author Terry Spear He’s a hunter turned vampire, she’s a huntress of vampires—he’s needs her cooperation to free his family; she’s trained to kill his kind. Rebel vampire huntress Rachael Bremerton wants revenge against Piaras, one of the most ruthless vampires in Dallas, for the murder of her parents. But when she’s lured by another vampire, Adonis, into the darkness—the same darkness she’s feared since she was a child—she’s torn between her huntress sensibilities and some strange desire to be with the creature she’s meant to despise and destroy.

DEAD SEXY by USA Today Bestselling Author Paige Tyler Can her love save him from a curse worse than death? Romance author Simone Kent thinks she’s found the most perfect guy in all of New York City—in bed and out. But Drake Parrish is far from perfect. Cursed by an evil Voodoo priestess, he’s lived like a recluse for eight years. Simone falls fast and hard for Drake, while he finds himself feeling things for her he hasn't ever felt. But the Voodoo priestess is back, and determined he won't have a future with Simone, even if that means killing both him and the woman he loves.

ASMODEUS: DEMON OF LUST by Bestselling Author Sara Humphreys Kai Kelly inherits her estranged grandfather’s estate in Bliss, Idaho, and life becomes anything but blissful. The discovery of a beautiful but unusual ring in the attic, leads to much more than she bargained for. When the other members of the brotherhood realize that Asmodeus has found the ring, they descend on Bliss, determined to get the ring from Kai at any cost. Asmodeus is faced with choosing between the brotherhood and his one true love and he quickly realizes that the battle for Hell is nothing compared to the battle for her heart.

BEAUTY AND THE BEST by Bestselling Author Judi Fennell Once upon a time…a long time ago, there lived a beast of a man, locked within a castle with no one to love him. This is not his story. This is the story of another man, locked within himself, and the Beauty who sets him free. Jolie Gardener's new boss, reclusive widowed artist Todd Best, who hasn't produced anything since the death of his wife, is an interesting guy. He a) shows up buck naked on her first day on the job, b) asks her to pose for him - in the nude! and c) discovers she's an aspiring romance novelist who finds the tragedy of his lost love inspiring, thereby throwing her out of his house, his life...and his heart. What's a girl to do? Fall in love, of course!

Table of Contents

Crescent Moon by Lori Handeland

Forever Freed by Laura Kaye

Sins of the Flesh by Caridad Pineiro

Spell Bound by Stephanie Julian

Spellbound by Opal Carew

Haunting a Cowboy by Randi Alexander

Huntress for Hire by Terry Spear

Dead Sexy by Paige Tyler

Asmodeus by Sara Humphreys

Beauty and The Best by Judi Fennell

Crescent Moon

A Nightcreature Novel

by,

Lori Handeland

Copyright 2006, 2014 by Lori Handeland

Chapter 1

A life spent fulfilling a vow to a dead man is really no life at all, but I’d loved Simon Malone, and I’d promised.

I’m a zoologist by trade, a cryptozoologist by choice. If I’d followed my training, I’d be holed up in a zoo or worse, studying giraffes and pygmy goats. Instead, I trace rumors of mythical animals and try to prove they exist. A frustrating exercise. There’s a reason no one’s captured a Bigfoot. They don’t want to be found, and they’re a lot better at hiding than anyone on earth is at seeking. Or at least that’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it

Most cryptozoologists attempt to find undiscovered species or evolutionary wonders—real animals, nothing paranormal about them—but not me. I’d made that vow. Foolish, but when a woman loves a man the way that I loved Simon, she does foolish things, especially when he’s dying in her arms.

So I follow every legend, every folk tale, every scrap of information, trying to uncover something mythical and prove it real. Though I’ve never believed in magic, my husband did, and the only thing I’ve ever believed in was him.

I was having very little luck with my quest until the night the phone rang at 3:00 a.m. Insomnia and a very empty checking account made me answer it despite the hour.

“Dr. Malone?” The voice was male, a bit shaky, old or perhaps ill.

“Not yet.”

I needed to find a cryptid—translation: unknown animal—prove its existence, write a thesis. Then I could attach those lovely letters—Ph.D.—at the end of my name. But since the whole vow incident I’d been too busy chasing lake monsters and Sasquatch clones to spend time finding a new breed of anything.

“Is this Diana Malone?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Frank Tallient.”

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. “Have we met?”

“No. I got your number from Rick Canfield.”

Swell. The last guy who’d said those immortal words, “You’re fired.”

Rick was a lawyer who’d gone on a fishing trip with a bunch of other lawyers near Lake of the Woods, Minnesota. In the middle of the night he’d seen something in the lake. Something slick and black and very, very big.

Being a lawyer, he was smart enough not to tell the others he’d lost his mind. Instead he’d gone home, searched the Internet and made some phone calls, trying to find someone to help him discover if what he’d seen had been real or imagined. He’d found me.

“Rick thought you’d be free to help me,” Tallient continued.

I was free all right. Unemployed. Again. A common occurrence in my life. I was very good at looking for things, not so good at actually finding them. However, I was one of the few cryptozoologists willing to travel on a whim for cash.

I wasn’t associated with a university—not anymore. Not since Simon had gone over the edge, tarnishing both his reputation and my own. I depended on the kindness of strangers—hell, let’s be honest and just call them strange—to fund my expeditions. Right now I was fresh out of both expeditions and funds.

“Since you didn’t locate Nessie—” Tallient began.

“Nessie’s the Loch Ness Monster. I was searching for Woody.”

Which was the name Rick had bestowed on the thing. People have no originality when naming lake beasts, always opting for some variation of the body of water they supposedly resided in.

As usual, the moment I’d arrived at Lake of the Woods with my cameras and recorders whatever Rick might have seen had gone poof. If it had ever been there in the first place.

In my expert opinion, an obscenely large muskie was responsible for the tales, not a supernatural lake monster, but I hadn’t been able to prove that, either.

“I have a job for you,” Tallient continued.

“I’m listening.”

I had no choice. Though my parents were incredibly wealthy, they thought I was nuts and had stopped speaking to me the instant I married Simon. After all, what could a handsome, brilliant, up-and- coming zoologist from Liverpool see in a not-very-pretty, far too sturdy grad student unless it was her parents’ millions? He already had a green card. That Simon had told them exactly what they could do with their money had only made me love him more.

In truth, I fit into Simon’s world better than I’d ever fit in my own. I stood five-foot-ten in my bare feet; on a good day I weighed a hundred and sixty. I liked the out-of-doors—didn’t mind dirt or sun, wind or rain. I’d joined the Girl Scouts just so I could camp. I’d done pretty much anything and everything I could think of to emphasize my differences from the never-too-rich, never- too-thin lifestyle of my mother.

“Can you access the Internet?” Tallient asked.

“Hold on.” I tapped my laptop, which sprang from asleep to awake much quicker than I ever did. “Okay.”

Tallient recited a www-dot address. An instant later, a newspaper article spilled across my screen.

“ ‘Man Found Dead in a Swamp,’” I read. “Not unusual.” Swamps were notorious dumping grounds for bodies. If the muck didn’t take them, the alligators would.

“Keep going.”

“Throat torn. Feral dogs. Huh.” I accessed the next page. “Child missing. Coyotes. No body. Seems straightforward.”

“Not really.”

Tallient recited a second address, and I read some more. “Wolf sightings.”

My heart increased in tempo. Wolves had been Simon’s specialty; they’d turned into his obsession. Now they were mine.

“Where is this?” I demanded.

“New Orleans.”

If possible, my heart beat even faster. Once red wolves had roamed the Southeast from the Atlantic to the Gulf and west to Texas. They’d been sighted as far north as Missouri and Pennsylvania. But in 1980 the red wolf had been declared extinct in the wild. In 1987 they’d been reintroduced, but only in North Carolina. So...

“There aren’t any wolves in Louisiana,” I said.

“Precisely.”

“There’s a legend, though... .” I struggled to remember it. “Honey Island Swamp monster.”

“I doubt that Bigfoot-like footprints found thirty years ago have any relationship to death, disappearance, and wolves where they aren’t supposed to be.”

He had a point.

“Could be an ABC,” I said.

The acronym stood for “Alien Big Cat”—a cryptozoological label given to reports of out-of-place felines. Black panthers in Wisconsin. A jaguar in Maine. Happens a lot more than you’d think.

Most of the time ABCs were explained away as exotic animals released into the woods when they became too hard to handle or too big to fit in an apartment. Funny thing was, no one ever found them.

If they were pets, wouldn’t they be easy to catch? Wouldn’t their bones, or even their collars, turn up after a truly wild animal killed them? Wouldn’t there be at least one record of an ABC being hit by a truck on the interstate?

But there wasn’t

“This is a wolf, not a cat.”

I was impressed with Tallient’s knowledge of crypto-terminology but too caught up in the mystery unfolding before my eyes to compliment him on it.

“Same principle. Could be someone dumped a wolf in the swamp. Nothing special about it.”

Except wolves weren’t vicious. They didn’t attack people. Unless they were starving, wolf-dog hybrids, or rabid. None of which were a good thing.

“There’ve been whispers of wolves in and around New Orleans for years.”

“How many years?” I asked.

“At least a hundred.”

“What?”

Tallient chuckled. “I thought you’d enjoy that. The disturbances don’t seem to occur in any particular month, or even a common season. But they always happen during the same lunar phase.”

“Full moon.”

No matter what the skeptics say, full moons drive people and animals wacko. Ask anyone who’s ever worked in an emergency room, psych ward, or county zoo.

“Not full,” Tallient said. “Crescent.”

I glanced at the thin, silver, smiley moon visible from my window. “What was the date on those articles?”

“May.”

Five months ago. “And since then?”

“Nothing.”

“Could be because the bodies weren’t found.”

“Exactly. Things that hunt under a certain phase of the moon do so every month. They can’t help themselves.”

I wasn’t sure about “things,” but I was sure about animals. They were nothing if not creatures of habit.

“A body was found yesterday,” Tallient continued. “Hasn’t hit the papers yet.”

I looked at the moon again. Guess I was right.

“What’s your interest in this?” I asked.

“Cryptozoology fascinates me. I’d love to go on an expedition, but I’m... not well.”

I stood. My feet literally itched. I bounced on my toes as excitement threatened to make me jump at this chance. I had to remember: What seemed too good to be true often was.

“You want to pay me to find a wolf where a wolf isn’t supposed to be. Once I do, then what?”

“Trap it and call me.”

Not an unusual request in my line of work. The people who hired me usually did so in the hopes that they would become famous by revealing some mythical creature to the world, and they wanted to be the ones to do the revealing. I had no problem with that as long as the disclosure took place. All I wanted was to prove Simon hadn’t been crazy.

“I can do that.”

“You do realize this isn’t just a wolf?”

I hoped not, but my hopes weren’t often realized.

“They call it a loup-garou. That’s French for—”

“Werewolf.”

The rush of adrenaline made me dizzy. Though I took jobs searching for any paranormal entity—beggars couldn’t be choosers—the true focus of my quest should have been a lycanthrope. As Simon’s had been.

The only problem was, I just couldn’t believe. Even though my maiden name was O’Malley and my father’s family hailed from the land of leprechauns and fairies, in Boston, where I grew up, the only fanciful thing was the city’s rabid belief in a curse on the BoSox.

In my youth there’d been no nonsense allowed—no Santa, no tooth fairy—I had to fight to read fiction. Which might explain why I fell so in love with a man who dreamed of magic.

I glanced around our apartment near the campus of the University of Chicago. I hadn’t moved a book, hadn’t given away his clothes, hadn’t realized until just this moment how pathetic that was.

“I find it strange,” Tallient murmured, “that odd things happen under a crescent moon in the Crescent City, don’t you?”

I found it more than strange. I found it irresistible.

“Are you interested?”

Why did he bother to ask? He had to have heard how Simon had died. He had to know Dr. Malone’s sterling reputation had wound up in tatters. Tallient might not be aware that I’d vowed to make everyone who’d scorned Simon eat their words, but he had to suspect it considering what I’d been doing in the four years since my husband had died.

My gaze fell on the only picture I had of Simon— knee-deep in a Canadian lake, slim, scholarly, blond, and brilliant—his grin still made me yearn. My stomach flopped as it did every time I remembered he was gone forever. But his hopes, his dreams, his work, lived on in me.

“I’ll be on a plane in the morning.”

Chapter 2

Tallient promised there’d be an airline reservation and a check waiting at O’Hare the following morning. In the meantime, I Googled him and discovered why his name sounded familiar. He wasn’t Bill Gates, but he was close.

Frank Tallient had invented a widget for computers. I wasn’t sure what it did beyond making him a gazillionaire. At least he could afford me.

After an accident several years ago had turned him into a recluse, he’d become fascinated with cryptozoology. Interestingly enough, details on his accident were nonexistent, leaving me to wonder if Tallient had used his tech skills to ensure a little privacy. I couldn’t blame him.

The man was as good as his word and before twenty-four hours had passed I reached New Orleans. Heat slapped me in the face as soon as I walked out of Louis Armstrong International Airport. Mid-October and the temperature had to be in the midnineties. No wonder the wolves had fled long ago.

Frank, as he’d insisted I call him, had also arranged for a rental car, a hotel room on Bourbon Street, and supplied the name and address of a swamp guide.

“I could get used to this,” I said as the agent handed me the keys to a Lexus.

Shortly thereafter I checked into the hotel and tossed my bag on the bed. I’d have the luxury of running water and sheets only until I found a base of operations. I couldn’t search for a cryptid from town. I needed to be where the action was at all hours of the day or night. Once I found such a place, I’d have my camping equipment shipped south,

I wandered to a set of French doors, which opened onto a patio. Under the heated sheen of the sun, the rot showed—sidewalks cracking, buildings crumbling, homeless people begging coins from the tourists.

One of the bizarre things about Bourbon Street, and there were a lot of them, was how a very nice hotel, like this one, could have a view straight into a strip joint on the opposite side of the street.

Two women danced on top of the bar. When they began to do more than dance, and the milling crowd began to cheer, I turned away. I wasn’t a prude, but I preferred my sex in private and in the dark.

Or at least I had back when I’d had sex. Since Simon, there’d been no one, and I hadn’t cared, had barely noticed. But alone in a hotel room on a street that advertised sex twenty-four hours a day, I felt both deprived and depraved. Hiring myself a swamp guide seemed like a good distraction.

I entered the address provided by Frank into the GPS on my phone, then drove out of the French Quarter to the interstate, over Lake Pontchartrain, and into Slidell—an interesting combination of commuter suburb and Victorian brick houses. I didn’t have time to enjoy the contrast. I wanted the guide issue settled so I could get to work.

I drove past every fast-food joint and franchise restaurant I knew and some I didn’t. Just beyond a strip mall, I took a left, trolling by new houses complete with Big Wheels in the driveways and swimming pools in the backyards. These gave way to older and older residences, then mobile homes, and finally shacks. One more turn and bam—there was the swamp. No wonder I’d heard reports of alligators in people’s yards. What did they expect when they put a backyard near an alligator?

I shut off the motor, and silence pressed down on me. The weight of my cell phone in my pocket was reassuring. I could always call... someone.

Climbing out of the Lexus, I thanked Frank in absentia. Whenever I was forced into any vehicle smaller than a midsize four-door, I felt as if I were driving a clown car.

My mother, also quite tall, was an annoyingly slim woman with ice in her veins and hair as dark as her soul. Though she’d had no patience for fairy tales, she’d insisted I was a changeling. Where I’d gotten light green eyes, bright red hair, and an intense desire to play softball no one seemed to know. My appearance had marked me as an outsider, even before my behavior had branded me the same.

Damp heat brushed my face along with the scent of rotting vegetation and brackish water. My eyes searched the gloom for something. Anything. Though my watch insisted I had a good hour of daylight left, the thick cover of ancient oaks shrouded me in chilly shadow. I saw nothing but a dock and a tributary that disappeared around a bend. Across the water, hundreds of cypress trees dripped Spanish moss into the swamp grass.

“Hello?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note. “Adam Ruelle?”

The only answer was a thick splash, which halted my stride down the dock. How fast could an alligator travel on land? Probably as fast as I could. I might reach the car, and then again I might not.

But what if that hadn’t been an alligator?

Wolves are quick, as are big cats, and when dealing with new or undiscovered animals, anything could happen.

I might have been raised soft, but before Simon and I started spending so much time in the field we’d taken self-defense classes. You couldn’t sleep under the stars in a dozen different states and not run into trouble sooner or later. However, knowing how to disable a man who outweighed me by fifty pounds wasn’t going to do me much good with a wild animal. What had I been thinking to come here alone, without a gun?

Except I didn’t own a gun.

Slowly I backed toward land, keeping my eyes on the flowing water. The muted splashing came closer and closer. I should make a run for it, but I hated to turn my back on whatever lurked in the depths of the lily pad-strewn tributary.

I heard a rustle that wasn’t a fish, wasn’t even water. More like the whisper of weeds, the snap of a twig. I lifted my gaze to the far shore. A single flower perched atop a waving stalk, the shade of a flame against the dewy blue-green backdrop, as the tall grass swished closed behind a body. Could have been anything, or anyone.

“Except for the tail,” I murmured.

Bushy. Black. I tilted my head. Canine? Or feline?

I walked to the edge of the dock to get a better look at what had already disappeared. When water splashed across my shoes, I started, then slipped.

I was falling, my arms pin wheeling, my gaze focused, horrified, on the eight-foot alligator, jaws wide and waiting. Someone grabbed me and hauled backward. My heels banged loudly against the wooden slats of the dock, and the alligator let out an annoyed hiss.

I expected to be released once my feet touched dirt; instead, my savior, my captor, held on tight.

“Who’re you?” His voice rasped, as if he rarely spoke, and carried both the cadence of the South and a touch of France. I’d never heard another like it.

“D-d-diana,” I managed, despite a significant lack of breath and a near-painful increase in my heart rate. “Diana Malone.”

There. I sounded cool, calm, in control, even though I wasn’t.

“I need a swamp guide,” I continued.

“No guide here.”

“I was told there was.”

“You were told wrong. Take an airboat tour down the way.”

Cajun, I realized as I strained to understand the words past the sexy accent.

Sexy? What in hell was wrong with me? I couldn’t even see his face. Maybe I just had a thing for accents.

I tried to recall what I knew about the culture. It wasn’t much. The Cajuns, originally Acadians, had come to Louisiana from France by way of Canada. Most had settled west of New Orleans, become farmers and fishermen, but that didn’t mean a few hadn’t migrated closer to the Crescent City.

“Those folks will even let you hold a baby alligator,” he murmured.

I shivered, remembering how close I’d come to an alligator holding me—and that hadn’t looked like a baby.

“No, I need—”

His chin bumped my head; I could have sworn he smelled my hair. I tensed, trying to remember what I’d been taught to get out of this situation, but nothing came to mind.

He was taller, though not by much, and definitely stronger. With one arm he held me so tightly I couldn’t move. His free palm skimmed up my thigh.

“Hey!”

“Woman alone shouldn’t come here,” he whispered. “You might see t’ings you should not.”

“Like what?”

Silence settled over us, broken only by the hum of the bugs skimming across the water. I could have sworn I heard a laugh. However, when he spoke, no humor colored his voice.

“Curious cats should be careful.”

“Was that a threat?”

“An observation, cher.”

Cher? I hadn’t laid eyes on his face, and he was calling me dear? Talk about balls. Or maybe I shouldn’t.

Twisting, I tried to get free, or at least to see him. He tightened the steel band he used for an arm, and I couldn’t breathe. My breasts—not large, but not bad—jiggled against his wrist. Something stirred against my backside before he released me with a shove.

By the time I’d caught my balance and whirled around, he’d escaped into the cover of the trees, moving with a grace that reminded me of the ABCs I’d been thinking of when he arrived. His white T-shirt stood out in the encroaching night like a flare. The sleeves had been hacked off in deference to the heat, or maybe to reveal tanned, honed arms. Khaki pants hung on slim hips; he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Dark, shaggy hair sifted across his shoulders. I still couldn’t see his face.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, instead lighting a cigarette, cupping the match in such a way as to keep the glow from reaching anything but tobacco. A bronze bracelet, the same shade as his skin, encircled his wrist. I’d never cared for jewelry on men, but on him the adornment only seemed to emphasize his masculinity.

“Seen any wolves?”

He took a deep drag, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, or an appointment in this century. Nevertheless, I sensed a wary interest.

“Maybe a black coyote?” I pressed.

The very thought excited me. A black coyote just might get me that Ph.D.

“How about a big cat?” I continued when he did nothing but take another drag. “Cougar?”

He blew smoke through his nose. “No wolves this far south.”

“Coyotes?”

“Got ’em now. Brought in to hunt nutria rats.”

I’d read about those. Large rodents that resembled beavers but with a ratlike tail. I hoped the coyotes were winning.

“Cats?” I asked again. “What about bears?”

“Bobcat. A few bears. Don’t see ’em much.”

I was constantly amazed at how easy it was for creatures to hide in their native habitat.

“I’ve heard there’ve been disappearances. Tales of a wolf.”

“There will always be tales.”

“Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

His cigarette flared red on one end as he drew on the other. “You a cop?”

“Scientist.” Saying I was a cryptozoologist only confused people.

He tossed the butt to the ground. The resulting hiss revealed he’d hit water.

“Can you guide me?” I stepped forward. “Do you know Adam Ruelle?”

“No.”

His voice was mesmerizing. I wanted to keep him talking forever.

A mighty splash was followed by a thud on the dock. I spun, remembering there were more wild animals in the swamp than furry ones, but there was nothing there.

Just as there was nothing when I turned back to the trees—no man, no beast.

I couldn’t even find the cigarette butt.

Chapter 3

As I stared at the place where the man had been, a long, low howl rose into the night. The hair on my arms lifted. I could swear the noise came from right in front of me.

I’m a zoologist. I know howls are funny that way. Not only is it virtually impossible for a human to gauge their direction or distance, but often a few wolves can sound like a whole lot more.

Of course one sounds like one, and that was one more than there were supposed to be around here.

“No wolves in the swamp, my ass.”

Nevertheless, I headed for my car at the fastest clip I could manage and not trip over my feet. I didn’t plan on proving myself right by meeting a lone wolf—or whatever that was. Being right wouldn’t keep me from being dead.

Since wolves are nocturnal, my best bet would be to return with the sun, a guide, a gun. Maybe a gun wouldn’t even help. Or at least not one that wasn’t loaded with silver bullets.

The thought startled a laugh out of me. Since the sound was slightly hysterical, I started the car and fled to town, not slowing down until I planted my butt on a bar stool in a place called Kelly’s. There was always a Kelly’s.

Several blocks over, the music, the voices of Bourbon Street increased as the night progressed. I waited until the tourists cleared out and the locals drifted in; then I started to ask questions.

“Ruelle ain’t a guide, ye nuts?”

I frowned at an ancient man, so brown and wrinkled he must have bathed in sunlight for the past forty years. Why had Frank sent me to Ruelle if he was—?

“What is he?”

“Crazy.”

“Crazy how?”

My companion stared into the bottom of his empty beer mug with an expression of such pathetic loneliness that I waved a finger, and the bartender filled it.

“He owns a mansion at the edge of the swamp, but the thing’s all fallin’ down. He lives in the wild.”

“Then he is familiar with the area.”

“Better’n anyone. But he ain’t been seen for years. He’s probably dead.”

Maybe Frank had known Adam before he’d lost his mind.

“Why would Ruelle abandon the family home?”

“He went into the army right out of high school. Word is he joined some hotshot Special Forces group. When he came home he couldn’t live in the world anymore, so he went into the swamp.”

I found myself wondering why a young man with any other opportunity would enlist. Of course I’d turned my back on opportunity, too, preferring to sleep in a tent with the man of my dreams rather than make oodles of money working for Daddy. However, I doubted Adam Ruelle had become a soldier because of a woman. Then again, maybe he had.

While I considered what I’d heard, I picked up a book of matches on the bar emblazoned with a spooky font that spelled out Cassandra’s.

The old man leaned over and tapped the word with a nicotine-stained finger. “You wanna learn about voodoo and such?”

“Huh?”

“Priestess Cassandra bought Marie Laveau’s old house on Royal Street.”

“Marie Laveau the voodoo queen?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, warming to his subject “Most think Marie was actually two women—a mother and a daughter. When one died, the other took her place, which explains why folks believed Marie had power.”

“Growing younger and not dying will do that.”

“No one knows where Marie lived for certain,” the bartender said, “or where she’s buried, neither.”

“She’s buried in St. Louis Cemetery Number One,” the old man stated. “Second most visited grave site in the country.”

“What’s the first?” I was betting on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier or maybe the Eternal Flame.

“Graceland.”

Well, no one’s ever claimed that Americans aren’t bizarre.

“Priestess Cassandra lives at Marie’s place,” my companion continued. “Set up a voodoo shop.”

“Sounds kitschy.”

“Catchy?”

“Touristy. Tacky.”

“Not this one. She’s got things you won’t find just anywhere. Even has a voodoo temple out back.”

That I wouldn’t mind seeing, but first things first. “I hear there’s been disappearances.”

“In New Awlins?” He lifted his eyebrows. “Don’t say?”

His sarcasm was understandable. I’d discovered early on in my search for the paranormal that a lot more people disappeared than anyone realized. With the huge transient population in New Orleans—both homeless and tourists— as well as a river, a lake, and a swamp nearby, I bet they didn’t even have an accurate count of the missing.

I motioned for a refill and tried a different approach. “Been talk of a wolf in the swamp, too.”

“I saw a wolf on Jackson Square.”

I blinked. “In town?”

The old guy nodded.

“You’re sure?”

Wolves definitely didn’t venture into highly populated areas—unless they were completely whacked.

“If ye don’t believe me, ask Jay.” He flicked a finger toward a young man who was quietly consuming a huge hamburger at the other end of the bar. “He works the Square.”

“Works?” I eyed Jay. He was cute enough, but I couldn’t see him trolling the streets.

“Police.”

Well, that made more sense. I resisted the urge to rub my hands together in glee. An off-duty police officer. What could be more convenient?

If a werewolf walked right into Kelly’s, but I wasn’t going to wait around for that to happen.

“Was there a wolf in Jackson Square?” I asked.

Officer Jay looked up from his plate. “No.”

I turned to the old man.

“I saw it,” he mumbled.

“Folks see strange things around here every night,” Officer Jay explained.

“Like what?”

Standing, he tossed some money onto the counter. “New Orleans is the most haunted city in America, and there’s a reason for it.”

“Ghosts?”

“Booze, drugs, loud music.” He headed for the door. “Messes with the head.”

A few moments later I said my good-byes, then meandered down a quiet, dark side road in the direction of Bourbon Street. Within minutes I had the distinct impression I wasn’t alone. Perhaps one of the ghosts had decided to follow me home. Or maybe it was just a mugger. I’d almost welcome the opportunity to kick some low-life ass after allowing myself to be embarrassingly manhandled by—

Who?

I paused and could have sworn whatever lurked behind me paused, too. How’s that for paranoid? I glanced to the left, the right, the rear, and saw nothing but shadows. So I walked faster, and as I did, I distinguished a clackety-clack, like nails tapping on a desk. Or claws clicking along the pavement.

Now I was really losing my mind.

Heated breath brushed my thighs, a growl rumbled the air, and my heart stuttered. I was afraid to turn, afraid of what I would see, or not see.

Up ahead, someone had left open the gate to a private courtyard. I ducked in.

Something scooted by, something low to the ground and furry. I was so amazed, I scrambled forward to get a better look and caught my toe in a crack. My knees hit the pavement, then my hands. I waited, expecting hot breath to brush my face instead of my thighs.

Nothing happened.

I climbed to my feet, using the wall for support, and stepped onto the street. A car whooshed past. Laughter drifted on the wind. A dog barked, but the sidewalk was deserted.

Except for the man who lounged against the building a block away. Beyond him lights flashed, music pulsed, people danced in the street. His bicep flexed as he leaned forward to light the tip of the cigarette just visible beyond the long, dark fall of his hair.

I started to run as he slid around the corner. By the time I reached Bourbon Street, all that remained was the milling crowd.

That night I dreamed someone climbed onto my balcony. I’d left the French doors open. I’d known he would come. He moved to the bed with the grace of an animal. His eyes were so blue, they made me gasp, even before he reached out a rough, calloused hand and touched me.

In the dream I saw him, and he was beautiful. Full lips, sharp cheekbones, long eyelashes—an aristocrat’s face and a workingman’s body. No man of leisure would ever possess scarred fingers, bulging muscles, or tanned skin.

Naked he stood above me, the faint silver light shining across the ladder of his ribs, a taut, rippling abdomen. The desire to trace my fingers along the flow, feel the heat and the strength, press my mouth to those ridges, then move lower and taste him, nearly overwhelmed me.

“Goddess of the hunt, moon, and night,” he murmured, his voice spilling down my skin like a waterfall.

I wanted to lose myself in that voice, in him.

The bed dipped. He did things I’d only imagined, whispered suggestions in a language I didn’t understand.

I cried out, “Loup-garou,” and the breathy, hoarse rasp awoke me.

A breeze fluttered the curtains. Heat poured in, along with the rumble of the party that still rocked the street below. I got out of bed, slammed the French doors, flicked the lock, still trembling with the memory of a dream that hadn’t seemed like a dream.

I couldn’t blame myself for an erotic fantasy. I was a young, healthy woman who’d denied herself sex for four years. Suddenly confronted with a mysterious man, unlike any I’d ever known, I’d have been worried if I didn’t dream of him.

Nevertheless, I was annoyed with myself—frustrated, sweaty. Too wide awake for this time of the night, I didn’t relish what was to come. Hours in the dark, lonely and guilty, because even though Simon was dead, within my dreams he’d been alive.

Until tonight, when another man had taken his place.

I spun away from the window, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

At the foot of my bed, stark against the creamy satin bedspread, lay the bright red flower I’d seen on the far shore of the swamp that afternoon.

Chapter 4

I stood near the window shaking my head, unreasonably spooked by a flower.

Well, maybe not unreasonably. I hadn’t brought it here. My gaze flicked around the room. There wasn’t anywhere to hide, except—

I glanced at the floor, and the breath I’d been holding streamed out in relief. The wooden bed frame ended at the carpet. There was no “under the bed.”

I crept toward the bathroom. Why I didn’t just call security I’m still not sure. Perhaps I couldn’t bring myself to say, “I found a flower. Save me!”

I’d left on the bathroom light as I always did when sleeping in a strange place. I hated walking into walls half-asleep.

The reflection in the vanity mirror revealed there was no one inside. Just as there was nothing in the closet.

I turned toward the window. The curtains, meant to block the sun so Mardi Gras partiers could sleep away the day, also blocked everything else. Unable to bear not knowing, I strode across the room and whipped them back.

Then stared past the empty balcony, studying the flickering neon across the street My room was on the fifth floor. How could anyone have scaled the hotel without being seen from below?

Would the drunks even notice? If they had, would they care or merely cheer? Except, if they’d cheered, I’d have heard them.

Someone had been here. But who? How? Why?

All questions for a time when the sun was shining. Too bad they kept me up for the rest of the night

Dawn found me dressed and swilling coffee from the complimentary urn in the lobby. If I could have positioned my mouth directly beneath the spigot without undue notice, I would have. I was so tired.

I showed the concierge the address on my handy dandy sheet of paper. Contrary to the opinion of the sexy-voiced Cajun with an attitude, the concierge confirmed it as the location of a trustworthy guide service—CW Swamp Tours. I retraced my route to the dock where a man waited on an airboat.

“Deanna Malone?”

I guess he was waiting for me.

“Diana,” I corrected, and he grinned.

I wished that he hadn’t. His teeth were nothing to write home about. They’d make a short letter since there were so few left. A shame. He didn’t appear a day over twenty.

“Mr. Tallient sent me.”

The accent was Deep South—not a hint of France, and I missed it

“I was here yesterday,” I said.

His face, which resembled both Howdy Doody and Richie Cunningham, despite the bright white hair that shone beneath the morning sun like a reflector, crumpled with the effort of thought. “Was I supposed to come yeste’day? I get confused.”

I hoped he didn’t get confused in the middle of the swamp.

“I met someone—” I began.

“No one but me comes to this place.”

“Tall, dark.” I left out “handsome,” fearing I’d sound too much like Snow White. “Long hair.”

“Don’t bring no one to mind.”

I wondered if this was Adam Ruelle, except Ruelle was mysteriously missing. Besides, I doubted a man who had been raised in a mansion, however broken down, would let his teeth rot out of his head. Then again, I could be wrong.

“What’s your name?”

“Charlie Wagner.”

“Did Frank—Mr. Tallient—tell you why I’m here?”

“You want to look for the wolf.”

“Have you seen one?”

Charlie’s gaze slid from mine. “Can’t say I have.”

I found his choice of words interesting. He couldn’t say. Didn’t mean he hadn’t seen it.

“You gonna meet me here at dusk?” he asked.

“Dusk?” The last time I’d come at dusk I’d nearly been eaten by an alligator, and that had been the best part.

I remembered the voice, the scent of smoke, breath in my hair, an arm cradling my breasts. A long, long time had passed since a man’s anything had been near them. Maybe the alligator hadn’t been the best part, after all.

“You wanna look for the wolf, right?”

I nodded.

“Wolves don’t come out in the light,” Charlie explained.

I knew that. “All right. Dusk.”

He made no move to leave. After several silent moments, I asked the question that still plagued me. “Do you know Adam Ruelle?”

Charlie had been peering into my face, and now he glanced away. “Neva met him.”

“Know where he lives?”

“No one does.”

“What about the Ruelle place?”

Charlie pointed to the far side of the water and the waving grass.

I had nothing else to do. Tallient had already hired Charlie. And I was curious.

“Take me there.”

Charlie’s boat was a smooth, fast ride. I probably should have been wary. Airboats flipped in the swamp all the time. But the whip of the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, was too enjoyable to ruin with what-ifs. In the daylight, the swamp was beautiful. A riot of colors, hardly any alligators, not a nutria rat to be had. I doubted the area would be as appealing tonight.

The red, stalklike flower grew everywhere. I jabbed my finger at a clump as we scooted past, but since we both wore earphones to drown out the blare of the boat, Charlie wasn’t going to be answering my questions anytime soon. He merely flashed me his un-teeth and kept driving.

The Ruelle Mansion became visible as we slid wide around a small island. The place would fit perfectly on a Halloween card. The boards had gone gray; the windows were broken; the porch listed to one side. Despite its condition and obvious age, the word stately came to mind. In days past, music, laughter, life, had filled the rooms. If I concentrated very hard, I could imagine the Ruelle Mansion coming alive again.

Most plantations in this part of Louisiana were located on the Great River Road, which ran from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. Finding one here was as mysterious as it was fascinating. I felt as if I’d stepped through a time warp and into another century.

Charlie cut the engine, and we bumped against the decaying dock.

“How long since someone lived here?” I asked.

“Used to be a lot of transients in and out. But no one lately.”

“Why not?”

“People got spooked. Ha’nts and such. Heard tell a few folks disappeared and no one ever saw ’em again.”

I stared at the building. If any place looked haunted, the Ruelle Mansion did.

“I’d think the walls would have rotted in the damp.”

“Made of cypress wood from the swamp. Never rots. House’ll stand ’til the end of time.”

While I should have been reassured that the structure was sound, instead I was a bit creeped out that the house would be standing here when the rest of the world had passed away.

“Come with me.”

I wasn’t afraid of ghosts, but I had a hard time believing every homeless person in the area had been scared off by the rumors. I didn’t relish running into a transient as I wandered through the place.

Charlie shrugged, tied up the boat, and followed.

“What’re those flowers?” I indicated a patch that seemed to mark the end of the yard and the beginning of the swamp. “The tall red ones.”

“Fire iris.”

“Pretty.” I took a step in their direction.

“Don’t touch ’em!”

“Why?” I had visions of hives, rashes, swamp warts. Hell. The thing had been on my bed.

“Bad luck.”

“What kind of bad luck?”

“Hoodoo and such.”

Hoodoo was an old-time, backwoods version of—

“Voodoo?”

His only answer was another shrug.

This was the second time voodoo had entered the conversation since I’d gotten here. Of course I was in New Orleans, the voodoo capital of America. I shouldn’t be surprised. However, I decided it might behoove me to visit Priestess Cassandra after all.

Charlie climbed the steps, his boots thunking against the worn wood like distant thunder. The sun threatened to cook everything well done, yet he wore jeans, a long- sleeved shirt and work boots. I suspected the latter had something to do with snakes. Glancing at my sneakers, I made a mental note to buy heavier shoes.

He opened the door, and I followed him in. Someone had stayed here once. Several hundred someones, by the size of the garbage pile. The scent of old food, new dirt, and...

I could have sworn I smelled blood.

I shook my head. The place was dim, dusty, dirty, but there wasn’t any blood that I could see. Why would there be?

If there’d ever been any furniture, it was gone now, either stolen or maybe used as kindling—although I couldn’t imagine the weather ever being cold enough to warrant a bonfire. There weren’t any holes in the roof or the floor, only the windows. With some elbow grease and a few pounds of soap and water, the place could be habitable again. Hey, I’d seen worse.

A board creaked overhead, as if someone had accidentally stepped on a crack, then frozen at the sound.

“Hello?” Charlie called.

No one answered.

I jerked my head toward the stairs and together we climbed them, splitting up on the second floor. Charlie took the right side; I took the left. I didn’t find anything but dirt until I reached the last room near the back of the house.

There wasn’t anyone there—at least no one alive. Ha- ha. But there was a picture on the wall. A very old, very interesting picture. I was still looking at it five minutes later, trying not to hyperventilate, when Charlie found me.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Ruelle.”

“I thought you’d never met him.”

Charlie cut me a quick glance. “Not Adam. That there’s his granddaddy, several generations back.”

He tapped the corner where a tiny notation read: 1857. I’d been too flipped out to notice.

“Name’s Henri.” Charlie spoke the name with a French twist, dropping the h, putting the accent on the second syllable. “He’s been dead nearly a hundred and fifty years.”

Charlie’s words reached me from a long way off. I couldn’t stop staring at the photo.

The face was that of the man in my dream.

Chapter 5

“I guess New Orleans really is the most haunted city in America.”

“Ye think it was a ghost up here?” Charlie’s voice wavered, and he inched toward the door.

“Maybe.”

What did I know? I’d dreamed the face of a man who’d been dead for a century and a half. I’d found a bad-luck voodoo flower in my bed. I was in Louisiana searching for a werewolf, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t be let loose without a keeper.

Charlie tugged on my arm. “Let’s get outta here.”

His hands were ice-cold. Poor kid. I took pity on him and went.

“The photo was the only thing left in the house,” I said as we hurried across the grass. “Wouldn’t someone have stolen it by now?”

Charlie leaped from the dock to the boat. “I dunno.”

Neither did I.

He drove back the way we’d come as if we were being chased, then dumped me where he’d found me.

“We still on for tonight?’ I asked.

“Sure. Swamp I got no problem with.” Charlie left with a roar of the motor, sending a huge wave over both the dock and my sneakers.

I returned to the hotel, where I discovered my flower was gone. I’d have figured the maid disposed of the thing, except my room hadn’t been cleaned yet.

“No, ma’am,” the girl insisted when I tracked her down. “I haven’t gotten to your floor.”

“Did anyone else?’

“No. That’s my responsibility.”

She could be lying, but why?

As I let myself back into my room, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. Frank. I’d been meaning to call him but kept getting distracted.

“What did you find?’ he demanded without the courtesy of a hello.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t found anything except a voodoo flower and a picture of a ghost. Neither one had any bearing on what Frank had hired me to do. So instead of answering his question, I asked one of my own.

“Why did you write the name Adam Ruelle next to the guide’s information?’

“I didn’t tell you?’ Frank sighed. “My mind is not what it used to be, I’m afraid. Ruelle land has been the favored territory for the loup-garou.”

Considering Ruelle land was basically a swamp, except for the small area where the house had been built I could see why.

“Could you rent the mansion?” I asked “I’d like to use it as my base of operations.”

“I bet I could,” Frank said slowly. “Great idea. You’re going to find the loup-garou; I’m sure of it.”

“You understand, don’t you, that the possibility of discovering a werewolf is pretty slim?”

“I understand. But there’s something there. Something new and exciting. Can’t you feel it?”

I could and I was both frightened and fascinated.

“Did you see Ruelle?” he asked.

“According to the locals, he’s been missing for years.”

“Bullshit! He’s there, and he knows something.”

“Have you met this guy?” I asked

“Not him. His... father.”

“Maybe I should talk to him.”

“He’s dead.”

“That seems to be going around.”

“Find me the werewolf, Diana. I need it.”

Frank hung up, and when I redialed his number, I got voice mail. I wondered again about the accident that had made him a recluse. Had he fallen on his head? Why would he need a werewolf?

I shrugged and pocketed my cell phone. Until his checks became as bent as he was, I’d just keep doing what Frank had hired me to do.

With several hours until I met Charlie, I took a stroll down Bourbon. My feet led me to Royal Street, and from there to a tiny shop tucked back from the others.

Cassandra’s.

I stepped inside. The contrast between heated sunshine and cool shadow, frantic noise and a certain peace, made me dizzy. I caught the scent of herbs, spice, heard the trickle of water somewhere in the distance, and music. Not jazz or even the blues. Something folksy with drums. A tune that was as ancient as time.

“Hello?”

No answer.

I had a sense someone was watching me, which seemed to happen a lot lately, and was making me increasingly paranoid.

A doorway covered with beads of many colors led into the back. I saw nothing beyond their plastic sheen, which was, I’m sure, the whole idea. I turned toward the retail section of the store, took three steps, and stopped.

Someone wasn’t watching me; something was.

A huge, coiled snake occupied a cage in the corner, its eyes dark and unblinking. Eyes of the dead. Long, brown, with uneven black circles all over its body, the reptile appeared to be a python. Was that even legal?

I inched away. The cage looked secure enough, but I didn’t want to get him excited. There were plenty of other items to view in the snake-free section of the store. Shelves full of bottles, bowls, which were in turn full of... stuff. With none of it marked, I was clueless.

Several mini cloth sacks stuffed with Lord knows what lay on the countertop. I brushed my fingertip across one of them, and I could have sworn it shimmied on its own.

“Gris-gris.”

A woman stood in front of the beaded doorway. How had she come through without making them go clackety-clack?

“I’m sorry?” I said.

She moved behind the counter, picking up one of the bags. “A gris-gris, meaning charm or talisman. For good luck.”

Her lack of an accent revealed her to be as much a stranger here as I was.

“Not bad luck?” In my memory banks gris-gris meant “cursed.”

“Not in my shop.”

My shop. This was Priestess Cassandra?

I’d expected her to be African-American, or perhaps Haitian, since voodoo had taken root and grown there. She’d wear a turban, a flowing dress, bangles on her wrists, huge hoops in her ears.

Instead, Cassandra was a tiny blue-eyed white girl with a single streak of gray marring the right temple of her short, black hair. Hair that appeared to have been hacked off recently, by someone who did not know what they were doing. The style complemented Cassandra’s high cheekbones and pointed chin, softening them just enough to nudge her toward stunning.

She was dressed in ratty jeans, a pink T-shirt, and her feet were bare, except for the rings on two of her toes. If not for the premature gray, I would have mistaken her for a coed at Tulane.

“You have a question?” she asked. “Something bugging you?”

“You psychic?”

Her smile was sweet, as if I were a child, though I had to be older than her by several years. “Everyone is at times.”

I snorted, then realized bow rude that was. “Sorry.”

Even if I was in town searching for a werewolf, that didn’t mean I bought into voodoo and other mind games. I had my standards.

She spread her hands. “We believe what we believe.”

“I do have questions.”

“Doesn’t everyone? How can I help you... ?” She tilted her head, waiting for me to introduce myself.

“I’m Diana.”

“Moon goddess.”

I’d heard that before, or something like it, in my dream last night

Cassandra studied my face. “You didn’t know the meaning?”

“I do, but my parents named me after my grandmother. Knowing them, there wasn’t any discussion of the moon involved.”

“Names have power and purpose. Cassandra means prophet.”

“How convenient.”

She laughed, as if I were the funniest person to come into her shop in years. I took in the herbs, the beads, the snake. Maybe I was.

Hissing erupted from beyond the chicken wire.

“Relax, Lazarus. She’s a friend.”

“Lazarus? As in risen from the dead?”

“Names have power,” was all she said. “What’s your question?”

The snake was staring at me again. The idea that the reptile might not die or, if dead, would rise, was a very creepy thought indeed. Weren’t zombies a part of the whole voodoo thing? And snake zombies... I didn’t even want to go there.

“There’s a flower in the swamp,” I said. “A fire iris?”

“Yes.” Cassandra moved down the row of shelves and began to pull out a little of this and a little of that, sprinkling the unknown items into a gris-gris bag. “Very powerful.”

“What does it mean when someone leaves one on your bed?”

She paused, fingers poised over a basket of what appeared to be dried chicken bones. Then, as if she’d had second thoughts, she took a pinch of red dust instead and scattered it on top.

“Not ‘welcome to the neighborhood,’ “ she murmured. “Can you bring me the flower?”

“It’s gone.”

“Hmm.” She turned to a completely different set of shelves and continued to mix and match. “Another question?”

She hadn’t answered the first. Not really.

“Do you know anything about a wolf in the area?”

Her hand froze above a glass jar of what looked like black olives but probably weren’t. “Who are you?”

“I told you. Di—”

“Not your name. Why are you here? In New Orleans?”

I had no reason not to tell her, so I did. “I’m a cryptozoologist. I was hired to find the wolf in the swamp.”

“Why?’

“That’s my job. Finding unknown animals.”

“A wolf isn’t unknown.”

“In Louisiana it is.”

“What if there isn’t a wolf? Or at least not a wolf as you know them?”

“Even better.”

She cast me a quick glance, then busied herself tying a string around the top of the gris-gris. “There’s a legend about the Honey Island Swamp.”

“The swamp monster?”

The snake in the cage echoed her derisive hiss. “Nothing more than an overgrown nutria rat, which scared some half-wits over two decades ago.”

Interesting theory—and one that explained the legend nicely. Cassandra was both refreshingly levelheaded and disturbingly strange.

“I meant the legend of the loup-garou,” she continued.

Now we were getting somewhere.

“The werewolf.”

She stared at me for a long moment. “You don’t believe there’s any such thing, do you?”

I ignored her question to ask one of my own: “Have you seen a wolf?”

Cassandra moved to the front window and peered at the street. “There’s something out there. Something that comes and goes. Something that kills and is never caught.”

“Wolves don’t kill people.”

She turned, and her now-sober eyes met mine. “Exactly.”

“What’s the legend?”

In my world, legends often skirted the truth. I needed to listen, to analyze, to pick and choose what was real and what was not.

“Over a hundred years ago a man was cursed.”

“Why?”

“He was a man. Isn’t that enough?”

My lips twitched. I really shouldn’t like her so much. If she wasn’t nuts, she was at least a charlatan.

“Every crescent moon he runs as a wolf.”

That much I knew. “Why not the full moon?”

“A loup-garou is special.”

“Why?”

“You have an awful lot of questions for someone who doesn’t believe.”

“I’m curious.”

“He was cursed,” she repeated.

“Why?” I sounded like a broken record.

“Because he owned people, and he would not set them free.”

I should have known. Voodoo came to this country with those who were brought here in chains. I had to say, if anyone had bought and sold me, I’d have cursed their ass, too.

“So his slaves voodoo-cursed him to become a wolf under the crescent moon?”

“Not a wolf, a werewolf.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A wolf is an animal, but a werewolf is monster. An evil thing, ruled by the moon and possessed by bloodlust. They’re given life, but they can’t live. They can hate, but they can’t love. They think like a human and kill like a beast, no longer caring about anything or anyone but themselves.”

I guess I didn’t want to meet one in a dark alley.

“Why the crescent moon and not the full?” I repeated. “Besides the fact that this is the Crescent City?”

I’d thought the name and the legend nothing more than an interesting coincidence. However, when dealing with curses, coincidences weren’t always so coincidental. Not that I believed in curses, but some people did. Obviously Cassandra was one of them.

“The full moon comes but once a month,” she said. “The crescent arrives twice.”

“Double your cursing pleasure.”

Cassandra nodded. “A full moon is technically one night only, but each crescent lasts several days, bestowing multiple madness every lunar cycle.”

“Who was this guy? Simon Legree?”

I hated that the first name of my beloved husband and that of the legendary bad guy from Uncle Tom’s Cabin were the same, but I hadn’t written the book and Harriet Beecher Stowe had died long before I had a chance to complain.

“Nobody knows for certain who the man was,” Cassandra said. “In the way of legends, he was probably an amalgamation of every slave owner. Doomed to be damned for eternity by their own greed.”

“Do you believe a werewolf is running around the Honey Island Swamp?”

“Maybe there is; maybe there isn’t. But a wolf’s been seen. People have been killed.”

“What do the police think?”

“They’re like you. Never believe until they see. No wolves in Louisiana, so the culprit has to be a wild dog, or a coyote.”

I remembered something Simon had told me. “Wolves won’t tolerate coyotes in their territory. Drives ’em nuts.”

“Okay.” Cassandra appeared puzzled by my seemingly random thought. “But what about werewolves and coyotes?”

That I wasn’t sure about.

“Don’t those bitten by a werewolf become werewolves themselves?” I asked.

“So the legends say.”

“Then if there’s a werewolf in New Orleans—and has been for over a hundred years—shouldn’t there be more than one?”

Cassandra pressed the gris-gris into my hand. “Who says there aren’t?”

Chapter 6

The tinkling of the shop bell interrupted our conversation.

“Excuse me,” Cassandra said.

“I need to go anyway.”

I tried to return the gris-gris, but she wouldn’t take it.

“That’s for you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’ll protect you against the mojo from the flower.”

“Sure it will.”

She tilted her head. “What can it hurt?”

“Depends on what you put in here. Bats’ wings? Puppy dog tails? I’m allergic.”

Cassandra laughed. “Nothing so ominous. Some herbs, red pepper. Dust from the grave of a believer.”

I made a face.

“Kidding,” she said. “I also put in a little something to keep the beasts of the swamp away.”

“That oughta work.” Along with a gun and a baseball bat.

“If you’re going to be working in the swamp, I doubt you’ll want the alligators hanging around.”

I shoved the gris-gris into my pocket.

“In the old days, people placed charms in their left shoes,” Cassandra continued. “But the old days are the reason a lot of folks wound up lame.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Keep the gris-gris on you by day and under your pillow by night. Make sure you take it out before the maid sees. Some tend to get a little freaked if they find them.”

I couldn’t tell if she was teasing. Probably not.

“Let me know how things work out,” she said. “I enjoyed talking to you.”

I’d enjoyed talking to her, too. I didn’t have many friends. Hell, I didn’t have any. Once I’d found Simon, I’d let the few I had drift away. I was in a bizarre profession, which didn’t lend itself to camaraderie. I disappeared at the ring of the phone, never knew when I’d come back, forgot lunch dates, could care less about movies. And the other cryptozoologists ...

Well, they’d as soon steal your Loch Ness Monster as look at you.

Arriving back at the hotel, I discovered the maid had cleaned my room and departed. I dropped my clothes on the floor, set my phone alarm for an hour before dusk, then shoved the gris-gris beneath my pillow. After the dream I’d had last night ... Well, as Cassandra said—couldn’t hurt.

I slept like the dead, waking with a yelp when my phone shrilled. No gifts on the bed. My gris-gris was right where I’d left it.

I got dressed, pocketed the charm, grabbed my camera, my cell phone, and a tote bag to put them in, then went to meet Charlie.

He was waiting when I pulled up at the dock. The sun cast orange rays through the trees and across his face. For an instant the light took on the shade of fresh blood.

I pushed aside the disturbing thought. I was the moon goddess, not a prophet if I believed Cassandra’s name-dropping. But what did a moon goddess do?

The gris-gris weighed heavily in my pocket, and I was tempted to throw the talisman into the drink. Except I didn’t want Charlie to see it. The way he’d behaved this afternoon at the mansion, anything weird might spook him away for good.

“Ready?” he asked.

I climbed into the boat, and we headed off. Night settled over us like a cool velvet curtain. The stars came out, and the crescent moon rose.

Charlie turned on the spotlight attached to the front of the boat, and I stared, transfixed, at what seemed like a hundred shining orbs in the water.

“Gators,” he said. “They like the dark.”

In the daytime it was easy to believe the alligators were slow and unthreatening. Not very many of them out here at all. But in the night, surrounded by their glowing eyes, every one of which seemed to stare directly at me, they seemed very threatening indeed. I longed to be back on solid ground.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Thought I’d take you to the place where the last body was found.” Charlie pointed straight ahead. “Right up there.”

“Who discovered it?”

“Me.”

“You said you hadn’t seen the wolf.”

“Didn’t. Friend of mine did.”

“So it didn’t necessarily kill the man.”

“Guy’s throat was torn. Paw prints all around him.”

“Not a coyote?”

“Coyotes are scavengers and cowards. They wouldn’t kill a man.”

“Neither would a wolf.”

Charlie shrugged. “Me and my friend was huntin’ nutrias, found the body. I stayed, while he looked around. Said he saw a wolf disappearing into the tall grass.”

“He’s sure he saw a wolf?”

“Huge, black, big head, long legs. He shot it, but the thing disappeared.”

“He’s sure he hit something?”

“Found a bit of blood. Nothin’ else.”

“Isn’t it illegal to shoot a wolf?”

The species was still endangered in some areas, threatened or protected in others, though their numbers had increased sufficiently in a few northern states for them to be delisted. In other words, wolves could be killed by certain people, with good cause, but not by any old person whenever they felt like it.

“No law around here like that,” Charlie said. “Ain’t no wolves.”

“I should probably take a peek at that body.”

“Already in the crypt, I’m sure.”

“Crypt?”

“Whole city’s below sea level.”

Ah, the singular burial practices of New Orleans. While I wasn’t an expert, I had read something in the guidebook that I’d bought at O’Hare before getting on the plane. For hundreds of years, the citizens of the Crescent City had stacked their dead on shelves inside brick monuments known as ovens. After a year and a day, the body was decomposed enough to dump into a well with all the others who had gone before, making room for the next entrant on the assembly line of death.

Most people choose to be buried in a family crypt. Better to spend eternity mixed with Gramma than the psycho next door.

The boat bumped against the embankment.

“You stay here,” Charlie said. “I’m gonna clear the gators out of the way.”

I contemplated the staring eyes. “What if one of them wants to climb aboard?”

My hand crept to the pocket that held my gris-gris. I sure hoped the thing worked, and wasn’t that a change in attitude?

“I doubt they could, but—” He leaned over, flicked the catch on the cabinet beneath his seat, and pulled out a handgun. “There ye go.”

Picking up a bat, he strode into the night.

The weight of the gun in my palm felt good. Not only had I taken self-defense classes, but I’d learned how to fire both a rifle and a handgun. I wasn’t half-bad.

Water lapped against the boat in a rhythm that would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the bobbing army of eyes. I began to feel chilled, and it wasn’t lack of the sun. Something was watching me again.

I glanced at the tributary. A lot of somethings.

A rustle from the bank made me start. “Charlie?”

Charlie didn’t appear.

“Charlie?” I called a little louder, startling the alligators that had swum in close.

The brush seemed to be waving in a nonexistent breeze. I crept to the front of the boat and shifted the spotlight. The glare blazed across the top of the grass, splashed off the crooked limbs of the cypress trees, and revealed an indentation in the flora, as if a large body was moving steadily toward...

“Charlie!”

His answer was a scream, a gurgle, then silence.

I jumped out of the boat, not even thinking about the alligators, not even caring. At least I remembered the gun.

The spotlight lit my way as I headed in the direction of the scream. Charlie must have gotten rid of all the alligators in the vicinity, unless they’d smelled my gris-gris, or maybe slithered back into the water to avoid whatever the hell had come after Charlie.

I paused, listened, caught a faint rumble to my left. Tightening my fingers on the gun, I barreled through the overgrowth, shouting Charlie’s name.

Some animals will run if you startle them. Some won’t.

I’d come far enough that the light from the boat was fading. When I burst through a tangle of weeds and into a small clearing, I had to squint to see. Or maybe I just had to squint because I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Charlie lay on the ground, dead from the appearance of the throat wound. A man knelt next to him, fingers pressed to Charlie’s neck.

At first I thought he’d been attacked, too. Blood all over a bare chest will give that impression. But with that much blood, I should see a gap, a tear, a great big hole. He definitely shouldn’t have been able to stand, to move, to walk toward me. I panicked and lifted the gun.

“Stop.” My voice sounded thick, as if I were speaking through swamp water.

The man kept coming—fast—his long, dark hair flying around his face, giving me tantalizing glimpses of a nose, a chin, teeth. He snatched the pistol, and the bronze bracelet on his wrist shimmered as he tossed the weapon aside. I’d never flicked off the safety, but he didn’t know that.

Then he shook back his hair, and I couldn’t think beyond the sight of the face I’d seen twice—in the picture on the wall of the Ruelle Mansion and in my erotic dream of the night before.

“You’re—” I meant to say dead, but the word froze on my tongue when he grabbed me.

Solid, warm, real. He wasn’t a ghost.

So what in hell was he?

Chapter 7

This close I could smell the blood. Not his, I realized. Charlie’s.

The thought caused me to stiffen, then attempt to pull away. He only held on more tightly.

“Where you goin’, cher? The police will want to talk with you, I’m thinkin’.”

I couldn’t seem to put the pieces of the puzzle that was him together quite right. I knew his voice, remembered the way he’d called me cher, recognized the bracelet surrounding his wrist and the drift of his hair against his shoulders. But his face was that of a dream man long dead.

He gave me a little shake. “You okay? Think you might faint?”

“Wh-what—”

I couldn’t catch my breath to ask... Who was he? What was he?

“Happened?” I blurted

“What happened?”

I nodded. He shrugged. If he hadn’t been so bloody, I might have gone gooey at the sight of all those rippling chest muscles.

“Heard a scream. Found him. Tried CPR. Didn’t work.”

Emergency procedures could explain the blood. Made a lot more sense than this man having killed that one. Still, I was too spooked to trust him completely.

“You didn’t see anything?” I asked. “Anyone?”

His eyes were such a brilliant blue, I was reminded again of my dream. How could I have dreamed his face, his eyes, when, at the time, I’d never seen them?

That dream was starting to creep me out almost as much as the dead Charlie.

“Something big went crashing that way.” He let me go to point into the depths of the swamp.

“How big?” My voice shook.

He didn’t answer, instead moving across the grass, then kneeling to get a better view of the body. I didn’t want to, but I followed.

“Animal, most like.” He tilted his head, staring at the torn throat. “Men don’t do that.”

True, but—”What kind of animal would attack a man? Tear out his throat?”

“One you don’t want to meet.”

I was beginning to get used to his compact sentences and the cadence of his accent.

“Got a cell phone, cher?”

“Huh?” That voice did funny things to my insides.

He smiled. Or at least I thought he did. His lips turned up, but his teeth never made an appearance and the sadness in his eyes didn’t lighten. Then again, what could lighten this situation?

Charlie was dead.

“A phone. To call the police.”

Good idea. Except—

“I left it on the boat. In my bag.”

I didn’t want to admit I was afraid to go back there alone, but I didn’t have to. He strode off toward the sound of the idling motor and the blare of the spotlight.

Darkness closed in without him. The swamp was both damp and chilly. Even if it had been hotter than a Louisiana July, I’d have shivered. There was something out there, and as Cassandra had said, it killed.

My gaze went to Charlie. I’d seen dead bodies before. But not like this.

Several quick splashes near the boat were followed by a low, warning growl that seemed to flow over the swamp grass. I swung in a circle, searching for movement, finding none. I missed Charlie’s gun almost as much as I missed Simon. I was never going to find the thing out here. It had probably already sunk to the bottom of a murky, muddy hole.

I started for the boat, just as—hell, I didn’t even know his name—burst into the clearing. The blood was gone; his skin still sparkled with moisture. His hair was slicked away from his face. The splashing must have been him washing off the blood in the tributary. But the growl?

“Did you see anything? Hear anything?” I seemed doomed to repeat myself.

“Gators.” He handed me the phone. “Keep an eye out.”

Did alligators growl? I couldn’t recall.

“You’ll need to call the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Department.”

In Louisiana a parish is the equivalent of a county. Has been for over two centuries.

“Should you have washed up?” I asked. “Wasn’t that evidence?”

“Evidence of what? You think I killed him?”

I didn’t, not really. Charlie had been attacked by an animal, and while I was searching for a loup-garou—a werewolf—I didn’t really believe one existed. The very idea that this man could have morphed into a wolf, killed Charlie, then morphed back into a human being and hopped into his pants before I got here was ludicrous. But something was strange about this place, the deaths, even him.

He wandered to the edge of the clearing and peered into the darkness. “What did you hear while I was at the boat?”

Had I heard a growl? Considering the nature of Charlie’s wound, I thought so.

Black coyote, Louisiana wolf, ABC, or an undiscovered cryptid—whatever was out there, if it could kill, it could certainly growl.

“An animal,” I answered. “Didn’t sound like an alligator. More like something with claws and fur.”

He continued to stare, and I took the opportunity to call the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Department. I stated my problem and my location. I was promised help would arrive within minutes. Considering someone had died here not more than a few days ago, I wasn’t surprised a police car cruised nearby.

I dropped the phone into my pocket, then contemplated the distractingly gorgeous back of the man whose name I had yet to discover.

“Who are you?”

“You know.”

For an instant—in the swamp, in the dark—I had a vision of him turning, teeth bared, eyes wild, hair sprouting from his skin even as a tail sprouted from his spine. I shook off the image. He wasn’t the loup-garou, because there was no such thing. Still, when he faced me, I tensed. But it was just him— whoever he was—his bright blue eyes fixed on mine as he waited for me to say something.

“Um—I don’t—”

“I’m Adam Ruelle.”

Recluse. Soldier. Swamp native. Why hadn’t I made the connection before? Perhaps because I’d asked him once and he’d... ignored me.

“You own this land.”

He dipped his head but said nothing.

“And the mansion. There’s a picture on the wall upstairs.”

He didn’t react to the information that I’d been inside his family home. From the appearance of the place, who hadn’t been?

Taking a deep breath, he let it out on a long, resigned sigh. “I favor my great-great-grandfather.”

What had I expected? That he’d admit to being a ghost? As amazing as his explanation was, it made a lot more sense than any other.

“Favor is too mild a word,” I said.

“Got that right.”

“Your family—”

“There is no family,” he said sharply, eyes flashing.

“None?”

“Everyone is gone but me.”

“Oh,” I said faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

I’d heard of people who did not get along with their families. I was one of them. But I didn’t wish them dead. Then again, my parents were just stick-up-the-ass, judgmental elitists. Who knows what Adam Ruelle’s had been?

“Did all the Ruelle men... “ My voice faded. Why was I asking a perfect stranger about his family?

Because Adam fascinated me, and not merely his face, that body, his brooding, secretive manner. I had the distinct impression Frank had been right. Adam knew something; he just wasn’t telling.

“Did all the Ruelle men look so much alike?” I finished.

“Some.”

That answer was nearly as helpful as his usual lack of one.

Suddenly he stood right next to me, so close his body heat pressed against my damp, chilled skin. Why didn’t the man wear a shirt? Although some might consider it a sin to cover such a magnificent chest with cloth.

“You should go,” he said quietly.

His being so close reminded me of the first time we’d met—how he’d grabbed me, held, touched, frightened me—and I couldn’t breathe. My dream came back, and my face flushed even as my body responded to the memory of sex we’d never had.

“Th-the police,” I stammered, unable to tear my gaze from his.

“After they come. Leave the swamp. New Orleans. Louisiana.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I promised—” I broke off, unable to voice my vow, my pain, my need.

He took my hand, and then I couldn’t speak. Not that the touch was anything more than casual. Still, I felt it all the way to my toes. I was a young, healthy woman. Sure I wanted sex, but what I wanted even more was skin against skin for no other reason than comfort.

“What did you promise?” Ruelle tilted his head, and his hair swung loose from his shoulder.

I had a sudden image of that hair drifting down my body, the tactile sensation more erotic than any I’d ever known.

I glanced away. That hadn’t happened.

“I took a job. To prove the unbelievable is true.”

He stared at me blankly.

“The paranormal?”

“Ghosts?” Adam’s eyes contemplated the surrounding night. “You came to the right place.”

“Not ghosts. Creatures.”

“Monsters?” His sharp gaze returned to my face. “Why would anyone want to prove such a thing?”

I couldn’t talk about Simon with a half-naked man who’d aroused the first dollop of lust in me since I’d lost him, but Adam’s questions made me think. Simon had been an intellectual with a splash of the fey. Only those who could believe in the unbelievable had any success in cryptozoology, which was probably why I hadn’t.

Whenever I’d voiced my practical, scientific opinion Simon had smiled as if I were a deluded child and said, “We can’t see air. We can’t see love. But they’re there. Always.”

This justification had never quite cut it for me.

His original interest in wolves had turned into an obsession with werewolves that had been the one thing that lay between us. I wanted to do the work I’d been trained to do—seek out unknown animals—Simon just wanted to chase the magic.

Suddenly Ruelle’ gaze flicked to the shadowed, swaying grasses surrounding us. “They come.”

I spun, my mind conjuring images of a hundred possible things that might be coming. So when two policemen broke from the darkness, for an instant I couldn’t remember why they were there. How could I have forgotten dead Charlie?

A howl split the night, fleeing toward the crescent moon. The officers glanced uneasily at each other. They knew as well as I did what a coyote sounded like, and that wasn’t it.

“Thought you said there were no wolves in Louisiana,” I muttered.

One of the policemen had pulled out a small notebook and started scribbling. At my words, he glanced up with a frown. “Ma’am, I’ve never spoken to you in my life.”

“I was talking to—” I turned.

Ruelle was gone.

Chapter 8

The officers were more interested in my claim that I’d spent the better part of the last half an hour with Adam Ruelle than my tales of an invisible growling beast that might or might not have killed Charlie.

“No one’s seen Ruelle in years. Most folks think he died in the swamp.”

“I guess most folks are wrong,” I said.

The officers—both young and buff, one white, one black—exchanged glances.

“What?” I asked.

“Some say he’s a ghost.”

I’d thought that myself, but did a ghost let off body heat? Could a ghost hold your hand? Or fetch a cell phone? I didn’t know, and I didn’t plan on asking these children. Though they were probably around thirty, like me, they seemed eons younger.

The two skirted the damp earth near Charlie, taking care not to disturb the evidence as they peered at the ground.

“Huh,” said the blond, baby-faced officer with a name tag that read: Cantrel.

“Yeah,” said the other, who went by the name of Hamilton.

I waited, but neither of them was forthcoming with any info.

“What?” I asked, more loudly than last time.

“Only tracks are the victim’s and yours.”

I hadn’t thought to search for tracks. Hadn’t thought beyond my fear and the strange feelings Adam Ruelle had engendered in me.

“There aren’t any animal tracks?”

“Sure.” Hamilton nodded. “Big dog maybe.”

I joined them to peer at the light wreath of paw prints surrounding Charlie. “That wasn’t a dog.”

“How you know for sure, ma’am?”

“I’m a zoologist. I’ve seen wolf tracks.”

“There aren’t any wolves in Louisiana.”

“Is that like the state motto or something?” I rubbed at the pain right between my eyes. “Wait a second.” I dropped my hand. “No other tracks but mine, Charlie’s, and—” I waved at the canine impressions.

“None.”

No wonder they didn’t believe Ruelle had been here. The man hadn’t left any tracks. Then again, he hadn’t been wearing any shoes.

By the time the other officers arrived, I’d finished my statement. They cordoned off the scene, then began to gather evidence and prepare the body for transport. Cantrel offered to take me back to my car, and I gratefully accepted. I didn’t want to go alone, even if I had been capable of driving an airboat.

A short while later, he deposited me at the dock. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Do you have any leads in these murders?”

“Murders?” Genuine surprise twisted the word.

“I heard another man had his throat torn out in the swamp.”

“So?”

“Two men, killed the same way. I’d think homicide would be working overtime.”

“Homicide? By a dog?”

“That wasn’t a dog, and you damn well know it.”

Cantrel glanced at the flowing tributary, then back at me. “My boss thinks there might be a rabies problem. Feral dogs. Even coyotes. Virus spreads like wildfire.”

He could be right. Except a rabid animal wouldn’t have run from Ruelle and me after killing Charlie. A rabid animal would have attacked us, too.

I knew a little bit about rabies. Certainly the infected animals were vicious, violent, but they were also as good as dead. If there were a rabies epidemic in the Honey Island Swamp, there’d be a lot more bodies. Both human and beast.

Cantrel climbed back on the airboat, sitting in the driver’s seat with a confidence that revealed he’d been there before.

“You seem to know what you’re doing with that.”

“I’ve been driving these all my life.”

“You’re from the area?”

“Right around here.”

“Then you knew Charlie.”

“Yeah. Decent guy.”

We both went silent, thinking of Charlie.

Cantrel straightened—all business once more. “You’ll need to stay out of the swamp now, ma’am. Too dangerous.”

“I don’t have much choice. I’ve been hired to—” I broke off. I couldn’t say I was looking for a loup-garou. Cantrel might just commit me to the insane asylum. Around here, they probably still had one.

“Hired to what?” Cantrel asked.

“Research,” I said, which covered quite a bit and usually bored people so much, they stopped asking questions.

“I thought you were a zoologist. Shouldn’t you be in a zoo?” He flushed. “I mean, working there.”

I didn’t want to explain what I really was. So I didn’t. “I’m working here.”

“It’d be best if you stayed out of the swamp.” He glanced at the crescent moon slowly moving across the night sky. “At least for a few days.”

Before I could question him further, he started the motor and whirled away.

Once I was alone, the silence surrounded me. I glanced toward the water and caught the glint of the moon off several sets of bobbing eyes. None of them seemed interested in getting any closer.

I patted my gris-gris. For a bogus protection charm it worked pretty well. Nevertheless, I hurried to my car and returned to the city.

Bourbon Street was in full swing. I glanced at my watch. Midnight. Why did it feel so much later?

I wasn’t hungry, but I hadn’t eaten all day and while my body could definitely stand to lose a few pounds, I knew better than to skip food entirely. I enjoyed fainting even less than I enjoyed wearing Lycra.

I forced myself into the crowd and let them push me along the scarred, broken sidewalks, past the bars, the strip joints, the souvenir shops that sported T-shirts with obscene slogans, until I found a restaurant that wasn’t too busy. I tore myself away from the throng and stumbled into a cobblestone courtyard filled with tables. I chose one nearest the street.

While I might not enjoy walking in a crowd, I definitely liked watching them. Though loud and mostly drunk, the Bourbon Street horde was fun. Cheery people visited New Orleans, and those who lived here loved it. Sure there was voodoo and murder and something in the swamp, but this was also the Big Easy, and it had become that for a reason. New Orleans was the land of great music, good food, never-ending booze, hot sex. During the day, the rot showed. But at night the neon camouflaged everything.

I ordered a zombie—why not?—and a po’boy. It wasn’t until I was halfway through the food and all the way through the drink that the now-familiar sensation of being stared at came over me. However, there weren’t any alligators on Bourbon Street unless you counted the stuffed ones in the shop windows.

All the other diners were busy with their own libations. The waiters were waiter-ing; bartenders, bartending. The crowd continued to flow by without any hesitation. I told myself I was exhausted from the combination of a drink, a full stomach, and a busy day, then paid my check and left.

The uncomfortable sensation continued. I glanced behind me every few seconds, but with hundreds of people on the street, I couldn’t determine if any single one meant to follow me. Ducking into my hotel, I slipped behind a pillar and peeked out.

Nothing.

As I headed upstairs, I told myself I had good reason to be spooked. Someone had put that flower in my room. Someone had taken it out again.

I unlocked my door, checked the bathroom, the closet, a shady corner. No one here but me.

My gaze was drawn to the balcony. I found myself crossing the room, opening the French doors, stepping outside. My eyes wandered over the crowd below.

The revelers flowed around the man as if he were a huge rock in the middle of a river. He never glanced at them, just continued to stare at me. He was no one I’d ever met yet somehow I knew him. His clothes were dirty, torn, his hair wild; he wasn’t wearing any shoes. What was the deal with shoes around here?

My phone started ringing—loud, shrill—and I spun, heart thundering. When I got myself under control, realized it was just the phone, I turned back, letting it ring.

He was gone, of course. No sign of him anywhere. Not that he couldn’t disappear into the crowd, a bar, maybe thin air.

The damn phone kept trilling. Wasn’t there voice mail in this place? I snatched it up.

“Yes?” My heart still pounded fast enough to make black dots dance in front of my eyes. I needed to breathe.

“Diana.”

Frank.

“I’ve been calling for hours. I was worried.”

“Mmm.” I stared at the wide-open balcony doors. Should have shut those.

“Is something wrong with your cell?”

I patted my pockets, pulled out the phone. It needed a charge. “I was in the field.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to sneak up on the loup-garou and have your phone frighten him away.”

As if I could sneak up on a werewolf—I sighed—or any wolf, for that matter.

“What have you found?” Frank asked.

“Nothing really.”

“What have you been doing with your time?” His voice was sharp, accusing, annoying as hell.

“My guide’s dead.”

A shocked beat of silence came over the line before Frank drawled, “That didn’t take long.”

“What didn’t take long?”

“For the loup-garou to get him.”

I frowned. “Why do you think a wolf killed him?”

“Didn’t it?”

I was still on the seeing-is-believing plan, and I’d seen nothing but a tail. Could have belonged to anyone. I meant any thing.

“I rented the Ruelle Mansion for the next month,” Frank continued, letting the matter drop. “You can move in whenever you like.”

“I’ll have my things shipped from storage.”

“Let me know where they are, and I’ll take care of it.”

Usually I paid the owner of the storage facility to do that, but if Frank wanted to pay, I was all for it. I gave him the address.

I almost asked if he’d rented the place directly from Adam Ruelle, but I recalled his reaction the last time I’d mentioned the name and decided to keep the question to myself. Frank thought Adam knew something, and maybe he did. But I’d find out what for myself.

“I’ll arrange for a new guide,” Frank said, as if his last arrangement hadn’t died from a mortal throat wound.

“I’ll take care of it.”

I didn’t plan on hiring anyone. I couldn’t put another person in danger. I’d buy a gun; I’d done so before. Then I’d explore the swamp on my own.

“If that’s what you want. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“How about if I call you when I have some news?”

I couldn’t work if he was going to check up on me all the time. He was already making me half-nuts.

“All right.”

“I’ll be out in the field a lot,” I explained. “My phone will be off.”

“Of course.” Frank still sounded a bit miffed, but he said good-bye without further comment.

I moved to the balcony, checked the crowd once more. No one paid me any mind, which was as it should be. I began to think I’d only imagined being followed— again. I rationalized that even if the man had been staring at me, and I kind of thought he had, it was because he liked redheads, big girls, or balconies on Bourbon Street. Still, I shut and locked the French doors before heading for my laptop.

Though wolves usually claim a fairly large territory, the proximity of the recent deaths made me think this wolf didn’t. Although, for all we knew, the thing had been killing throughout the swamp—a distance of some 250 square miles—and only the bodies closest to civilization, i.e., on the Ruelle property, had been found.

I’d bookmarked the articles Frank had originally given me, and I brought them up on the screen, clicked through, made a few notes. I was just about to do a search for other mysterious animal killings under the crescent moon when a tiny photo of one of the swamp victims caught my eye. I clicked on the enlargement feature, and then I couldn’t move, speak, even breathe.

I could barely think.

Chapter 9

I squinted at the screen. The man was dead; he couldn’t have been standing outside my hotel room watching me. I knew that as well as I knew my bra size. So why were my hands shaking?

“Place is getting to you. Haunted houses. Werewolves in the swamp. Voodoo priestess.”

Maybe I should talk to Cassandra. If anyone would know why I’d seen a dead man walking, that someone would probably be her.

Except it was well past midnight and there was no way I was going out on the street in the dark—even if it was lit up like Mardi Gras. Instead I returned to my research, found several articles about dead people in the swamp, cross-referenced them with the phases of the moon, and came up with a list.

I found no mention of rabid animals, rogue beasts, or a serial killer. Which struck me as odd. Had no one but Frank and I noticed bodies were piling up under the crescent moon?

I studied the dates. Over the past ten years there hadn’t been more than three bodies found per annum. Which was probably why there hadn’t been an outcry. Especially in an area where death lived everywhere and had for a very long time.

According to my Internet sources, my guidebook, and my memories, New Orleans could have been called the Big Epidemic instead of the Big Easy. As it was located below sea level, between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River, yellow fever had loved the place. From 1793 to 1905 there were twenty outbreaks.

Besides the plagues, they had starvation, war, pestilence. The usual. However, in New Orleans the troubles seemed multiplied. Which is probably why when they partied, they did so for days.

I continued to search for deaths, disappearances, locations. About 2:00 a.m. my eyes drooped. I was so tired I barely got my clothes off before I fell into bed. The next thing I knew, the sun was up.

No dreams. No visitations. No flowers. A good night.

I took a shower, snagged some coffee, and headed for Cassandra’s. On the street, shopkeepers sprayed the sidewalks, flushing away the refuse left over from the nightly celebration. Water dripped from balconies and onto my head as residents watered their plants. I dodged people meandering down Bourbon Street with cocktails in plastic glasses. Had they ever gone home?

The door to the shop was locked. I glanced at my watch, then the sign on her window. Two hours until Cassandra opened for business. I needed to talk to her now.

I’d just lifted my hand to knock when she opened the door. My eyes narrowed. “How did you know I was here?”

“How do you think?”

She turned, leaving the door open. I stepped inside.

“Lazarus?” she called.

I froze, one foot in, one foot out.

“You mind shutting that? If he sees the daylight, he’ll bolt.”

I cringed at the thought of Lazarus bolting over my sneakers, or maybe up my leg, and slammed the door. “How does a snake bolt?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Why is he out of his cage?”

“I let him out at night.” Cassandra went down on her knees, peeking under one of the display cases. “Would you want to be stuck in a cage every minute of your life?”

Lazarus was a snake. Did he have wants and needs?

Something skittered across the open space.

“There he is,” I said, just a little too loud.

Cassandra started, bumping her head on the case before giving me a disgusted glare. “I thought you were a scientist. How can you be afraid of snakes?”

“Who said I’m afraid of snakes?”

She snorted.

“Call me crazy,” I said stiffly, “but I don’t like being in a small confined space with a freaking python.”

“He’s not interested in you.”

A slight thud caused me to turn. Lazarus was right behind me. I stared at the odd growth in his throat. Or was that his neck? Maybe his body?

“There you are!” Cassandra snatched him up, then popped the snake into his cage and flipped the lock.

“Does he have a tumor?” I asked.

“What?” Horrified, she bent and peered at him.

“That big bump.”

“I thought you were a zoologist.”

“Crypto.”

“Still—didn’t you study reptiles?”

“As little as possible.”

She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “What do snakes eat?”

“Rodents.” The light dawned. “That’s what’s in his throat?”

“Another reason I set him free at night. He’s much better than a cat. Never, ever, brings me a present.” Cassandra shuddered.

I’d never had a cat, never had a pet. Can you imagine my mother allowing an animal to walk on her winter-white carpet? She’d rarely allowed me there. However, I knew cats liked to share. Or maybe brag. I could see Cassandra’s point though I’d stop short of befriending a python.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

I hesitated. It was one thing to consider seeking the advice of a voodoo priestess in the middle of the night and quite another to actually do it in the daylight

“Tea?” She pushed through the beaded doorway without waiting for my answer, which would have been “ack” if I hadn’t known that was rude.

I followed her into a quaint kitchen. “Don’t suppose you have coffee.”

“You suppose right. The stuff will stunt your growth.”

I lifted my eyebrows at her petite form.

“Never mind.” Cassandra set the tea on the table and motioned me into a chair. “What happened?”

I found myself telling her everything. Since Simon’s death I’d had no one to confide in, no one to bounce ideas off of, no one to trust. Why I’d chosen Cassandra I wasn’t sure. She just had a way about her. Despite her youth, she seemed wise. Her eyes were a little sad, as if she’d seen more than she should. I sensed she’d lost someone, too, someone she’d loved. Despite our differences, I felt a kindred spirit and I responded.

She listened to all that I told her, not speaking until I was through. “Comparing a news photo and a man you saw from pretty far away is a stretch.”

“I know.”

“He could be a relative of the deceased. Resemble him just enough to throw you off.”

“Most likely.”

Cassandra took a sip of her tea, swallowed, set the cup down with a click, and met my gaze. “Then why are you here?”

“Exactly.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Why am I here? I’m not the spooky type. I don’t believe in this stuff. Yet here I am, asking a voodoo priestess why a dead guy was following me down Bourbon Street. Why?”

“You’ve lost your mind?”

‘I’m starting to wonder.”

“Maybe you just need a friend.”

I lifted my gaze. “That pathetic, am I?”

“Not at all. You travel a lot. How could you make friends?”

“Even if I was any good at it.”

“You seem pretty good at it to me.”

I half-expected her to reach over and pat my hand.

“Anyway, you came to the right place.”

“For a friend?”

“That, too. I like you, Diana. I think I have something that’ll help you.”

Cassandra stood, then headed into the shop. I followed. A quick glance into the snake cage revealed Lazarus at work on his breakfast At least cats ate their prey, eventually; they didn’t wear it.

“If you see the guy again, blow this into his face.” She handed me a tiny burlap bag.

“More gris-gris?” My fingers searched for, then found the one I’d stuffed into my back pocket.

“No. This’ll tell you if he’s dead.”

I frowned at the sack. “It’ll tell me if the man who’s following me down the street is dead?”

“Yes.”

“Cassandra, what are you talking about?”

“Zombies. What were you asking me about?”

“A dead guy.”

“Who was walking. Add them together and that equals zombie.”

“In New Orleans maybe.”

“In any damn place.”

She was right. I had come to ask about zombies; I just hadn’t known how to. But now that she’d answered... “How are zombies raised?”

“I’m not exactly sure. There are a lot of theories, spells, but I’ve never been able to raise one.”

“You’ve tried?”

She shrugged. “It takes a lot more power than I have. Raising the dead is serious business.”

I must have looked skeptical because she tilted her head. “You don’t believe, even though you’ve seen.”

“We don’t know what I saw. Probably the guy’s cousin, uncle, twin.”

“Use the powder; then you’ll know.”

“What happens if I blow this stuff into a zombie’s face?”

“The one who raises the zombie gives it purpose and strength. His or her power keeps the zombie moving physically. Mentally they just aren’t right.”

I was starting to get the drift. “If I blow this in his face—”

“The magic dies. He’ll revert to a corpse right before your eyes.”

Chapter 10

“Cassandra, this is ridiculous.”

“Try the powder; then tell me it doesn’t work.”

“Fine.” I stuffed the bag into another pocket. “Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“I’ll—uh—be staying at the Ruelle place from now on.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “How did you manage that?”

“My boss. You know where I can get some camping equipment?” There were a few things I didn’t have—like mosquito netting. It had been a while since I’d gone anywhere this tropical.

Cassandra gave me an address. I wrote out my cell phone number. “In case you need me.”

Although what she’d need me for, I had no idea. Still she smiled as if I’d just given her a gift beyond rubies and accompanied me to the door.

“Are you going to be there alone?” she asked.

“Probably not,” I muttered, and headed for the hotel.

I checked out, got directions to the address Cassandra had given me, charged what I needed, and drove to the mansion. On the porch sat my camping equipment. I don’t know how Frank had gotten the stuff here that fast and I didn’t care. He was the greatest.

As soon as I’d unloaded, a sudden compulsion to do something proactive made me head into the swamp. If I was going to take a look around, I wanted to do it in the daytime.

I found the location of last night’s “incident” without too much trouble. Yellow crime scene tape stands out pretty well amid swaying grass and cypress trees. I resisted the urge to tear it down. Behavior like that could earn me a few days in a cell.

I spent far too long in the swamp. The place was both wild and tranquil, steamy with heat, yet filled with cool water. I saw birds I’d never seen before, plants, trees, flowers, fish. I was captivated, entranced, mesmerized, which was the only reason I didn’t notice the sun falling down.

I discovered a field of fire irises and used the pocketknife I’d just purchased to saw through a few stalks. As I gathered them into my arms, something caught my eye. Thinking I’d see the tip of a tail once again disappearing into the swamp, I gaped at the shape of a man in the shadows of a cypress tree. I knew that silhouette—the broad shoulders, the slim waist, the tousled hair.

“Adam?” I blinked and he was gone. Which was impossible. Nobody could move that fast.

I tightened my fingers on the knife, then hurried to the tree and walked around the huge trunk. There was nothing, no one, yet still I felt... something, and it wasn’t friendly.

I stared upward, cringing at the idea of a man dropping from the tree and landing on me. All I saw was branches and moss; nevertheless, I cursed. Dusk hovered on the horizon.

With one last wary glance at the swamp, I folded the knife and put it in my pocket, then clasped the irises to my chest and headed for home at a near run. Along with the thunder of my own frantic feet—now encased in unfashionable but practical hiking boots—I could have sworn I heard footsteps behind me. I was officially paranoid.

As I burst out of the foliage and into the yard, the house seemed to stare back at me with a smirk. Not only was I paranoid but a little crazy too.

I ran inside and slammed the door, locking it behind me. No wonder the house seemed to be laughing. What good would a locked door do me when all the windows were broken? Why on earth was I here without a gun?

From what I’d gathered on the Internet, it wasn’t hard to buy one around here. No waiting period, no registration, no background check. God, I loved the South. First chance I had, I was using some of Frank’s money on a pistol.

A thud from the second floor had my heart racing as fast as my feet had. I should have stayed in the city, but then I’d never find out anything. With a sense of deja vu, I turned toward the steps.

Adam Ruelle stood at the bottom, holding the lantern I’d bought, wearing his usual frayed khakis. This time a white tank top covered his chest, the lack of sleeves only emphasizing the ropy muscles of his arms.

Confused, I glanced out the window, toward the swamp, where I could have sworn I’d seen him not more than fifteen minutes ago. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He set the lantern next to my backpack, sleeping bag, and portable stove. “My house.”

“Not while I’m renting the place.”

“You’re the one who rented it?”

“My employer did. I need to be close to the area where the—” I broke off.

He didn’t seem to notice, staring at the flowers I clutched to my chest. “You shouldn’t have brought those.”

I lowered my arms, stared at the crushed blooms. “Why?”

“They attract animals.”

Before I could say anything, do anything, he yanked them out of my hands then opened the front door, walked to the dock, and tossed the fire irises as far away as he could before striding back inside.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“I don’t kid.”

I wasn’t surprised. The man hadn’t cracked a smile since I’d met him.

“Someone left one on my bed at the hotel.” Had that someone been him? If so, why leave the flower then and take them away from me now?

Adam appeared more worried about the fire iris on my bed than I had been. Which couldn’t be good.

“I was told those flowers were bad luck,” I continued. “I figured someone didn’t much care for me.”

His eyes flicked to mine, the bright blue a beacon in the hazy light from the lantern. “Who you think it was?”

“No idea. I’d just gotten into town at the time. How could I have pissed off anyone that fast?”

I plucked a stray red petal off my shirt and rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. A spicy aroma arose, like cinnamon atop a bonfire. I could understand why an animal might be attracted to them. I was.

“At least I’m not nuts,” I murmured.

“No?”

I narrowed my gaze. “I could have sworn someone was following me just now. But maybe it was... something.”

“What did you see?”

“I thought I saw you, but that must have been a trick of the light. You were here. Right?”

“Right.” He didn’t sound convinced. Which was as bizarre as my seeing him in the first place. Didn’t he know where he’d been?

“The police think you’re dead.”

“They aren’t the only ones.”

“You like being a ghost?”

A long moment passed, the silence broken only by a faint splash from the swamp. He went to the window and his whisper came out of the darkness. “I don’t mind.”

He seemed so sad, so alone. I’d been there, hell, I still was, and while sometimes I liked it, more and more lately I didn’t.

I couldn’t help myself. I inched in close and touched his arm. “You seem real enough to me.”

He stiffened, and I yanked my hand away, but he caught it in a swift, catlike movement as he turned. I didn’t have time to think, let alone escape, even if I’d wanted to. He wrapped his long, strong arm around my back and kissed me. I was so shocked I let him. Or maybe I let him because the man kissed as if he did little else but.

Tongue, lips, teeth, he devoured. Nothing gentle in this kiss, all wet heat and lust, He twined his fingers in my hair; I dug mine into his shoulders and held on. He tasted of mint as if he’d just brushed his teeth. I ran my tongue along the straight white expanse and he moaned, then nipped my lip.

A shudder ran through me. His kiss was as rough as his hands, and I relished it. I didn’t know why. Simon had been gentle in all things, especially lovemaking.

Maybe that was why. He wasn’t Simon, and this wasn’t love. I didn’t want it to be. I’d had my shot. One man, one woman, forever. I believed that. A woman like me didn’t get two soul mates. Did anyone?

Since Simon was dead, I was doomed to be alone. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have this.

I ran my palms over his arms, let my thumbs trace his collarbone, tangled my fingers in his hair. His skin was so soft over muscles so hard. I wanted to trace every inch of him.

I was overcome with a sudden urge to drop to my knees and score the ripples of his abdomen with my teeth. I’d never seen a man put together so well, not that I’d seen all that many.

His erection brushed my stomach; his mouth captured my gasp as his hand dipped inside my shirt, slid under my bra, his palm cupping my breast, testing the weight, thumb teasing one nipple even as his lower body skimmed softly against mine.

He kept kissing me; I couldn’t think. I wanted nothing more than to feel his heat, his strength, his life. How could I ever have thought him a ghost?

Suddenly he tore away; I nearly fell. He stared at me wide-eyed, his mouth wet and swollen, as he shoved a hand through his tangled hair.

I’d tangled it. I wanted to do so again.

“I shouldn’t have... “ He made a vague gesture in my direction.

I licked my lips. I could still taste him. “Why did you?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“I don’t— I mean, I’m not—”

“You are.”

“What?”

“Sexy.”

I laughed. “You must be more deprived than I am.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m sure that’s true.”

No one had ever called me sexy. Simon had loved me, but he’d been more interested in my mind than my body. We’d been colleagues, friends, then lovers. The sex had been good. This had been—

Catastrophic? Mind-bending? Life altering? Or just—

Wrong.

I didn’t know this man. Not really. Everything I’d heard about him should make me wary. Most, if not all, of the bodies had been found on his property; why wasn’t he a suspect? Then again, the police were blaming animals. Unless Adam Ruelle planned to shape-shift beneath the crescent moon, he was innocent. At least of the Honey Island Swamp killings.

“Diana?” Adam brushed my hair from my face.

His fingertips grazed my cheek, and I resisted the urge to rub my skin against his and purr. What was the matter with me?

“You should take your things and go back to wherever it is you came from.”

That was the second time he’d told me as much.

I stared into his bright blue eyes. “It didn’t feel like you wanted me to go.”

“What I want and what’s best for both of us are two different things.”

“I don’t understand.”

I waited for him to explain. When he didn’t, I let out an exasperated sigh and turned away. He grabbed my hand and yanked me back, catching me when I stumbled, aligning our bodies just right all over again.

His jaw tightened. “What I want is to lie you down on, right here, or maybe shove you against a wall, right there, and take you until you can’t argue with me anymore.”

As if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned forward, brushed his lips to the swell of my breast exposed by our acrobatics.

“I want to mark you with my teeth.” He scraped the sensitive skin just under my collarbone. “Bury myself in you.”

He pulled me more tightly against him. “Over and over and over again. Me, you. You, me.” He punctuated each hoarse whisper with a thrust of his hips. “I’ll be inside you day and night until you don’t know where you begin and I end anymore.”

He nuzzled my cheek, put his mouth to the curve of my neck, and suckled my skin hard enough to leave the mark he’d spoken of. Then he lifted his head, and his whisper brushed the moist imprint, making me shiver. “Are you afraid enough to run now?”

Afraid? No. Aroused out of my mind? You betcha.

He stilled against me—hard, hot, his pulse beating out of time with mine. The intimacy of our position, his words, my feelings for a stranger, should have made me bolt. Instead I lifted my gaze and let him see that I wanted the same thing, too.

He cursed and swung away to stare out the window once more. I wasn’t sure what to say. Had the entire interlude been an attempt to make me flee? If so, he was the best actor on the planet. I could swear I’d tasted desire, and how could he fake a hard-on?

Dumb question. He was a guy. They could get a hard-on in a stiff breeze. Or so I’d heard.

A man like Adam Ruelle was not only out of my league but also out of my realm of experience, seeing as I’d only known one man intimately in my life.

“You intend to stay?” Adam asked.

“Damn straight.” He couldn’t get rid of me that easily.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and faced me. “You’ll need another guide.”

“I don’t need anything.”

Except you, my treacherous body whispered. I ignored it; I’d gotten very good at that over the past few years.

“I’ll do it.”

For an instant I thought he meant do it, and why wouldn’t I? We had, after all, practically done it standing up. Then I understood he was talking about guiding me into the swamp. “No.”

“You want to see my land, you go with me. Always. Never alone. You understand, cher?”

I understood. There were things out there I didn’t want to meet alone. But did I want to meet them with Adam Ruelle? I wasn’t sure.

What choice did I have? As he’d pointed out, this was his land. My boss might have rented the house, but I didn’t recall anything about the swamp.

“Don’t call me cher,” I said.

His mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile. “I guess that means yes.”

Chapter 11

“You know what I’m looking for?” I couldn’t remember what I’d told him and what I hadn’t.

“An animal that does not belong.”

Which was as good of an explanation as any. Something was out there. Something that did not belong—be it a wolf in Louisiana, a big, black cat in the swamp, or an animal that no one even knew about yet. Any one of them would be a coup for me to find.

The snick of a match returned my attention to Adam as he lit a cigarette. I considered protesting, but the place was trashed, and it was technically his place. What harm could one more cigarette butt do? Still...

“Those things’ll kill you.”

He stared out the window, his pose contemplative as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, took a long, slow drag, then blew smoke through his nose. “Something will kill me, but I doubt it’ll be this.”

I frowned at the statement, a variation of “we all have to die sometime.” Except there was a vast difference between dying and being killed. Had his time in the military changed his thoughts on death?

I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure how. This man’s tongue had been in my mouth, his hand on my breast, his body pressed intimately to mine, yet I was uncomfortable questioning him about his past. Which only made me vow not to let his tongue anywhere near me ever again. A vow easier made than kept.

He glanced over his shoulder as he took another drag. “How did that flower get on your bed?”

“Someone put it there while I was sleeping.”

His hand, halfway to his mouth with the cigarette, froze. He flicked the stub to the floor and ground it out. He was wearing shoes for perhaps the first time since I’d met him. Combat boots. Figured.

“You’re sure?” The softness of his voice belied the tension in his body.

“I went to bed without a flower, woke up with one at my feet.”

Speaking about what had happened, I was creeped out all over again. Someone had been in my room while I was asleep and vulnerable. I didn’t like it.

Adam’s lips tightened and his hands clenched. He stared out the window again, and the silver light from the moon filtered over his face. He really was quite beautiful.

As if the glow pained him, he winced and stepped away. “Did you get rid of the flower?”

“Didn’t have to. The thing disappeared.”

He tilted his head, and his hair swung free of his shoulders. What was it about his hair that made my stomach all warm and jumpy?

“So you think you may be losing your mind?”

I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t sure.

He faced the window, and though his next words were muffled, I could have sworn he said, “Join the club.”

Before I could ask what he meant, a chorus of howls split the night. More than one this time and very close.

I raced across the room, but—surprise!—I saw nothing.

“Here.” He pressed something cool and heavy into my hand.

A gun. Oh, goody.

“Do you know how to use one?”

“Yep.”

“Use it.” He headed for the door.

“Wait! I’ll go with you.”

Adam didn’t pause, didn’t look at me, didn’t answer, just slipped outside. By the time I reached the porch, he was gone.

“How does he do that?”

And why had he given me his gun? What was he going to use? His bare hands?

Why not? According to local legend he was Cajun Commando. According to local legend he was also dead and there was a werewolf in the swamp. Considering what I’d just heard, maybe there were a whole bunch of them.

My gaze swept the thick grass. This was the first time I’d discerned more than one, and I was excited. More than one would be easier to find.

Still, I hesitated. Adam had told me not to go out there without him. But I was here to find the wolf or wolves, and they were close.

I checked the weapon—a .45-caliber Browning— fully loaded. Should be enough. I just needed one more thing.

Hurrying inside, I retrieved my camera. No one believed there was a wolf? I’d forgo the thousand words and take a picture. I needed the actual animal for proof positive, but a photo wouldn’t hurt.

The night settled around me, damp and hot. The swamp grass whispered, though there wasn’t even a flicker of a breeze.

I wished I could imitate the call of a wolf. Wolves howl for a number of reasons: to assemble the pack, warn of danger, locate one another, communicate. If I howled, they’d answer, and I’d know where I was going.

I continued in what I thought had been the direction of the howls. I couldn’t be that far behind Adam, yet I didn’t hear the muted thud of his boots or catch the slightest hint of a cigarette.

I hadn’t realized where I was headed until I broke into a clearing and found the yellow crime scene tape hanging limply in the no-breeze. The blood had soaked into the ground, the moist nature of the land removing every stain. If not for the tape, no one would know something horrible had happened here last night.

A low, rumbling growl made me tighten one hand on the gun, while the other reached for the camera I’d slung around my neck.

The moon ducked behind a cloud, and I couldn’t see more than a few feet. However, the grass rustled all around me, as if animals approached from several directions. But that couldn’t be right. Wolves didn’t move in as if they’d learned military formations at West Point, and they didn’t attack humans. Or at least they hadn’t until they’d turned up in New Orleans. Who was to say the wolves hadn’t changed their hunting tactics along with their geography?

The lack of sight, the plethora of sound, made my nerves jump beneath my skin. I had to know what was coming. So I hit the flash on my camera, and the swamp lit up like a lightning strike.

Eyes stared back at me. Alligator? Nutria? Wolf? Psychopath?

Turning to my left, I took another picture. The flash revealed what I already suspected. I was surrounded. However, this time, before the light died, I saw not only eyes but also the outline of an animal.

Too tall for a rat or an alligator, too short for a human being. But not a dog, not a coyote. An animal with longer legs and a bigger head than either a coyote or most dogs. In Zoology 101 those things added up to a wolf.

A tiny bit of excitement filled me that I’d found something weird. That was, after all, why I’d come.

A growl rumbled to my right, another to my left, one behind. They were closer. I could almost feel their tepid breath. The hair on the back of my neck tingled and adrenaline rushed through me.

“Get lost!” I shouted, hoping I could make them run— the other way—hoping I wouldn’t have to shoot them. Not only would it be difficult in the dark, but for proof a live creature was always better than a dead one. Still—

I lifted the gun. If they insisted.

Their measured tread came near, along with their panting, canine breath. I flicked the safety, and the night stilled, as if they’d heard the sound and knew what it was.

My arms shook with the effort of holding the gun, of forcing myself not to run. Predators chased prey. There were many zoologists who subscribed to the theory that if a rabbit didn’t flee, a fox wouldn’t even be interested. I’d never come down on one side or the other—until now. In the swamp, in the night, I kind of agreed with that theory, too.

How long I stood frozen, frightened, I’m not sure. But the moon danced out from behind the clouds and sprinkled just enough light over the clearing to reveal the truth. I was alone.

“Shit.”

I’d heard something, seen a lot of things.

“I am not crazy.”

Then why are you talking to yourself?

Excellent question. One I didn’t care to answer.

Diana.

I swung around. “Who said that?”

Deesse de la lune.

I’d taken Latin at my high-class prep school. But I knew French when I heard it. Too bad I couldn’t understand it.

“Who’s there?”

There was a flash of movement in the grass. A rush of air and sound, the scent of evil.

Evil?

The moon disappeared again, as if someone upstairs had thrown a big switch, and all I saw was a shadow darting toward me. Bigger than a wolf, smaller than a man. No true form, but enough substance that I felt the ground shake beneath its... feet? Paws?

I pulled the trigger.

The report of the gun was so startling, so loud, I took a step back and stumbled over a root, or maybe a rock. I hit the ground on my tailbone. My camera thumped against my chest so hard, I coughed. I waited for a scream, a moan, the thud of a body. I heard nothing.

I sat stunned, shaking, until the moon came out again; then I got to my feet, and I went searching.

No blood, no wolf, no man. Had I imagined everything? I didn’t think so. But I was alone in the clearing where Charlie had died. Just me, my gun, and—

I glanced down at the camera around my neck and smiled.

Chapter 12

Unfortunately, when I looked at the results on the small screen of my camera, all I could see was swamp. I didn’t have any better luck when I uploaded them to my computer. Swaying grass. Nothing else.

What was wrong with my camera? I’d have to take it in for repair in the morning. I’d take the memory card to a one-hour photo shop.

I didn’t plan to fall asleep. Hadn’t realized I had until the pounding woke me.

“Adam,” I mumbled, too tired to consider why he would bother to knock on his own front door. He certainly hadn’t last night.

The man standing on the porch couldn’t have been more opposite of Adam Ruelle if I’d created him myself. Six-foot-five and about 250, he had blond hair shorn close to his head. His muscles were big, his hands even bigger, and when he spoke I was reminded of home and not of hot sex, damp sheets, and jungle nights.

“Diana Malone?”

I blinked at his electric yellow tie, complete with a navy blue New Orleans Saints insignia. The sun sparked off his shiny shoes and straight into my brain. I grunted and walked away, leaving the door wide open. He took the gesture for the invitation it was and followed.

The place was still trashed and I didn’t bother to apologize. I hadn’t done it. I also hadn’t had time to do anything but get rid of the refuse. I’d figured on using the better part of today for a little cleaning, but now I needed to drive to town, find a camera repair, then a one-hour photo shop, before I hit the library to do a little research.

Though the Ruelle Mansion might appear to have come through a time warp from the Civil War, in truth the utilities had been updated in the last decade. However, the years of neglect had not been kind. The utilities weren’t working.

I’d told Frank not to bother getting them fixed. I didn’t want repairmen hanging around, asking questions, scaring away the wildlife. Besides, I’d camped out in worse places. I tugged out my battery-operated coffeemaker and got down to business.

“I’m Detective Conner Sullivan—New Orleans PD.”

I’d already figured him for a cop. No one showed up this early in a suit and tie unless they were badge happy. What I couldn’t figure out was what a guy like him was doing in a place like this.

“Why is the New Orleans PD in St. Tammany Parish?”

I managed to get the coffee grounds into the proper container, then poured distilled water into the carafe and waited. I’d learned a long time ago that shaking the thing only made a mess. It didn’t make the coffee come out any faster. More’s the pity.

“I’m not squatting,” I said when he didn’t answer right away. “I rented this place fair and square. Or my employer did.”

Sullivan stared at me for several seconds. His eyes were brown, which didn’t seem right, but then, not every person of Irish descent possesses the blue or green gene.

“I’m not here to roust you. We don’t usually send detectives for that.”

“Good point.” I picked up the coffeepot and lifted it in his direction.

“No thanks. I’ve already had so much I might jump out of my skin.”

My lips twitched at the thought of this laconic man jumping anywhere. I wondered if he were trying to make a joke, except he just kept staring at me with his curious cop eyes and flat, unsmiling mouth.

I poured myself a cup, then sat on my sleeping bag, leaving the only chair, a foldout canvas model, for him. He ignored it, choosing to stroll around the room peering into corners.

“I know you rented the place,” he said, “but why?”

“I’m investigating reports of a wolf in the swamp.”

“In Louisiana?” He cast me a quick glance. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll find that out and be on my way.”

“What do you know about Adam Ruelle?”

I hid my surprise behind a sip of coffee. Why was everyone so interested in him?

“According to the locals, he’s dead.”

Sullivan turned quickly for such a big man. “According to you, he isn’t.”

He’d been busy this morning, checking my rental status, reading Cantrel’s and Hamilton’s report. I slurped more coffee, took my time swallowing, then lowered the cup. “A man who says he’s Ruelle has been around.”

“Where is he now?”

Good question. I had no idea where Adam lived. He just turned up wherever I was. Which was downright odd now that I thought about it. “Why do you care?”

Sullivan kept his dark gaze on my face. “A man was killed.”

“Charlie. I know.”

“Not him. Another man. Last night.”

The cup halfway to my lips again, I had to tighten my fingers quickly before I dropped it into my lap. “Where?”

“Not far from the incident with Charlie Wagner.”

I’d sworn I’d heard a growl, seen an animal, but what if I’d killed a person?

My hands started shaking, and coffee nearly cascaded over the edge of my cup. I set it on the floor and forced myself to think. I’d walked around, hadn’t found anything. Not a person, not an animal, no blood. But it had been dark, and I wasn’t Outdoor Girl no matter how much I liked to pretend that I was.

“Shot?”

Detective Sullivan gave me a strange look. An animal had killed the others. To know the man was shot—well, basically I’d just confessed.

Mentally I ran through the names of everyone I knew. Not a lawyer among them.

“Not shot,” Sullivan murmured.

“Another animal attack?” I started to get to my feet, intent on seeing the body, checking the tracks, but his next words had me sitting right back down.

“Strangulation.”

Now my mind was really groping. “Strangled? How?”

“Bare hands are the usual method.”

I blinked at the repetition of my own thoughts of the night before. Adam had given me his gun. He’d had only his hands for protection. Had he used them?

“Fingerprints?” I asked.

“ ‘Bare hands’ was just a figure of speech. A rope was used. Probably gloves. Not much evidence.” He took a deep breath. “There’ve been more disappearances than usual in and around New Orleans.”

“And you’re starting to think serial killer.”

“I never said that.”

He hadn’t said much, including what he was doing out of his parish. But I could figure it out. Tourists and locals disappearing, some of them turning up in the swamp. When St. Tammany police found a body, it was natural they’d call the man in charge of the original case, see if their corpse matched any of his missing.

“Why do you want to talk to Adam?”

Sullivan lifted his brows at my use of a first name, but he didn’t comment. “Dead people keep turning up on his property.”

“The others were killed by animals.”

“But this one is murder, and despite what you see on television, strangling someone isn’t easy. You have to be strong, and you have to be quick. There’s a bit of an art to it. One someone like Ruelle would know.”

“I heard he was in the Special Forces.”

“He was in something,” Sullivan muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a block on his file that requires higher security clearance than I have.”

“Bummer.”

Sullivan scowled. “Do you know where he is or don’t you?”

“Don’t,” I answered with complete truthfulness.

The detective’s stoic glare probably worked on most people, but not on me. Eighteen years with my mother was finally proving good for something.

“Fine.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out a card. “If you see him, call me. Better yet, tell him to call. If he doesn’t have anything to hide, we should be able to clear this right up.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sullivan cut a glance in my direction, but I just smiled as if I hadn’t been being sarcastic.

“Who was the victim?” I walked Sullivan to the door.

“We don’t know.”

“Come on, Detective, the name’s going to get out eventually.”

“I hope so; then I’d know it. This guy had no ID.”

“Stolen?”

“Maybe. But his money clip was still in his pocket. His fingerprints didn’t pop. There isn’t a missing persons report that fits his description.”

“If he’s a tourist, it might take a while for anyone to notice he’s gone.”

Sullivan seemed about to say something more, then tightened his lips and kept further comments to himself. Considering this was shaping up to be a murder investigation, I didn’t blame him.

“If you think of anything that might be useful,” he stepped onto the porch, “let me know.”

With a nod, I shut the door. I probably should have told Sullivan I’d been in the swamp last night, but I hadn’t killed the guy and I hadn’t seen anything.

Except a wolf or something like one.

A lie was a lie, even if it was by omission. However, I didn’t want to be dragged downtown for questioning when I had so many things to do.

“If any of those pictures show anything worthwhile, I’ll take them directly to the police station.” I put my hand over my heart. “Swear.”

Since there was no one to hear my vow, it wasn’t really binding, but I felt better anyway. I only hoped my camera wasn’t busted and any photos I’d taken junk.

I took a sponge bath, brushed my teeth in a bowl. I didn’t mind camping, but the lack of a shower was a definite drawback. I’d have to rent a cheap hotel room once, maybe twice a week, or I wouldn’t be able to stand myself.

Grabbing the gun and my camera, two things I did not want to lose—though from the age of the garbage I’d removed from the inside of the house, no one had stayed there for months—I went out the door.

What could have spooked the homeless away from such a good flop spot? Had word gotten out that people were dying?

After tucking the pistol into the trunk with my computer, I headed for town. I probably should have unloaded the weapon—I wasn’t exactly clear on the local rules for the transportation of firearms—but the idea of having the bullets in one place, the gun in another, a rabid wolf or even a serial killer chasing me around and around and around ... I decided I’d take my chances with the police.

I found a camera repair and left the camera, minus the memory card, which I took to a one-hour photo shop, then I headed to the library for a little research. This early in the morning the place was cool and deserted. Just the way I liked it.

A quick trip through the search engine netted me nothing. Unless the Ruelles had written a book or had one written about them, that usually didn’t work, but it was always a good place to start. My next stop was the desk of the reference librarian. When in doubt, ask questions.

“I’m looking for information on a local family.”

Short, thin, ancient, with granny glasses, clunky shoes, and—wait for it—a shawl, the woman’s nameplate read Mrs. Beasly.

“Are you researching your family tree?”

Since she seemed so excited about the prospect I said, “Sure.”

“What’s the name?”

“Ruelle.”

Her bright, helpful smile faded. “Oh, no, dear, you must be mistaken.”

“Why’s that?”

“There hasn’t been a female born to the Ruelles for at least a century.”

I didn’t miss a beat. “My connection is much older than that.”

If I was going to lie, I might as well lie big.

“I see.”

Mrs. Beasly contemplated me over the top of her wire rims. I wondered if she’d been an English teacher with a penchant for rulers before she’d migrated to the library. I hid my knuckles behind my back and tried to appear angelic, always difficult with my devilishly red hair.

“Isn’t that a bit strange?” I asked. “No females.”

“That isn’t the only thing.”

“Oh, really?”

She glanced around as if someone might be listening, but we were still the only people in the library. To help her out, I leaned over the desk and craned my ear in a conspiratorial manner.

“The poor family,” she whispered. “It’s as if they’re cursed.”

Cursed? As in... cursed to run as a wolf beneath the crescent moon?

Couldn’t be. Because I didn’t believe in werewolves or curses. However, I didn’t believe in coincidence, either.

How many curses were there around here?

Chapter 13

“What kind of curse?” I asked.

“Oh, not a real curse.” Mrs. Beasly laughed, veiny white hand pressed to her concave breast. “Just extremely bad luck. Or maybe insanity.”

Insanity? Well, this kept getting better and better.

“You’re talking about Adam?” She cut me a sharp glance and I shrugged. “I read some before I came here. He was in the army. Flipped out.”

“So they say.” Her lips went prim. “But I wasn’t referring to him.”

I resisted the urge to shake her until all the secrets spilled out. Mrs. Beasly was the type of woman who wouldn’t talk if you pissed her off—kind of like me. I’d bet my next hot shower that the info she would impart couldn’t be found in any book. So I held my breath and I waited.

After another glance around the echoing, cavernous library, she lowered her voice until I practically had to crawl over the desk to hear her. “Suicide.”

The word seemed to slither across my neck like Lazarus.

“Who?”

“Both Adam’s father and his grandfather.”

No wonder Adam had escaped to the army. “The police were certain it was suicide?”

“They both... “ She paused, uncomfortable. “Well, there’s really no other way to say this except straight out. They blew their heads off.”

“Both of them?”

She nodded. “There was an investigation. But the angle of the gun pretty much told the tale. The sons were always suspect, of course.”

“Sons?”

“Adam’s father was a suspect for his father’s death, and Adam for his.”

“Why?”

“The police thought there was money.”

“But there wasn’t?”

“Not only are the Ruelles cursed with insanity and sons, but everything they touch... “ She spread her hands.

“Turns to shit.”

Her mouth pruned again. “If you must be vulgar.”

I must.

“They’re land-poor,” she said. “The mansion, the swamp. Keeping that in the family takes a lot of money.”

“Why is there a mansion near the swamp anyway?” That had always bugged me.

“The first Ruelle came to Louisiana from France by way of Canada.”

Acadian. I’d thought so.

“Those people, the Cajuns, they kept to themselves. But the Ruelles even more so. They bought that land for a song, and they refused through centuries of bad luck to let it pass out of the family.”

I’d never understood the obsession with land, but wars had been fought, countless lives had been lost, over just that.

“Was there any indication of why the senior Ruelles killed themselves?” I asked. “A note?”

“Nothing.”

“I’d like to read the articles on those deaths, but... “ I glanced at my watch. First I needed to pick up my pictures.

“I’ll find them for you,” Mrs. Beasly said. “I can make copies. A dollar a sheet. Ten should do it.”

“That would be great.” I handed her ten dollars.

“I’ll leave them at the desk. If I’m not here, someone will be. What’s your name?”

“Diana Malone.”

She gave me her English teacher stare. “I never heard that the Ruelles had Irish relatives.”

“Wrong side of the blanket,” I said. “Hush-hush.”

For an instant I thought she might refuse to help me, and why? She was a librarian, paid to impart information. What difference did it make who I was?

I guess not much, because she pocketed the money and said good-bye.

I hurried outside, surprised at what I’d learned. However, the real surprise awaited me at the photo shop. I paid for the prints, drew them from the envelope, sighed. They were exactly the same as what I’d seen last night on both the camera and the computer. Grass, water, night.

I nabbed the clerk and shoved one under his nose. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Since he was about ten years younger, four inches shorter, and twenty pounds lighter than me, he got that deer in the headlights look as his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed. “I... uh... what?”

“There’s nothing here.”

“But—” He peered at the picture. “There is.”

“I don’t mean the swamp, the grass, the trees. There was something else there.”

“What?”

“I don’t know!” I practically shouted. “That’s why I took the picture.”

The kid appeared more confused than ever. “You took a photo of something, and it isn’t on the print?”

“Yes. Is that defect in the camera or the memory card?” Or me. Though I’d never had a problem with that camera before.

“Neither. If you got anything on the picture at all, which you did, they’re both fine. If there was something there, it’d be,” he pointed to the lovely image of nighttime in the swamp, “there. Unless it was a vampire.” He shook his head. “No, that’s a mirror. Vampires don’t have a reflection. It’s werewolves that don’t show up on a photograph.”

I blamed the shiver that passed over me on too much air-conditioning for a steamy autumn day. “What did you say?”

My voice must have alerted the kid that I was not amused, because he stopped snickering and retreated behind the counter. Like that would keep me from following him if I wanted to.

“Werewolves don’t show up in pictures,” he repeated.

“And you know this why?”

“I’ve lived in New Orleans all my life,” he answered, as if that explained everything.

“There’s no such thing as vampires or werewolves.”

“No?” he murmured, the word taking on a faint French twist. “Maybe you should spend some time alone in the Quarter after midnight. Or walk through the swamp under a full moon. You know why there are no cemetery tours after dusk?”

“People get robbed.”

“Sure they do. And the dead also rise.”

I stared at the young man who’d seemed so harmless, almost shy. Now he just seemed nuts.

“Ooookay.” I backed toward the door.

“The only way to tell if a wolf is a werewolf is to shoot it with silver.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “Thanks for the tip.” Was this guy for real?

I fumbled with the door, got it open, and fled into the heat.

It was only a coincidence that my photos showed nothing but grass, and werewolves didn’t show up in a photo. Because there was no such thing, no such thing, no such thing.

And maybe if I clicked my heels together three times I’d be in Kansas and not in the middle of this mess. I was tempted to try, but I was fresh out of ruby slippers.

Instead I picked up my camera--they’d found nothing wrong with it, surprise!--and bought a new memory card, telling myself the airport X-ray machines had ruined mine, then headed for the swamp. Not until I’d parked in front of the mansion did I remember the articles I was supposed to pick up at the library.

A rumble of thunder in the distance turned my gaze to the west. Huge, dark clouds billowed on the horizon. Looked like we were in for a doozy of a storm. Since I was used to wussy midwestern thunderstorms, rather than Southern hurricane-force winds, tomorrow seemed as good a time as any to return to town. Besides, if I dug out some soap, I could take a shower right in the front yard. Considering the heat index of the last couple days, the idea had too much merit to pass up.

I locked my camera and photos in the trunk with the gun, then hurried inside and grabbed what I needed, along with my gris-gris. I shoved the latter into the pocket of my pants. I left the zombie-revealing powder behind, afraid the stuff would disintegrate, or worse, if wet.

The sky opened up when I stepped onto the porch. Though the rain was warm, steam rose when the drops hit the ground. I dragged off my jeans, socks, shoes, and through an acrobatic maneuver managed to slide my bra from beneath my tank top. Then I walked into the storm.

I was drenched in an instant, my top and underwear plastered against me like a size 4 Lycra bodysuit. Quickly I made use of the soap and the shampoo. Needles of rain washed everything away; rivulets of water ran down my face so fast I could barely see. When I was done, I continued to stand under the clouds, lifting my hands to the sky as I let nature cleanse me.

Deesse de la lune.

My eyes snapped open. I turned a circle in the yard. Why did I keep hearing those words murmured in French as if they were the whisper of the wind? Was I losing my mind?

I frowned at the Ruelle Mansion. Did everyone who lived in that place eventually eat lead?

Refusing to be spooked, I stalked to the porch, rubbed the towel over my body, and stepped into my jeans. I lifted my head, glanced toward the swamp, and saw someone watching me.

The rain beat down; the mist drifted up. I had a hard time focusing, but there was definitely a person, a man, leaning against a cypress tree about a hundred yards from the house. Spanish moss hung from the branches, nearly touching the ground, obscuring his face. But the outline of the body was familiar, as were the hair, the jeans, the bare chest.

“Adam?”

He didn’t answer. Tossing the towel on the porch, I headed into the storm.

He didn’t move as I approached. He seemed wilder somehow—his eyes brighter, his hair more tangled, his body tense as a stalking beast. Without the shirt, skin slick with rain, I could see every ridge, every curve. He wasn’t wearing his bracelet. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him without it.

Why was he here? Did he want the same thing that I did? Mindless sex until I couldn’t remember the questions anymore?

I reached the edge of the yard, the cusp of the swamp, and still he waited. Lightning flashed; water ran into my eyes. Impatiently I swiped at my face, and when I looked again, he was gone. Had I seen him or only wished that I had?

Why would I wish? The police wanted to talk to Adam Ruelle about strangling the life out of someone. I shouldn’t go near the man, let alone lust after him.

Though he disturbed me in ways I didn’t want to examine, had scared me more times than I wanted to count, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that Adam had killed someone with his bare hands. I’d felt those hands on me, and while they’d been desperate, urgent, and rough, they hadn’t been violent. That didn’t mean they couldn’t be.

Beneath the tree I found the slight indentation of a bare foot in the dirt. Then another and another, heading deeper into the swamp.

I wasn’t crazy. He had been here.

I should turn back; I might get lost and wander for days. But I followed the tracks anyway.

Why I was so obsessed I had no idea. The man was a mystery, and I liked my life neat. Perhaps that explained my difficulty believing in the paranormal. The paranormal didn’t make sense, hence the name.

I hated things that did not make sense. I was obliged to make sense of them.

After a half an hour of traveling at a pretty fast clip, the trail petered out. I paused, ears straining, eyes searching. All I saw was the swamp in the rain; all I heard was that rain coming down. Then I smelled the faint, acrid scent of a cigarette.

As I blinked the water out of my eyes, my gaze was caught by what appeared to be a roof on the other side of a slight rise. I had no choice but to head in that direction, even when my bare feet sank to the ankles in muck.

I pulled them out, wincing at the disgusting sucking sound they made as they popped free of the greenish-brown goo. Luckily, once I hit solid ground, the rain washed away the slime.

I topped the hill and stared at the shack, which seemed to have sprouted from a bayou. The building resembled something straight out of The Beverly Hillbillies III: Elly May Does Louisiana.

“Good title for a porn flick,” I murmured, peering at the figure on the porch, one that could put pornographic thoughts into the mind of any woman.

A shirtless Adam Ruelle leaned against the railing, smoking as he watched the storm rage.

I glanced at the swamp, suddenly tempted to go back. But a flicker of movement somewhere in the depths had me hurrying into the slight valley, stopping at the edge of the overgrown front yard.

The instant I appeared, Adam’s attention fell from the sky to me. He took one last draw on his cigarette, then flicked the thing into the grass, where it hissed as the ember met rain. He walked down the steps and across the ground, stopping so close, the heat of his body battled the chill of mine. I half-expected steam to rise from my soaked clothes.

His gaze wandered over me; desire rolled across his face like thunder rolls across the sky. His eyes locked on my breasts, and I glanced down, my face heating at the sight.

I’d removed my bra, spent nearly an hour in the rain. Being topless would be less suggestive than wearing the soaked tank, which outlined the weight and fullness, seeming to accent the thrust of my nipples, magnifying the darkness of the areola.

He reached out, the tanned skin of his hand stark against the white shirt as he cupped one breast almost reverently. Testing the weight he skimmed a single thumb over the tip.

I opened my mouth to ask... something, and he yanked me against him. My breath caught, the sound both fear and excitement. I tilted my head, an offering, and his lips captured mine.

Our tongues met; his tasted of smoke and I liked it, which only showed how far gone I was. I’d never cared for cigarettes, but when Adam smoked them, I could only think of how I’d feel if he wrapped his beautiful lips around my nipple the way he wrapped them around a cigarette and suckled.

His arousal rubbed against me. My hands flitted over his skin, kneading the muscles, learning the curves and the dips. I couldn’t think, could only feel both his desperation and my own. I should have protested, pulled away, but I didn’t. From the moment I’d first seen him we’d been headed for this. I could no more have stopped what was about to happen than I could have stopped the moon from growing larger with each passing night.

He lifted his head, glanced into the trees, frowned. I tangled my fingers in his hair; then I frowned, too.

He’d been out in the rain as long as I had. Yet his hair was almost dry.

Chapter 14

Adam licked my chin, nuzzled my neck, then captured my rain-puckered nipple in his mouth and gently bit the tip. I decided his hair didn’t matter. Right now, neither would an earthquake.

I had questions, yes. But they weren’t going anywhere and neither was I. I’d save them for after I’d had sex with a perfect stranger.

Well, not exactly a stranger. I skimmed my palms over his biceps. But damn close to perfect.

He didn’t speak, which was fine with me. I wanted sex, not chatter.

His body slid along mine as he went to his knees and lifted my shirt. Mouth hot against my damp skin, he traced my rib cage, then swirled his tongue around my belly button. The rain beat down on us both. I had a sudden urge to feel the droplets everywhere, so I pulled the tank top over my head and tossed it aside.

He looked at me and smiled—the first smile I’d ever seen on his face—and my heart did a funny sort of stutter. Why did he have to be so beautiful?

Reaching up, he tugged the end of my hair. “Come.”

I cast a confused glance at the house.

“Nah, cher, right here. I wanna see your red hair against the grass. I wanna be inside you with the rain comin’ down.”

Suddenly I wanted that, too. My knees gave way, and I joined him on the ground. As I lay back, I expected an unpleasant, damp chill. But I was as wet as the earth and the afternoon as hot as the sun. When he dragged at my jeans, I merely lifted my hips and let them go.

Somehow he managed to lose his pants, too. No doubt he’d had a lot of practice. I pushed that thought out of my head. Who he’d done in the past, even what he’d done, had nothing to do with this, with now.

The sky swelled above us, heavy with clouds and the rain. The wild vegetation shielded us from anyone who might walk by. As if there were anyone but the two of us this far into the swamp.

The thought made me bold. I wasn’t Diana Malone; I was merely a woman who wanted a man. This man. And she could have him. No one would ever know.

His hard, clever hands skimmed over me, both insistent and reverent, arousing even as they soothed. His breath brushed my breast as he licked a drop of water from the curve.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, the rumble of his voice a sensation all its own. “Are you as wet here,” a finger traced my hip, my thigh, “as you are here?”

My legs fell open, expecting that clever finger to discover the answer. Instead he slid down my body in a movement so fast, it left me gasping, even before his tongue swept into me.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said. “Wet both inside and out.”

I wanted to protest. I’d never been much for oral sex, which always seemed so personal—maybe because it was. I barely knew this man. But when I shifted uneasily, he grabbed my hips in his big, hard hands and held me still as he continued what he’d started. Within seconds I was beyond protest, tongue-tied. Thank goodness he had no such problem.

My body tightened, quivered, and he entered me in one smooth movement. As I was already convulsing, the press and release, the enticing rhythm of flesh into flesh, skin against skin, caused a moan to escape. Horrified, I bit my lip, choked it back.

He gazed at me, the clouds swirling behind his head, both the trees and his hair whipping madly in the wind. “Don’t stop, cher. Make all the noise you want. No one’ll hear you way out here. Besides,” he flexed his hips and stroked me deeper, leaning down to nuzzle my neck, his now-wet hair tickling my cheek, “I’m not gonna quit until you scream.”

“Th-that might take a while.” I wasn’t much of a screamer.

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I don’t care if it takes all night.”

He began to move again, murmuring encouragement, telling me to touch him, take him, fuck him. The latter disconcerted me, but something in his voice, a note of desperation, a tiny quiver of need, made the word less a profanity and more of a plea.

I did as he asked, clenching around him as the tremor in his voice spread through both his body and my own. I felt him come as the rain swirled around us, and I got so caught up in the depth of sensation, the scent, the sound, the feel of him and me together in the half-light, that I forgot I’d already had one orgasm and went ahead and had another.

I forgot a lot of things while I lay there, Adam’s head on my shoulder, his body still buried in mine. He shifted, sprawling half on the ground, half on me, his cheek pressed into my breast, his breath tickling my still-aroused nipple.

He traced a lazy finger across my belly. “You do that a lot?”

I stiffened. “Are you insinuating that I’m loose?”

“Loose?” He raised up on one elbow, using the hand that had been caressing me to shove his hair out of his face. His bracelet caught the light of the moon and turned from bronze to silver and back again. “You felt pretty tight to me.” His fingertips skimmed the curls between my thighs, and my skin danced. “What I meant was, come twice in ten minutes.”

My face went hot. I wasn’t sure what to say. Was that slutty?

I’d been with one man before today. I’d loved him with all of my heart. We’d had a good sex life. The best. I’d never wanted anyone else. Until now. I felt as if I’d betrayed my best friend.

I guess I had.

I started to get up, reach for my clothes. Adam yanked me back, and when I struggled he rolled his body on top of mine, capturing my legs between his and pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. The other held my hip still as I tried to buck him off.

“You keep that up, we’ll go again. I’m game.”

I could feel that he was. How could he be aroused so fast? What was he? Superstud?

Dumb question.

“Don’t be embarrassed, cher. You think a man doesn’t want a woman to come every time he touches her? I liked it.”

I had, too, but I wasn’t used to discussing sex in such detail with my body still humming from his. I wasn’t used to discussing sex at all. I’d learned the facts of life in the locker room of my private girls’ school, and to tell the truth... they’d gotten a couple of things wrong.

“Where you come from that you make love like a wild thing and get all red in the face when you talk about it?”

“Love?” This hadn’t been love, at least not for me. Not for him, either, I was certain. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who fell in love.

“Figure of speech.” His voice trilled down my body, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

“Find another,” I snapped, unreasonably annoyed at his cavalier attitude. Though why, I had no idea. I wanted him to be that way. I couldn’t bear anything else.

“You’d rather I say ‘you fuck like a wild thing’? How about ‘screw’? ‘Bang’? ‘Boink’? None of them seemed the right word at the time.”

My lips trembled, and he stared at me, horrified. Then I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself. “‘Boink’?”

He smiled, too, then shrugged, the movement making his slick chest rub against mine in new and enticing ways. “See what I mean? Not the right word.”

The laughter had been good, had made me feel almost closer to him than the sex had.

Almost.

Rain dotted my cheeks, sparkled in his hair. Suddenly my hands were free, and I drew a finger down his face. “There’s so much about you I don’t know.”

Amusement fled as wariness took its place. “There are things you don’t wanna know.”

He rolled off me and to his feet in a quick feline movement. Leaning over, he dug his cigarettes out of his pants, then glanced at the still-dripping sky.

“Did you kill someone?” I hadn’t meant to ask that, wasn’t sure why I had. Like he was going to tell me.

The pack of cigarettes crunched as his hand clenched, then he took a deep breath, and as he let it out, his muscles relaxed, his fingers unfurled, and the shiny crumpled paper thudded to the ground. “You know I have.”

I blinked. “Wh-what?”

“Why you ask if you don’t want to hear? I was in the army. I did what I had to do.”

“I wasn’t talking about the army.”

Slowly he turned, his eyes eerily light in the encroaching night “What were you talkin’ about?”

Adam might feel comfortable standing in the swamp buck naked, but I didn’t. I reached for my shirt drew it over my head, and started hunting for my underwear. “A detective came to see me.” Had it only been this morning? “There was a man killed in the swamp.”

“Another animal attack.”

I found the white scrap of cotton and shoved my legs inside. My jeans were soaked. I debated trying to put them on and decided against it. “Not an animal this time. Guy was strangled.”

Adam’s face revealed nothing; however, he didn’t seem surprised. “You think I did that?”

“Did you?”

“Who was this man? Why would I kill him?”

I didn’t know the answer to either question. “The detective wants to talk to you.”

“He can want all he likes.”

“You aren’t going to talk to him?” I asked.

“When I get around to it.”

“He seemed pretty determined.”

“He’ll have to be a lot more than determined to find me out here.”

He had a point.

I jerked my head toward the shack. “This is where you live?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He lifted his brows. “Why not?”

“You’ve got a perfectly good house, if you’d only take care of it.”

Adam’s face became shuttered. “I hate that place. I wish it would rot, but the damn thing never will.”

His vehemence surprised and confused me. “You moved out here because you hate the house, not because you—?” I stopped abruptly.

His mouth quirked. “You heard I lost my mind? Why you come here if you think I’m nuts?”

I hadn’t come here—actually I had, but not the way he meant. I’d followed him. Or at least I thought I had. “Why were you watching me at the mansion?”

He’d been leaning over, reaching for his clothes, giving me an eyeful of his terrific backside. At my question, he stilled for just an instant. If I hadn’t been admiring the view, I wouldn’t have noticed.

“Watching?” He straightened, but he didn’t face me. Instead, he seemed to be scanning the swamp.

“By the cypress trees. When I called out, you left, so I followed you. Didn’t I?”

“Mmm.” He scooped up his clothes, my jeans, and grabbed me by the arm. “I’ve had enough rain. Let’s go inside.”

I hung back. “Why did you lead me here?”

He stared at me from behind the tangled curtain of his hair. “I’m a man. Why you think?”

For some reason the idea that he’d led me into the swamp for sex annoyed me, which was stupid. I hadn’t followed him for a tour of the area. We were mature adults who were attracted to each other. There was no reason we shouldn’t act on that attraction. Just because Adam gave voice to the truth shouldn’t make me feel slutty and guilty and bad. But I did.

“I should go,” I said.

“Not tonight.”

“But—”

He kissed me, lips, tongue, teeth, and I forgot again. Where I was, who I was, the other questions I wanted to ask.

He lifted his head, and his gaze flickered to the swamp, then back to mine. “Stay with me. At least until the storm ends.”

I found myself nodding, even though I got the distinct impression he meant something other than the wind, the rain, and the thunder.

Chapter 15

Adam’s place definitely looked better on the inside. Not much furniture, but tidy and dry—what more could anyone want?

Hot water and a shot of whiskey—Irish, to be sure. I was suddenly so cold, my bones ached. Which made no sense. The storm hadn’t done one thing to dissipate the heat.

“I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.” Adam held out a hand. I stared at it confused. “Your shirt, cher.”

He wanted me to strip in the living room?

His lips twitched at my sudden shyness, but he didn’t point out that he’d already seen everything, touched and tasted it too. Instead he nodded to the nearest door. “Bathroom’s right there. Take a shower, toss out your things.”

“Hot water?” My voice quivered with hope.

Adam nodded. “I live here year-round. Could do without electric, but why? Bought a generator first thing.”

I practically ran into the bathroom, which was small but functional. I turned on the water, tossed my clothes through the door. As I waited for the steam to rise, my gaze flickered over the countertop.

Shaving cream, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, blow-dryer. I guess that solved the mystery of the un-wet hair, though why Adam had taken time to dry his locks while I wandered the swamp, I had no idea. Maybe he caught chills easily. He should try wearing a shirt and shoes.

Climbing into the shower, I nearly moaned as the water hit my skin. Though I would have liked to stand under the stream for an hour, I made do with fifteen minutes. Then I dried off, wrapped my hair in one towel and my body in a second, and went searching for Adam.

He stood at the front window watching as night descended completely. The thought of going out in that storm, walking alone through the dark, was too much. I would never be able to do it.

My clothes were gone, presumably whirling around the dryer with his. The image of our things all tangled together and warm made me think of other warm things that should be tangled together.

What was the matter with me? Was I suddenly obsessed with sex because it had been so long since I’d had any, or was I obsessed because I’d had it with him?

He turned, and our gazes met across the tiny room. He’d donned gray sweatpants and a bright yellow T-shirt, which made his skin appear more bronzed and his eyes more blue. I was so out of my league.

“I’ll get you somethin’ to wear while the dryer does its thing.”

I didn’t protest. There was no way I could be in the same room with Adam wearing only a towel and not be distracted by thoughts of him tearing it off of me.

Then again, would that be so bad? What were we going to do all night? Play chess?

I followed him down the hall, standing in the doorway as he rooted through a dresser. The bedroom was as sparse as the living room—nothing but a queen-size bed and a place to store clothes.

I lost the towel. The swish of the terry cloth down my legs, the slight thunk as it hit the floor, were faint, yet his head went up like a dear sensing danger in the forest. His eyes widened, and he dropped the T-shirt in his hand back into the drawer.

“The bed looks comfortable,” I said.

He crossed the floor, stopping just in front of me. Reaching up, he tugged the towel turban from my head. My damp, wildly curling hair tumbled free.

“Better than the ground,” he whispered.

Lightning flashed so brightly I still saw the flare after it faded. Thunder shook the earth; the windows rattled.

“Gonna be a long night, cher.”

“I hope so.”

He led me to the bed, and we passed the long night together.

I awoke in that hour when the moon dies and the sun is born—the darkest time. The storm had raged outside, wild and primitive. Inside we’d done our best to imitate nature. I was both exhausted and exhilarated. Achy and alive.

I turned my head. Adam’s face was so close; his breath caressed my cheek. I resisted the urge to brush back his hair and kiss his brow.

Just sex, I reminded myself. I had a job to do, a vow to fulfill, a life to lead. One that did not include a reclusive former Special Forces officer with too many secrets.

I didn’t believe he’d murdered a man with his bare hands. How could he, and then touch me so gently in the night? There was violence in him certainly, but not insanity. At least not yet.

I frowned at the thought and shifted to glance out the window. My heart seemed to leap into my throat. I wanted to call for Adam, but I couldn’t speak.

A wolf stared through the glass. Huge, black, beautiful. A shaft of excitement, of joy shot through me that I’d at last found something I was searching for. And then I saw the beast’s eyes.

Wolves have brown eyes—dark, light, sometimes hazel. They do not possess orbs of blue. What really freaked me out was the white surrounding the iris. I could swear those eyes were human— and familiar.

They were Adam’s eyes.

I sat up with a gasp, trying to catch my breath, finally succeeding. I looked at the window again. The wolf was gone.

Bracing myself, I looked at Adam. He slept on undisturbed.

I put my palm to my chest; my heart threatened to burst through my skin.

A dream, that was all. There hadn’t really been a wolf with human eyes staring at me with just a hint of desire— though I had to say his expression had been more famished than carnal.

I lay down, spent a few moments breathing in and out, trying to make my heart return to a normal pace, hoping I didn’t wake Adam with my foolishness. After his performance, he had to be more tired than I was.

The memory calmed me. I shifted closer, enjoying the warmth, the scent of his skin, the rhythm of his breathing. I hadn’t realized how much I hated sleeping alone. I drifted, perched on the precipice of sleep, when a tap at the window brought me wide awake again. My eyes snapped open. I expected the wolf; I did not expect Simon.

A soft sob escaped. Just a dream again, had to be. Simon was dead. He could not be outside Adam’s window.

I cringed at Simon seeing me in bed with another man, even if it was a dream Simon.

He tapped on the glass, crooked his finger; so I slipped from beneath the covers and padded naked across the floor.

Simon appeared exactly the same as he had the day he’d died. Tall and a bit gaunt—he’d always forgotten to eat unless I reminded him—his blond hair and blue eyes appeared almost Nordic. I hadn’t known he was British until he opened his mouth. That accent had been my undoing.

When I’d met him he was well respected in his field. By the time he died he was a laughingstock, referred to as “The Wolfman” by people who’d once admired him.

A few days before his death he finally told me why he was willing to risk everything to find something no one else believed in. He’d seen a werewolf as a child in England—out on the moors, in the fog—and ever since, he’d been unable to forget.

I’d rationalized away the sighting as too much American Werewolf in London for a twelve-year-old mind. He’d been understandably angry that the one person in the world who should believe him, didn’t, and when he’d received a call that a werewolf had been seen in northern Wisconsin, he’d gone alone.

I hadn’t believed him, and he’d died for it

Simon laid his palm against the glass. Droplets of rain ran down, skirting his fingers. I lifted my hand and pressed it to the windowpane, too. God, I missed him.

“D-baby,” he murmured.

Only the two of us knew that nickname.

“I’m here, Simon.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.”

He glanced over his shoulder as if someone had called him, then returned his gaze to mine. “I have to go.”

“Not yet.”

He stepped back. Weird. He wasn’t wet, and the rain was still coming down.

Or maybe not so weird after all.

“You promised,” he said.

I’d sworn till death do us part, but in my heart that meant forever. A love like ours just didn’t go away. I felt it now, swelling inside of me, making my eyes tear and my chest tighten. “Don’t leave me.”

“I never have. I’ll be with you until the end of time. You took a vow, D-baby. Remember?”

He’d come to remind me of the vow and not our love? Dream Simon or not, I wanted to slug him.

“I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been chasing legends every which way ever since you died. I haven’t found one damn thing.”

“You have to believe in order to see, not the other way around.”

He’d told me that countless times, but faith, for me, was tough. I was a scientist; I needed proof.

“Be safe,” he whispered; then he was gone.

I jolted as if I’d been startled awake. However, I wasn’t in bed; I was standing at the window. I couldn’t have been sleeping. Unless I’d been sleepwalking.

As I leaned close, my nose brushed the glass. Nothing was out there but the night. I inched back, and my gaze caught on the imprint of a hand.

My heart gave one hard thud before I came to my senses. I’d touched the window in my sleep that was all. To prove it, I fit my palm to the outline.

The fingertips on the glass extended half an inch past my own.

Chapter 16

“Who’s Simon?”

I spun toward the bed. “Where did you hear that?”

Adam rested his head on one palm, his face shuttered. “From you.”

“I never told you about him.”

“Not told, no. You said his name in your sleep. And since you’re sleeping with me, I want to know who he is.”

Had I dreamed Simon or not? I wasn’t certain. If I had, was that good or bad? If I hadn’t, what the hell?

I glanced at the window, but the handprint was gone. Had it ever been there in the first place?

“Who is he?” Adam sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. When my gaze returned to his, I saw that he was.

“Simon’s my husband.”

A flicker of violence passed over his face. “You didn’t think you should mention a husband? I might do a lot of things, but I try not to fuck another man’s wife if I can help it.”

“No. I’m not— I mean we’re not— He isn’t—”

Adam got out of the bed and crossed the floor so fast I barely had time to step back. When I did, I hit the wall. He grabbed me by the forearms and dragged me onto my toes. His grip hurt, but I was too bewildered to protest.

“He isn’t what?”

“Alive.” Or at least I didn’t think so.

Adam released me as if I were a hot potato; I would have fallen if I hadn’t had the wall to hold me up.

“Sorry.” He shoved a hand through his hair.

I wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for Simon’s death or for manhandling me, but I understood his anger. In fact, his fury at the idea I was married made me view him in a different light. Adam Ruelle hadn’t seemed the type to respect marriage vows, to take to heart the myth of one man, one woman, forever. If I’d been wrong about that, I’d been wrong about him. Which only confused me more.

“Forget it,” I said.

“You haven’t forgotten.”

“No.”

“You still love him. I could tell by the way you said his name.”

I wanted to ask how he knew so much about love, but I didn’t. The conversation only emphasized that we were practically strangers, and I wanted to keep it that way.

“I’ll always love Simon. Death can’t change what I feel.”

He stared at me so hard, I got the feeling he wanted to open my head and peek inside, find out what made me tick.

“How did he die?”

I didn’t want to talk about this, especially naked, so I yanked the sheet off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Adam caught the tail end and held on. “You dream of him.”

I wasn’t so sure it had been a dream, but I couldn’t tell Adam I’d seen my dead husband outside his window.

“I saw a wolf,” I blurted instead. “There.” I pointed. “Big, black, with weird blue eyes.”

If Adam hadn’t been nude, I wouldn’t have noticed him tense. His gaze flickered to the window and back. I was distracted by the ripple of muscle beneath skin, the wave along his abdomen like a softly flowing river.

“There was no wolf, cher.”

“What about the howls in the swamp? The tracks. The deaths?”

“What about them?”

“Why do you keep denying even the possibility that there’s a wolf or ten out here?”

“Because there isn’t.”

I gave a frustrated little shriek and resisted the urge to kick him.

“You want me to prove it? Tonight I take you. I know this swamp like I know my own name. If there’s anything here that doesn’t belong I’d have seen it.”

Unless he was hiding something, and I kind of thought that he was. Maybe I shouldn’t go tripping off merrily into the swamp with him in the dark. I might never be heard from again.

Be safe, Simon had said. What had he meant? From the loup-garou? Or from Adam?

What choice did I have? If I was going to fulfill my vow, I needed help. And the only help available was the only man who’d made me feel alive since my whole world died.

Life certainly was a vicious bitch.

Another thought occurred to me, one that made me dizzy with dismay. I collapsed on the bed. “I’m no damn good at this.”

Sex required responsibility. Protection. My celibate lifestyle had kept me free of disease. I was also free from birth control, being both a widow and an idiot.

The bed dipped as Adam sat beside me. His hip brushed mine, but he touched me nowhere else, and for that I was grateful. When he touched me I couldn’t think.

“You’re very good at this, if you’re askin’ me.”

“What?” My mind wasn’t keeping up with the conversation.

“You said you were no damn good, but you are.”

I smiled before I could stop myself. “Thanks. But I meant the technicalities. Protection. We didn’t use any.”

I saw the understanding spread across his face. I waited for the horror, the panic, the escape, but it didn’t come. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I think I do.”

“You wanna ask me have I been with a lot of women?”

I shrugged. My lame-ass equivalent of “Hell, yes!”

“Once I fucked like rabbit, my father said.”

“How ... flattering.”

“He thought so.”

Now would be the time to ask about his father. Then again, what did it matter how, when, or why Ruelle Senior had died?

“Me, I was lookin’ for love. What’s that song? In all the wrong places.”

The sadness on his face made me want to touch him, but I knew where that would lead.

“Those days are gone,” he murmured. “Love isn’t for me.”

“Why not?”

Adam contemplated my face. “You aren’t lookin’ for love. We both know that.”

He was right, so I dipped my head.

“I want you. Shouldn’t, but can’t seem to help myself. I see that red hair …” He picked up a strand and rubbed it between his fingers. “Smell your skin, stare into your pretty green eyes, and I lose my mind.”

Being wanted for my body was something new; I kind of liked it.

“Since I left the army, there’s been no one.”

“No one?” I found that hard to believe.

“No one,” he insisted. “And in the army, they tested us regular for every old thing. I came out clean, cher, and clean I still am. Right?” He quirked his brows, and my face heated.

I’d never had a conversation like this before, although if I planned to spend the rest of my life alone, with the occasional lover to take off the edge, I’d have to get used to them.

“There was never anyone but Simon,” I whispered. The words until you hung in the air unspoken.

Adam touched my hair again. “Why not?”

“He was everything, and when he died—” My throat closed.

“A part of you went with him.”

I didn’t bother to answer. Couldn’t, really.

“It’s not natural to be alone.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. You’ll fall in love again.”

“No,” I snapped.

“No?”

“I don’t ever want to feel again the way I felt when he died.”

“So you feel nothing?”

“I had my shot. Simon was it for me.”

“You don’t think you can love twice in one lifetime?”

I lifted my head, looked him straight in the eye. “No.”

He must have seen that I meant what I said, because he gave a sharp nod, as if we’d sealed a bargain. I guess we had.

“You’re like a wolf,” he murmured, “mating for life. If one dies, the other is forever alone.”

“How do you know so much about wolves?”

“Common knowledge, no?’

I stared at him, suspicious though I wasn’t sure why. He was right. The whole mating-for-life thing was common knowledge.

“There’s more to be concerned about than STDs.” All I needed was a baby. I could barely take care of myself. Adam wasn’t doing much better.

In truth, I wasn’t crazy about kids. I didn’t long to be a mother. Maybe this made me a freak of nature, but that’s how I felt. I was an only child. I’d never played well with others. Without brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, I’d had neither a reason nor an inclination to babysit. Kids just made me twitchy.

Simon and I had decided all we needed was each other. We’d planned to travel the world, sleep in tents until we couldn’t anymore, then retire. Besides, if I wasn’t going to have Simon’s child, I certainly wasn’t going to have anyone else’s.

“I can’t,” Adam murmured.

To make sure we were talking about the same thing, I asked, “Can’t what?”

“I can’t get you, or anyone else, pregnant.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I could ask what was wrong with him, but since he hadn’t offered to tell me, should I? What was the etiquette for something like this? I didn’t have a clue.

Adam stood and turned away, as if the conversation upset him. Maybe he’d been wounded, although I hadn’t seen any scars and I’d seen pretty much everything. Perhaps, unlike me, he’d wanted children one day. Learning he’d never have them might account for some of the sadness in his eyes.

The question was: Did I believe him?

I studied Adam’s tense shoulders. A better question might be: Why would he lie?

Since I couldn’t come up with an answer, I went to him and slid my arms around his waist. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No?”

The way he said the word, with that French twist, always made him sound just a tad sarcastic, which was probably the whole idea.

“For us, that’s a good thing.”

He turned in my arms, taking me into his. “Whatever you say.”

“We’re having a—”

Adam tilted his head. “A what?”

An affair sounded too long-term and old-fashioned, a fling too flippant for the intensity of what we’d shared.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “But whatever it is, it’s about sex, not love, or kids, or anything but the moment. Right?”

“What man would say no?”

Lowering his head, he kissed me, putting all of himself into the embrace. Only later, when we were back in bed, my heart still pounding, my chest still heaving after another bout of exactly what I’d wanted, did I consider his response. Or rather his lack of one. Adam had the habit of answering every one of my questions with a question of his own.

And that wasn’t really an answer at all, was it?

Chapter 17

I awoke to the sun and an empty bed. I tried not to be hurt. This wasn’t a relationship. We’d both made that perfectly clear. So why did I feel as if I’d been screwed in more ways than one?

The only indication that Adam had been here at all were his jeans on the floor and my dry clothes folded on the dresser. My gris-gris perched at the apex. I wondered what he’d made of that. Probably nothing. Having lived here all of his life, he’d no doubt seen a thousand of them.

Would it still work after being soaked by rain, then scorched by electric heat? I had to hope so, since I needed to get through the swamp without being eaten by alligators. I couldn’t believe I was putting such store in a bag of herbs, except I hadn’t seen a gator since Charlie died.

I got dressed and shoved the gris-gris in my pocket. My hair was a mess, or at least it felt that way to my fingertips. I couldn’t find a mirror anywhere.

There was something odd about that but I couldn’t figure out what without coffee. There wasn’t a pot in the house, either.

Maybe Adam was just a guy’s guy—didn’t care to primp. And really, what could he do? He was gorgeous wearing tattered pants, a two days’ growth of beard, and twigs in his hair. I wish I could say the same about myself, minus the beard, of course.

In the kitchen, I pounced at a scrap of paper on the counter, frowning at the map, which detailed a path from the shack to the mansion. There wasn’t a single personal word on the page.

What had I expected? A declaration of everlasting love?

“A little praise would be nice. Hey, Diana, rabbits pale in comparison to you.’ “ I snorted at my own wit. Might as well, no one else would.

The storm was gone, leaving behind a bright blue sky through which the sunshine blazed. Shards of light sparkled off the glistening droplets of rain that lingered everywhere. From the position of the sun, I’d missed not only breakfast but lunch.

In the night the cypress trees had seemed to blot out the moon and the stars. Against the sun, they weren’t any help at all.

I glanced about hopefully, mind cursing my own stupidity when I realized I was looking for Adam. Why would he leave a map if he was going to hang around? Even stupider was my desire to see him. If I wasn’t careful I’d forget every vow I’d made. I’d stop searching for the loup-garou and spend all my time in bed. The idea was far too tempting.

Annoyed with the wishy-washiness of my resolve, I forced myself to march toward the bedroom window to search for tracks. The ground was damp; there had to be something. Unless there’d been nothing.

Coming around the corner of the house, I stopped dead. The earth beneath Adam’s bedroom window had been turned up, as if someone had considered planting flowers or a shrub, then changed their mind.

Except the yard was a swamp. Anything planted there would be overtaken in a month. What would be the point?

There wasn’t one, unless the ground had been dug up to hide the tracks of a man or a beast.

I wanted to see Adam more than ever. Instead, I followed the map, returned to the mansion, changed my clothes, and left for town. I planned to head straight to Cassandra’s. Something weird was going on—in either the swamp or my head or both. She was the only person who’d given me any sort of answers. Bizarro as they might be.

However, as I was trolling for a parking place, I remembered the library and the newspaper articles I’d already paid for, so I swung the car around and made a slight detour.

The clippings were at the desk as Mrs. Beasly had promised, but she wasn’t. When I asked for her, the girl who’d handed me the packet said, “She never came in to work.”

People ditched work all the time, though Mrs. Beasly didn’t seem the type. She was more the type to have fallen and she couldn’t get up.

“Did someone check her house?”

The young woman, who looked nothing like a librarian in the low-slung pants that barely covered her crack and the high-cut shirt, which barely extended beyond her breasts, nodded. “She’s just... gone. Her car, her purse, her suitcase all right where she left them, but no Mrs. Beasly.”

That was new. No animal attack, no death by strangulation. Just poof. Maybe Mrs. Beasly’s disappearance was unrelated.

I glanced at the manila envelope in my hand. But I doubted it.

I thanked the girl and took a chair in the library, then dumped the clippings onto the table.

Local Man Commits Suicide at Home read the first headline. The only thing different about the second was the date—about twenty-two years later. The articles went a long way toward explaining why Adam loathed the mansion. I wasn’t wild about the idea of multiple suicides there myself.

The information was remarkably similar in the two deaths. Law enforcement theories ranged from self-termination to murder and back again. The family was investigated. The angle of the gun, lack of motive, and concrete alibis exonerated them.

“Survived by one-year-old grandson,” I read in Grampa’s obituary, earning a scowl from the student at the next table. If she put her finger to her lip and told me to “shh!” I’d be tempted to shout. I always was.

I searched through the clippings, looking for the obituary of Adam’s father, but there wasn’t one. Odd.

And that comment Mrs. Beasly had made about the lack of girls born in the last century, I should determine if that was true—though what it had to do with anything, I couldn’t decide. I checked it out anyway, and unless someone had managed to birth a girl at home and keep the child off the records completely—a Herculean task even without the practice of assigning Social Security numbers in the nursery—there hadn’t been a Ruelle girl born in over a hundred years. I couldn’t find any obituary for Ruelle senior, either.

Which was weird. But not impossible.

I hadn’t asked Adam about any of this. When was the appropriate time to bring up an unfortunate tendency toward suicide in the family or their strange genetic anomaly? When he was making me come the first time? Or maybe after the third?

I left the library, hurrying toward Cassandra’s, dodging tourists, every one seemed to be headed in the opposite direction. The wail of a saxophone hovered on the humid air, the mournful sound drawing me along with the crowd to Jackson Square.

Located near the river, Jackson Square had once been a military parade ground. Now it was a civilized garden spot, bordered by shops, restaurants, and the towering St. Louis Cathedral. Artists had set up booths to sell their wares, but a good share of the tables belonged to psychics and Tarot card readers as well.

In front of the cathedral, there appeared to be a party in progress. Musicians played, and if they weren’t playing they danced, while tourists tapped their feet or tossed change into the open instrument cases placed strategically on the street. Everyone was having so much fun, I wanted to. Inching closer, I let myself be carried away.

I’d never been much for jazz, but this was something special. How could they make such spectacular music when people appeared to join and leave the band at will?

“Does this happen every day?” I asked the man next to me.

“Pretty much. The players change—whoever can make it does. Isn’t it amazing?”

Definitely.

Two police cars were parked right behind the musicians. The officers listened to the music, too, but they were also watching the crowd.

“What’s with them?”

“Trying to keep the drug dealing to a minimum. Puts off the tourists.”

Such a pretty place, such beautiful music—of course there was something rotten beneath the surface.

One of the officers separated from the others and strolled toward Muriel’s, a famous local restaurant, complete with the requisite ghost. A preppy couple was engaged in conversation with a grubby young man. When he caught sight of the cop heading his way, he took off. The couple’s eyes widened, and they disappeared almost as fast as the dealer had. The officer didn’t even spare them a glance.

Though I would have liked nothing better than to walk into Muriel’s, take a table on the terrace, sip a glass of wine while I waited for a glimpse of their ghost, I wasn’t on vacation. I was working.

I glanced at the sky. While I’d been listening to the music, the sun had fallen down, leaving dusk in its wake. I’d lost an entire day and gotten very little accomplished. Nevertheless, I really should check in with Frank.

As I exited Jackson Square, headed for Royal Street, I pulled out my cell phone. Before I could dial, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face walking toward me. I froze.

How did one greet a dead man?

Chapter 18

My stopping in the middle of the sidewalk had screwed up the flow of people, but since this was New Orleans no one shoved or cursed me. Most of them had drinks in their hands, and at this time of the day were mighty mellow.

Except for Charlie, who took off like the drug dealer had only a moment ago.

I wasn’t much for running, but I leaped into the narrow street, dodging cars, horse-drawn carriages, and people who’d gotten sick of stumbling along the crowded, broken cement.

I might have been mistaken about the identity of the last dead man I’d seen walking. Him I hadn’t known personally. Besides, why would Charlie run if he didn’t have something to hide?

And being a zombie? Big secret.

I couldn’t believe I was even considering such a thing, but hey—this was New Orleans and he was a dead guy.

As I ran, I reached for my zombie-revealing powder, sending up a murmur of thanks when I found it in my pocket. Now all I had to do was catch him.

Easier said than done. My chest tight, my lungs burned. I might be able to kick ass in a self-defense class, but jogging I sucked at. Charlie was pulling away from me. He turned a corner several blocks ahead. By the time I got there, he was gone.

I’d chased him out of the touristy section and into a slightly run-down area where small jazz clubs lined the street. Mostly empty now, a few stood open as employees prepared the places for the evening. They all had interesting names like The Spotted Cat.

A thin, elderly black man swept dust out the front door of a building. As I passed he nodded, smiled, and murmured, “Ma’am.”

“Did anyone run through here just now?”

He shook his head but kept his eyes on his broom. I frowned. He had to have seen Charlie. Unless my quarry could just up and disappear.

I retraced my steps to Jackson Square, where the party continued. I no longer had any desire to linger. The sun was completely gone.

At Cassandra’s, I burst in, then stared. Detective Sullivan appeared as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

“Ms. Malone. What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I have questions for Ms.—” He turned to Cassandra. “What’s your last name?”

“Priestess Cassandra is good enough.”

“I am not calling you Priestess.”

“Cassandra’s fine, too.”

Detective Sullivan’s face got so red I was tempted to help him loosen his tie. I didn’t think he’d appreciate the gesture. The man probably slept in a suit.

My gaze lowered to that tie, imprinted with a tiny Lucy holding a football for a clueless Charlie Brown—I was starting to think Sullivan wasn’t as humorless as he pretended to be.

“You two know each other?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra and I said at the same time.

“How?”

“I came in to shop.”

“For what?”

“What are you, a cop?”

He blinked, a confused expression replacing his annoyance. “Well, yeah.”

Cassandra laughed, then turned the sound into a cough. I took pity on the man and answered his question—kind of. “I heard this was an interesting place. Came in, looked around, and—”

“We bonded,” Cassandra finished.

“Bonded,” he repeated.

“I liked her; she liked me. Pals.” Cassandra crossed her middle finger over her index finger. “We’re like this.”

Now I was the one who choked on a laugh.

Sullivan didn’t appear convinced, but he let the matter drop. “I’m investigating a missing person.”

I thought of Mrs. Beasly. The New Orleans PD was really on the ball.

“Well, not exactly a person,” the detective said.

Cassandra and I exchanged glances.

“At least not anymore. There’s a body missing from the morgue.”

I started, but the detective was staring at Cassandra and not at me. He didn’t notice my reaction. Cassandra did, but she was savvy enough not to ask why that information disturbed me.

“Whenever that happens,” Cassandra said, “the voodoo priestess is always the first suspect.”

“Because?” I asked.

“Zombies.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “What else?”

“You can’t believe Cassandra is raising zombies,” I demanded, even as my mind raced. I’d come here halfway believing I’d chased a zombie out of Jackson Square. I should tell Detective Sullivan, but I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth.

“I don’t believe it,” he muttered.

“He’s from out of town,” Cassandra said.

I didn’t bother to point out that she was, too. Cassandra seemed as much a part of New Orleans as the humidity and the jazz.

“His superior ordered him to come,” she continued.

Sullivan made an impatient sound. “I don’t understand this place.”

“You’re not supposed to.” Cassandra patted Sullivan’s arm. “Since you didn’t find the body in my closet, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No.” He headed for the door, stopped with his hand on the knob. “I was going to come and talk to you tomorrow, Ms. Malone. Have you seen Adam Ruelle?”

“Yes.”

“And you gave him my message?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t call.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t have the manpower to beat the swamp for him. All I want to do is ask a few questions.”

“You really think Adam strangled a perfect stranger with his bare hands?” I asked.

“Someone did.”

True.

“Funny that you should call the victim a stranger,” he continued.

“Funny ha-ha? Or funny weird?”

Sullivan’s lips didn’t even twitch. “The victim had no ID. He doesn’t match any missing persons report; no record of anyone of his description entering town by public transportation; fingerprints don’t pop in the FBI files.”

“Maybe it was a plain old robbery on Bourbon Street,” Cassandra said, “and someone dumped the guy somewhere else so they’d have enough time to get out of Dodge.”

“Tourists have hotel rooms, rental cars. One thing they don’t usually have is a fully automatic rifle.”

My mouth opened, then shut. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Extremely.”

“How do you know the gun was his?”

“His fingerprints were all over the thing. Besides, if it was a robbery, why leave a gun like that lying around? Thing has to be worth some money, even without the weird bullets.”

“What kind of weird?” I asked.

“Silver.” He opened the door. “Who uses silver bullets?” Without waiting for an answer, the detective left.

Cassandra and I stared after him, then looked at each other. “Uh-oh,” we both said at the same time.

“Appears you aren’t the only one searching for a loup-garou,” Cassandra murmured.

“I am now.”

“You should be careful. Someone doesn’t want the beast found.”

“Seems to me like someone doesn’t want the beast killed.”

Cassandra’s lips pursed. “You’ve got a point.”

I shook my head, gave a little laugh, even though I didn’t find much of this funny. “Is everyone around here nuts?”

“That’s rhetorical, right?”

“Silver bullets, missing bodies, zombies.”

“Welcome to New Orleans.” She tilted her head. “You look like you haven’t slept at all. Did something happen in the swamp?”

I’d planned to tell her of Charlie; I’d forgotten about the wolf and Simon.

“It was probably just a dream.”

Cassandra’s eyes sharpened. “Dreams have meaning. Tell me.”

So I did.

“The wolf sounds like a dream.”

“My dead husband at the window doesn’t?”

“In this town—not so much.”

A chill passed over me that had nothing to do with the overactive air conditioner. Simon was dead. I’d buried him years ago. I didn’t believe in ghosts or zombies or werewolves. Really.

“You said there weren’t any tracks.”

“There could have been. The ground was all turned up.”

Cassandra frowned. “Maybe it was like that even before your dream.”

Maybe. But I doubted it.

“You’re intent on finding a loup-garou,” she continued. “You see one at the window. Simple wish fulfillment.”

“And Simon?”

“Could be the same thing. You miss him, he’s there.”

I wrinkled my nose. “His ghost?”

“Why not?”

“Why now?”

“Guilt?”

I hadn’t told Cassandra about doing the horizontal mambo with Adam Ruelle, but from the lift of her brow, she knew anyway.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty, Diana. Your husband’s gone; you’re not.”

“I understand that here.” I pointed to my head. “But here?” I patted my chest “Not so much.”

“I know.”

From the expression on her face, she did know, and I wanted to ask who she’d lost, how long it had been. After all, we’d bonded. But she shook off the sadness, smiling brightly, and I got the distinct impression her past was off-limits.

“You want to tell me why you came careening in here like something was chasing you?”

“Oh, yeah! Charlie Wagner.”

Cassandra’s smile faded. “How did you—?”

“What?”

“His body is the one that’s missing.”

“Which might be why I saw him on Jackson Square.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Did you use the powder?”

“He took off. Disappeared.” I paused. “Can a zombie disappear?”

“Not that I know of.”

Was I having this conversation?

“Where did you lose him?” Cassandra asked.

“Frenchmen Street.”

She grabbed a huge purse from under the counter, then chose items from the shelves and shoved them inside. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Frenchmen Street”

“Because... ?”

“Zombies aren’t the smartest beings on the planet. They follow orders, then return to their master.”

“I don’t believe this,” I muttered.

“You do, or you wouldn’t be here.”

The woman was right too often for her own good.

“You have the powder?” She locked the door behind us.

“Yep.”

“Okay. We find him, reveal him, put him back where he belongs.”

“Which is?”

“Good question. I’ve never heard of a zombie being raised before they were buried. But then again, bodies aren’t exactly buried around here. They’re encrypted. Is that a word?”

“Got me.”

Cassandra moved at a fast clip down Royal Street, turning on St Peter and heading for Jackson Square. Night had fallen; the moon that rose was just over half-full. I’d need to wait over a week to search for the loup-garou again.

Was I really adjusting my job because of the phases of the moon? Yes. The unbelievable became more believable with every passing hour.

“Can’t we do this in the daytime?” I asked.

“No.”

“I saw him in the daytime. Well, not exactly daytime, but it wasn’t night, either.”

Cassandra stopped, turned, and put a hand on my shoulder. “It isn’t that we can’t wait; it’s that we shouldn’t. Zombies are rarely raised for the good of mankind. The longer Charlie’s waltzing around, the more trouble he’ll cause.”

“You’re the expert.”

We started walking again.

“What did he look like?” she asked.

“Charlie.”

“I mean was there any decay? What about his throat wound?”

I shook my head. “He looked the same as the day I met him.”

She stopped again, right inside Jackson Square. The artisans and psychics were still there; the music had stopped. “You’re saying his throat wasn’t bloody and gaping? His body hadn’t started to rot?”

“I think I’d have noticed.” Along with everyone else on the street.

She bit her lip and stared at the ground. “Weird.”

“What are you getting at?”

Cassandra lifted her troubled gaze to mine. “Ever seen Night of the Living Dead?”

“No.”

“Zombies aren’t supposed to appear alive. A zombie is a walking corpse.”

“The movie could be wrong. And wouldn’t that be a shock?”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“You don’t think so.”

“No.” She cut past the cathedral, and I followed. “Maybe Charlie is too newly dead to decay.”

“Then how did he heal his throat wound?”

“Yeah.” She glanced at me. “How did he?”

“You’re the voodoo priestess.”

“Whoever did this has power beyond anything we can imagine. Not only was Charlie raised; he was healed.” She shook her head. “I don’t like it.”

I had to say I wasn’t crazy about it, either.

Chapter 19

Frenchmen Street was deserted except for bartenders, waitresses, and local musicians ready to play a set for tips.

“Won’t get busy here until after nine or ten,” Cassandra said. “If you like, once we’re done, we can hang out and listen to the best jazz in town.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. We’d come after a zombie, and once we put him back... wherever... Cassandra wanted to listen to music and drink wine spritzers.

When in Rome ... By then I probably would need a drink.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now we start walking through alleys, peeking in bars.”

“Seems a little half-assed to me.”

“You got a better idea?”

Actually, I did.

“Hey, Charlie!” I shouted. “Chaaaaaaarlie!”

One bartender and two waitresses stepped onto the sidewalk, saw us, shrugged, and went back to work.

I glanced at Cassandra. “You said names have power.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She took a deep breath and shouted, “Charlie!”

Farther down, past the jazz clubs, a head poked out between a grocery store and an abandoned building. I recognized that head even before Charlie stepped into the flare of a streetlight.

“That’s him,” I whispered.

“Get the powder.”

I did as she said, and each of us took a little into our hand.

“Remember, blow it right into his face.”

We took one step in Charlie’s direction and he ran.

“Hell!” Cassandra started to run, too. “He isn’t supposed to run.”

I hustled after her. I had longer legs, but Cassandra had less weight on hers. “Why not?”

“Because it should be all he can do to shuffle. This guy is weird.”

“This guy is dead.”

She didn’t bother to answer. Charlie was too fast to keep up a conversation and keep up with him.

He led us away from the dewy lights of Frenchmen Street, down roads I couldn’t name without a sign, past signs I couldn’t see without a light. Cassandra didn’t seem disturbed, but she probably knew where we were going. Nevertheless, I didn’t think it was a good idea to chase a corpse all over New Orleans when all we had for protection was a zombie-revealing powder that might or might not work.

“Maybe we should let him go.” I wheezed.

“Not on your life.” Cassandra wasn’t wheezing. “This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to a zombie. I’m not giving up the chance to—”

Ah, she did have to take a deep breath. I felt so much better. “To what?”

Her gaze flicked past me. “That’s Louis Armstrong Park.”

I stopped running.

Louis Armstrong Park was not a place we wanted to be after the dark. The only place worse was—

“He’s going into St. Louis Cemetery Number One.”

That.

All the guidebooks said, in big, bold, red letters, not to enter any of the cemeteries at night. And not because of a zombie problem. There was a certain diceyness, even in the daytime, that made it best to visit in groups.

Up until about eighty years ago, this part of New Orleans had been known as Storyville and was the only legal red-light district in the country. Customers could peruse a book that listed the bordellos and even had pictures of the prostitutes. Jazz flourished, too, since the musical movement was not considered legitimate until much later. Even after prostitution became illegal again, Storyville remained the place to find a certain kind of girl well into the 1960s.

A police station had been built nearby. However, the area still had a dangerous aura that never seemed to go away.

“Let’s go back to your place.” I tugged on Cassandra’s arm.

“No.” Her mouth thinned into a stubborn line.

“Why are you so obsessed with this?”

Her face took on a faraway expression, and for an instant I thought she might confide in me; then the stubbornness returned. “I have my reasons. You still have your powder?”

“Yes. But I’d feel better if I had a gun.” The one Adam had given me was still locked in the trunk of my car, where it was going to be of so much use to us.

Without commenting, Cassandra reached into her bag and withdrew a very long knife. I gaped. Who was this woman?

“It probably isn’t a good idea to walk around with that.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Believe me, in this neighborhood, it is.”

“There’s no one here but us.”

“You’re wrong. They’re all over the place.” She headed for the cemetery.

The back of my neck tingled. Who were “they”?

Not wanting to be left alone, I scurried to catch up just as Cassandra reached the front of St. Louis Cemetery Number One. Barbed wire lined the top of the stone fence. The front gate was iron and sported a big lock. I breathed a sigh of relief, then Cassandra reached out and gave it a shove. The gate slid open.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

She cast me an amused glance. “How do you think Charlie got in?”

“He couldn’t just slide through the walls?”

“He’s a zombie, not a ghost.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Cassandra lifted a palm filled with powder. “Let’s find out.”

Without waiting for me to agree or disagree, she slipped through the gate. I glanced longingly at the street, which was lit up like the Superdome on Super Sunday. There were lots of cars and even a few non-zombie people; I wanted to stay. But I couldn’t let Cassandra go alone, so I followed her inside.

The half-moon only shone enough light into St. Louis Cemetery Number One to make the shadows dance and the white stone gleam. Other than that, darkness reigned.

“Watch your step,” Cassandra said. “A lot of the old markers are crumbling. Easy to trip.”

“Where are we going?”

“Best place to look for a zombie would be Marie Laveau’s tomb.”

“If you say so.”

The crypt of the New Orleans voodoo queen wasn’t very far from the front gate. Tall but otherwise unimpressive, it was tucked among many others. I wouldn’t have taken the white boxy monument for anything special if not for the flowers in front of the door and the Xs drawn on the walls.

“What are those?” I whispered.

“People believe if they mark three Xs on Marie’s tomb, scratch the ground three times with their feet, or rap three times on the grave, their wish will be granted.”

I started to hum “Knock Three Times.”

Cassandra made a soft sound of amusement, then moved closer to the tomb and rapped on the door. Once. Twice. Three times.

I froze as the sound echoed in the stillness of the night. As I half-expected someone to answer, my head snapped around when a bell began to ring somewhere in the cemetery.

“Dead ringer.” Cassandra started in the direction of the sound. Since I had no desire to stay behind and see if her rapping had woken the voodoo queen, I did too.

“What the hell is a dead ringer?”

“You never heard the expression?”

“Sure. But it means someone who resembles someone else. What does that have to do with a bell in the cemetery?” I rubbed my arms against a sudden chill. “In the dark, in the night.”

“This place was opened in 1789, back when they didn’t know yellow fever was spread by mosquitoes. People thought it could be passed from person to person, be they living or dead.”

“Understandable.”

“They placed the cemetery outside the city limits in an attempt to keep the fever away. But so many died, and so many panicked, sometimes people got buried before they were dead.”

“Bummer.”

“Times ten. Because of the unique burial practices here, the tombs are opened to inter new bodies. When they started to find fingernail furrows in the doors, they came up with a brilliant idea.”

The bell stopped ringing, and the ensuing silence was so loud, I heard both of us breathing.

Cassandra pointed to a crypt. “They installed a bell on top, with a string leading inside. People were told if they suddenly awoke in a dark, enclosed space all they had to do was find the string and ring the bell. The cemetery attendant would come and let them out.”

“Pretty smart.”

“Except when people began to see the folks they’d only buried a few days ago walking around on the street they were understandably freaked. They coined the term dead ringer to explain the phenomenon.”

I contemplated the now-silent bell. “Who was ringing this one?”

“Let’s find out.”

“Let’s not.” I grabbed at her arm, but she was already gone.

The door to the tomb faced away from us. Before we could turn the corner, a loud thunk split the night. Cassandra stopped so fast, I ran into her back.

“Sounded like a door,” she whispered.

“Are there still cemetery attendants?”

“No.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

Together we peeked around the corner and discovered Charlie helping a woman out of the crypt. The name on the tomb read: Favreau. I filed that away for later use.

“You take him; I’ll take her.” Cassandra stepped out of hiding.

Both Charlie and the woman growled at us.

“Mrs. Beasly,” I blurted.

She gave no indication that she heard me or that she knew her name, just continued to snarl in tandem with Charlie. I hadn’t thought a person could snarl, and while Cassandra and I were too far away to be sure, I could swear both of them had fangs.

Cassandra cut a quick glance in my direction. “You know her?”

“Missing librarian.”

No wonder they couldn’t find her. Why search in a crypt marked: Favreau?

“Is she dead?” I asked.

“You see a lot of live people climb out of tombs snarling?”

“Not lately.”

When the two stalked in our direction, Cassandra lifted her palm and put her lips near her wrist. I did the same.

“Now,” Cassandra ordered.

We exhaled; the powder flew, coating their faces in pale yellow particles. My arm dropped to my side as Charlie and Mrs. Beasly stopped walking and started coughing. I waited for them to shrivel, disintegrate, disappear. But they didn’t.

Charlie smacked me in the chest with the flat of his hand. Any air I had left in my lungs rushed out as I sailed backward and slammed into a crypt wall. I collapsed, too stunned to move.

Cassandra’s knife flashed; Mrs. Beasly hissed as smoke rose from the cut in her forearm. She recovered quickly, backhanding Cassandra hard enough that she joined me on the ground. Mrs. Beasly was far too strong to be a live little old lady.

The two advanced. I tried to get up, but I was still loopy. Cassandra didn’t look much better; she was going to have a shiner in the morning. She glanced around for her knife, but the weapon had clattered in another direction when she was hit. Not that it had done her any good against the superhuman zombie librarian.

Was that redundant?

The two paused a few feet away, their bodies blotting out the light of the half-moon so that a silver halo appeared behind their heads. I couldn’t see their faces, but the mumbles coming from their mouths were more animal than human.

“I don’t think that zombie powder works,” Cassandra said.

Two sharp reports split the night. Charlie and Mrs. Beasly jerked once and then exploded in blazing balls of fire.

“I don’t think they’re zombies,” I said.

Chapter 20

Cassandra and I managed to get to our feet with the aid of the tomb at our backs. My head felt as if it might split in two. The scent of burning flesh wasn’t helping. I tried to catch a glimpse of whoever had shot Charlie and Mrs. Beasly, but I saw no one.

The moon shadowed more than illuminated, and the graveyard was chock-full of tombs. Go figure. The shooter could be hiding anywhere. However, if he or she had meant us harm, he or she wouldn’t have stopped at two bullets.

“Let’s get out of here.” Cassandra snatched her knife out of the gravel.

“Now she wants to leave.”

“Don’t you?”

“I never wanted to come here in the first place.”

She tugged me toward the rear of the burial ground. I hung back, peering longingly at the streetlights. “What’s wrong with the front door?”

“Those gunshots are going to bring cops, if not thugs. I know a less public way out.”

“Of course you do.” I went with her. I didn’t want to explain why there were two flaming dead people in the middle of St. Louis Cemetery Number One either. I doubted I could.

If the police found Cassandra here they’d think she’d been stealing bodies, and then some. I needed her free and able to help me figure out what was going on, not locked up for body snatching and desecration of the dead. If they even locked people up for that anymore, although I kind of thought they did.

She led me past a huge monument, which I recognized from the film Easy Rider. Peter Fonda had climbed up to sit in the lap of an angel. I’d thought the scene a bit sacrilegious even then. Now, in the silver-tinged night, I thought it more so. This was a sacred place, a haunted place, a place where the living did not belong, and I wanted out of here as fast as I could go.

We left the white stone monuments behind and stepped into a small rectangle filled with more traditional markers.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Protestant section.”

No wonder it was so small.

“There.” Cassandra pointed to a path that seemed to cut through someone’s backyard.

‘We probably shouldn’t—” I began.

“What the hell!”

An exclamation from the front of the cemetery was followed by more voices and the patter of feet. Flashlight beams began to flicker round and round. I practically dived out of the city of the dead.

Cassandra and I emerged onto Robertson Street, which divided St. Louis Number One and St. Louis Number Two. From the guidebooks, I knew that where we were now was even rougher than where we’d been. But after what I’d just seen, I had a hard time caring.

We cut down the side of the cemetery, headed for the lights, but when we reached Basin Street we turned in the opposite direction of the increasing number of police cars. A fire engine and an ambulance passed within minutes. They weren’t going to be much help.

“What do you think they were?” Cassandra asked.

“You first.”

“Not zombies. The powder didn’t work and—” She shot me a sideways glance. “As far as I know, zombies don’t explode when they’re shot.”

“What does?”

“No clue. But did you see... ?”

“The fangs?”

She let out a sigh of relief. “I thought I was nuts.”

“Of course you aren’t. It’s perfectly sane to see dead people with fangs.” And I wasn’t even being sarcastic.

“I saw the same thing you did,” I continued. “But I don’t know what I saw.”

“I think I do.”

“Explain it to me.”

“Dead people rising, growing fangs, and acquiring superhuman strength. You do the math.”

I’d never been very good at math, but I could see where she was headed. “Vampires?”

“This is New Orleans.”

“You keep saying that. It’s still planet Earth, last I checked.”

“Ever hear of Anne Rice?”

“She writes fiction, Cassandra. Vampires aren’t real.”

“Then what the hell was that?”

I didn’t know, but I was damn straight going to find out. “What do you know about vampires?”

“Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Laurell K. Hamilton.” She shrugged. “I like vampire books.”

“And you call yourself a voodoo priestess.” We made our way to Royal Street. “What’s the common thread in all of the books?”

“The undead live forever. Coffins. Crucifix. Biting on the neck.”

“Charlie was bitten on the neck. By an animal.”

“According to legend, vampires can take the form of a wolf.”

“Bingo,” I whispered.

I couldn’t believe in the short time since I’d arrived in New Orleans I’d gone from searching for an out-of-place wolf in the swamp to chasing zombies and considering vampires. Then again, this was New Orleans.

We reached Cassandra’s shop.

“Do you have any books?” I asked.

“On the paranormal?” She unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. “I think I might.”

I followed her across the shop, skirting the snake cage, even though Lazarus appeared fast asleep or dead. Considering his name, I doubted either one was a permanent condition.

Cassandra opened a glass-fronted case and pulled out one, two, three huge old volumes. Dust puffed as she set them on the counter. Then she bent and yanked another from a bottom shelf. “We can start with these.”

I glanced at my watch. “Okay if I take them with me?”

“Got an appointment?”

“Kind of.”

“Ruelle,” she said.

I was supposed to head into the swamp with Adam tonight. And while I’d already decided to forgo that trip in favor of researching the vagaries of the vampire nation, that didn’t mean I didn’t want to do other things with him once I was through.

“Have you ever seen him in the daylight, Diana?”

I opened my mouth, shut it again. Thought hard. Hell. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Seems odd to me.”

Now that she mentioned it seemed odd to me, too. Still— “If Adam wanted to hurt me he could have a hundred times over.”

“Maybe hurting you isn’t what he’s after.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“I don’t know. You still have the gris-gris?”

I tapped my pocket. “Yep.”

“I doubt that’ll work against a vampire. But this should.” Cassandra reached into the display case near the register and withdrew a long gold chain. “Can’t hurt, right?”

“How will that help, hurt or anything else?”

“A crucifix a day keeps the vampires away.”

I stared at the fancy chain. “What crucifix?”

“Well, not a crucifix, exactly. A cross. Times a hundred.” She held the necklace in front of my nose. The links were constructed in the shape of tiny fleurs-de-lis.

“This should work even better than a crucifix in theory,” she continued. “The fleur-de-lis is the symbol of the Virgin Mary and, in some cases, the Trinity. Every little bit helps.”

I hesitated, but in the end, I took the gift and put it on.

“That doesn’t go around your neck,” Cassandra said.

“Where else would it go?”

Cassandra lifted the thing over my head. “Pull up your shirt.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a belly chain?” she asked.

“With a belly like mine? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your belly. Pull up that shirt.”

The idea of draping jewelry across my gut, of accenting a part of me that did not need any accenting, went against everything I’d learned as a big girl. “Can’t I just wear it as a necklace?”

“Too easy to yank off. A protective amulet is supposed to be hidden.”

She seemed so certain—and really, what did I know about protective amulets?—I gave in and tugged up my shirt.

Cassandra quickly secured the chain. The cool links slid across my skin. Looking down, I was surprised the jewelry wasn’t tight, had in fact disappeared below the waistband of my jeans. Knowing it was there, I felt kind of sexy.

“Thanks,” I said, and really meant it. “What does fleur-de-lis mean?”

“Flower of the lily. Represents perfection, light, and life. Christian symbolism again—always in threes.”

“They do that. Do you have a computer?”

She blinked at my speedy change of subject. “In back. Why?”

“I want to know if Mrs. Beasly was ever found. I also want to research the name on that tomb.”

Cassandra smiled. “You are good at this.”

I wasn’t so sure. I’d never found anything I was searching for. But as dream Simon had told me, I needed to believe. After tonight, I believed, all right. I just wasn’t sure in what.

However, this time I wouldn’t let anything escape my attention. I was going to find a paranormal entity—be it a loup-garou, a vampire, a zombie, or something I’d never heard of—and expose it to the world. Maybe then Simon could rest. Maybe then I could.

I followed Cassandra to her office. Huge, old, and slow, at least the computer worked. Arianna Beasly’s name popped up in today’s obituaries.

“ ‘Heart attack after being bitten by a vicious dog,’ “ I read.

“Sure she was.”

“Her maiden name was Favreau, which explains where she was buried.”

“Although it doesn’t explain how she got dumped in the tomb so fast.”

I glanced up. “What?”

“I don’t know how they do things in your neck of the woods, but down here a funeral takes a few days. And that’s if there are no suspicious circumstances to warrant the police or an autopsy.”

“True. Did you see any bite marks on her?”

“As many as I saw on Charlie.”

“I guess that answers my question.”

“Which was?”

“They were both killed in basically the same way.”

“Wound inflicted by a mystery canine,” Cassandra murmured. “With said wound miraculously disappearing before the body rises and takes a little walk. What does that mean?”

“As soon as I know, you will.” I picked up the books and headed for the mansion.

I didn’t realize how much I wanted Adam to be waiting for me until I came through the door and discovered the place empty.

Do not get used to him, Diana. You have to leave, and he doesn’t want you to stay.

I made a peanut butter sandwich and coffee—you’d think the way I ate, I’d waste away to nothing, but no such luck—then I settled onto my sleeping bag and began to read. Unfortunately, the events of the evening had worn me out, and I didn’t get much done before I succumbed to sleep. As soon as I awoke, I spent the next day and well into the night researching.

The books were antiques, worth a small fortune. They were also full of great stuff.

“Crucifix, holy water, the Eucharist,” I recited.

All Christian items, which was fascinating considering the idea of night-flying, bloodsucking demons was not only pre-Christian but also a belief held around the world.

“How did people protect themselves B.C.?”

Sunlight, salt, and—

“Garlic.” Of course. “A member of the lily family.” I fingered the fleur-de-lis chain at my waist, feeling better about it already.

I continued to read, eating another peanut butter sandwich, drinking way too much coffee. I was hyped beyond belief and chattering to myself nonstop.

“Photos not a problem. However, reflections are.”

I considered the annoying lack of mirrors at Adam’s cabin. I didn’t really believe the man I was sleeping with was a vampire, did I?

“No.”

The sound of my own voice was getting on my nerves. But it was better than the sound of silence warring with the whirring confusion in my head. I’d discovered how to kill them, how to slow them down; what I hadn’t been able to find was—

“How do I know for certain I’m dealing with a vampire?”

A shadow at the corner of my vision made me gasp and spin in that direction so fast my neck cracked painfully. Adam leaned against the wall.

“You think I’m a vampire, cher?”

Chapter 21

I glanced at the door—still closed. Then the windows— broken but not open. How had he gotten in without my hearing him?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. If he was a vampire, did I plan to put a stake through his heart? I was fresh out.

“How long have you been there?” I asked.

Adam stalked toward me. His hair tangled when he shoved it out of his face; his bracelet caught the moonlight and sparkled. He wore a powder blue short-sleeved dress shirt, unbuttoned, and his chest rippled beneath a sheen of sweat that should have been unattractive but wasn’t. Combined with the ragged jeans and bare feet... I wanted him so much I couldn’t think straight.

He stopped directly in front of me. I had a perfect view of his crotch, which didn’t look half-bad, either. Because I wanted to lean forward and open the bulging zipper with my teeth, I stood. On the way up, my breasts brushed his chest, and he hauled me against him.

“You think I’m a vampire, Diana?”

The question should have been foolish. We should both have been laughing. But we weren’t.

His fingers tightened. His erection pressed against my stomach. His blazing blue eyes seemed to pierce my brain.

“Are you?” I whispered.

“No.”

The word came off his tongue sounding French. When he kissed me, there was a lot of French in that too. He tasted of hickory coffee—no, wait that was me. Thick cream, heavy sugar—definitely him. I licked his teeth, wanting more of that taste, since I never dared drink my coffee anything but black.

With Adam I got all of the flavor and none of the calories. Only later did I realize I’d also been checking those teeth for a razor-edged sharpness. I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d found some.

We were frantic again, pulling at each other’s clothes. My top flew one way, my bra the other, his shirt slid from his shoulders and onto the floor. Why was it that every time we came near each other we couldn’t seem to stop this from happening?

I was on fire, barely able to stand still, desperate for a release that I wasn’t going to get from a kiss, when he backed me against the wall. How had he known I was weak in the knees?

I murmured my approval, circling my arms around his neck as he ran his palms from the outside of my breasts to my hips. He stilled, and stepped back, taking his hands and his mouth with him. I nearly fell on my face without his support.

“What’s this?” He unbuttoned my pants, and the fleur-de-lis chain spilled out.

Oops.

I studied his face, but, as usual, I couldn’t get a read on him. “I—uh—got it today.”

His eyes lifted from their solemn contemplation of my jewelry. “Why?”

“Protection.”

“From vampires?” Adam’s lips curved. “There’s no such thing, cher.”

“Then why did I see Charlie in town?”

His lips flattened. “Dead Charlie?”

“Not anymore. Or maybe again. He blew up.”

Adam glanced out the window, then back. “You’re not makin’ any sense.”

“I saw Charlie, chased him to St. Louis Number One—”

“You nuts? Never go there alone.”

I hadn’t been alone, but that was beside the point. “Charlie released a woman from her crypt. According to the obituary, she died two days ago, but she was walking pretty well last night.”

“No one gets buried so quickly.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

He touched my forehead. I slapped his hand away. “I’m not feverish or insane.”

“You saw Charlie and a dead woman walk; then they blew up.”

Okay, when he said it out loud, I did sound nuts.

“And you think they were vampires?”

“Maybe. Cassandra said they weren’t zombies.”

“Who in hell is Cassandra?”

“Voodoo priestess.”

He stared at me for several seconds. “My, you have been busy.”

Why did his words sound like a threat? Because I was paranoid as well as crazy. The two did go together like franks and beans.

“You don’t believe me,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe; it’s what you believe.”

“I don’t know anymore.”

He brushed my hair from my cheek, and this time I let him. “New Orleans would spook anyone. There are ghosts here, can’t help but be. But those things you speak of... “ He shook his head. “I don’t think this little old chain will protect you from them.”

My chin tipped up. “You have a better idea?”

“No.” His gaze lowered. “I like this one.”

In a surprising movement, he dropped to his knees and tugged my jeans over my hips. His breath brushed my thighs, warm and inviting. My underwear followed the same path to the floor.

“Would you tell me if you were?” I asked.

“What?” When he glanced up, his eyes were unfocused, his mouth still swollen from mine.

Having him kneel at my feet, so gorgeous and tousled and aroused, filled my mind with too many possibilities. Nevertheless, I managed to choke out the question. “Would you tell me if you were a vampire?”

“Of course not, cher.”

Leaning forward, he pressed his month against the fleur-de-lis chain, against my belly, and suckled. Skin, metal, tongue, and teeth—the sensation was exquisite. If he were a vampire, wouldn’t he be—

Catching fire? Disintegrating into dust? Howling? Crying? Running?

He did none of them. But he did do other things.

The chain—both hot and damp, dry and cool—slipped from his mouth. He kissed me again. Lower. My legs wobbled, and he cupped my hips with his big hands, pinning me to the wall as his tongue did amazing things.

Maybe he was a vampire? Maybe I didn’t give a shit.

My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him closer, urging him on. How could a tongue be so hard and yet so soft, so clever and yet so tentative? Whenever I was on the verge of orgasm, he retreated just enough so I never came, driving me closer, higher, with the next stroke.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

My eyes snapped open. He stood in front of me. I reached for him, and he took my hand, tugging me to the sleeping bag. He gave me a little shove, and I toppled onto the covers.

As he stood over me in the faint moonlight, I memorized every ripple and curve. Just looking at him made me breathe a little harder.

He followed me down, brushed a stray strand of hair from my breast. “When you come, it’s all I can do not to come, too, just watchin’ you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said nothing.

“You’re so alive.” He laid his palm against my chest, dark against light, and pressed until I was supine. “So warm and soft and—” He broke off, took a deep breath, and let it out. “I can’t sleep nights thinkin’ of being inside of you.”

In one swift movement he covered my body with his and slipped within. I bit my lip to keep from making an embarrassing yummy noise at the contact.

“You’re so tight.” His forehead dropped against mine as he struggled for control.

“Sorry.”

“No.” A puff of air that was laughter hit my cheek. “That’s good, so good.”

I tried to relax, but I couldn’t keep still. I had to have friction. My hips had a will of their own, pumping against him. He cupped my breast in one hand, pressed his thumb to my skin.

“I can feel your heart beat.” His eyes seemed to reflect the three-quarter moon, glowing silver, fading to blue. “Makes me want to do all sorts of bad things.”

“Just do me.” I clenched around him. “Now.”

I could feel his heart beat too, in a completely different place. The pressure, the rhythm, the thud, thud, thud, made me shatter at last. When I could see again, breathe again, we lay side by side, him tracing patterns across my stomach and breasts with one finger.

“You still want to search for the wolf that isn’t there?”

“You’re awful accommodating for a man who doesn’t believe we’ll find one.”

“I’ll be as accommodating as you like, cher, if you keep accommodating me.”

I pinched his arm and he laughed. I got a warm, squishy feeling right above the fleur-de-lis. This was nice. Too nice.

I took his hand, meaning to push it away, but something flickered in his eyes, almost a wince. Instead of letting go, I held on.

“Of course the wolf isn’t there,” I said briskly.

His eyebrows lifted.

“The moon’s nearly full. This is a crescent moon loup-garou.”

If I hadn’t been holding his hand, I wouldn’t have felt the twitch. “Where you hear that?”

“I can read the newspaper, Adam.”

An odd expression came over his face.

“What’s the matter?”

“No one’s called me by my given name for a long time.”

“Why?”

“I don’t see many people.”

I tightened my fingers on his. “Why me?”

His lips curved. “Why not you?”

Well, that was flattering.

I suddenly remembered something I’d meant to ask. “When I left your place, I—uh, walked around a little.”

“Mmm.” He rubbed his thumb over my palm. I found it hard to think when he did that.

“Under the bedroom window it looked like you were going to plant something.”

“Really?” His expression was as bland as his voice.

“I just wondered what.”

“You a big gardener, cher? I never would have thought.”

What had I expected him to say? There were wolf tracks there and since I’m hiding one, I didn’t want you to see them. Like that would happen.

Why didn’t I just ask him straight out? He already thought I was loony because of the zombies. If I started talking about my dead husband walking, a mythical black wolf, tracks that weren’t there, Adam might go away and never come back. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

“You want to wait to search the swamp until the crescent moon returns?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

His free hand played with the fleur-de-lis chain. At least he could touch it without bursting into flame.

He pulled me against him, spoonlike, and I was so shocked, I let him. With his breath in my hair and his hand at my hip, I drifted on a cloud of satisfaction and exhaustion.

Right before I fell into the abyss that was sleep he whispered, “Better if you wore a silver chain. Two birds, one stone, that way.”

I tried to stay awake. Tried to make sense of the comment.

Silver. Was that a hint? Or a warning?

Chapter 22

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I awoke to sunshine and an empty bed, but I was.

I’d suspected Adam of being a vampire, a foolish thought in the bright light of day. However, in the bright light of day, he was also gone again. Perhaps the crucifix test was as worthless as the zombie-revealing powder. Although maybe the zombie- revealing powder worked just fine—on an actual zombie.

Adam had told me I should wear a silver fleur-de-lis chain. Two birds, one stone. For a guy who was skeptical about vampires, werewolves, and zombies he had an awful lot of paranormal advice to give.

I threw on some clothes, didn’t bother with coffee, going directly to the books Cassandra had lent me. Maybe I’d been barking up the wrong tree after all. Pardon the horrible pun.

I flipped through one, found nothing. A second yielded the same result as did the third. But the fourth fell open to an entire chapter on werewolves. Why is everything always in the last place we look?

Werewolves and vampires are alike in that they are both created by the bite of one similarly afflicted. A vampire can take the form of a wolf, and a werewolf can take the form of a human. However, silver will not harm a vampire and a crucifix will not harm a werewolf.

“One stone,” I muttered, and kept reading.

If a werewolf is touched by silver, fire results.

I remembered Cassandra’s knife and the smoke that had risen from Arianna Beasly’s arm. Had that knife been silver? I wouldn’t be surprised.

If shot with a silver bullet, a werewolf will burst into flames.

“I guess we had our vampires and our werewolves mixed up.”

Neither the person who’d saved us last night and the dead man in the swamp who’d come to New Orleans carrying an automatic rifle and silver bullets had been at all confused.

Had Detective Sullivan ever discovered the identity of his strangled swamp victim? If Sullivan had, the information might lead me to the second silver bullet-shooting believer. I really wanted to talk to that person.

I pulled out my cell phone and saw several messages from Frank. I’d almost forgotten I was working for the man.

Detective Sullivan wasn’t at his desk, so I left a message, then dialed my boss.

“Did you capture it?”

“Not yet.”

His sigh was both annoyed and disappointed. “I expected better of you.”

Now I was annoyed. “I’m doing the best that I can.”

“Do better. I need that loup-garou.”

There was that word again. “Why do you need it?”

“That’s what I’m paying you for. I hate to waste money.”

“What are you going to do with a werewolf if you get one?”

“Werewolf?” Both surprise and delight lightened his voice. “You told me there was no such thing. What have you seen to change your mind?”

I hesitated. There was something in the swamp—but was it the same something walking the streets of New Orleans?

“Diana? Tell me.”

Frank’s tension, his urgency, communicated itself over the miles. Not for the first time did I wonder if he were playing with a full deck. But since he was, as he’d so rudely pointed out, paying me, I told him what I knew.

“Disappearances, deaths, walking dead, silver bullets,” he mused. “How can you doubt what you’ve seen?”

“I haven’t seen a wolf.”

I didn’t tell him about my dream of the beast with Adam’s eyes or about Simon. My dreams were none of Frank’s business.

“You will. Then make sure you capture the loup-garou alive.”

“I hadn’t planned on killing him. Her. It. A dead cryptid won’t help my reputation or Simon’s.”

“Of course.” Frank cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you need?”

I’d planned to ask for a motion sensor camera, but considering the invisible nature of werewolves on film, such a request would no longer do me any good.

That werewolves couldn’t be photographed was an interesting factoid and could explain why there wasn’t much evidence on them. Cryptozoologists are often sent to investigate a photo, which leads to the real thing. But without that picture, no investigation.

My heart danced with excitement that I might be the first scientist to prove the existence of a werewolf.

“A cage,” I said. “And a tranquilizer gun. I’ll need the dosage of the darts based on the size of a large male timber wolf. About a hundred and twenty pounds.”

“That’s Alaskan size.”

Frank knew a lot about wolves. In the lower U.S. eighty pounds was considered big. But considering the tracks I’d seen, the feeling I had, what I was after was one damn big wolf.

“Just do it, Frank.”

“All right.”

“Also several portable tree stands. The kind deer hunters use. Black. Metal.”

I’d never gone deer hunting and neither had Simon, but we’d studied the best techniques. There aren’t too many animals on earth more easily spooked than a deer. Those who stalked them knew what they were doing, and they always had the best gadgets.

“Should I send everything to the Ruelle Mansion again?” Frank asked.

“That would be great.”

A momentary silence came over the line; then Frank blurted, “Have you seen him?”

I’d done a lot more than see Adam, but that wasn’t Frank’s business, either.

“Why?”

“I did some asking around. You’d do best to stay out of his way if you can. He’s a dangerous man.”

“Dangerous how?”

“He was trained to kill in the army.”

“Isn’t that what the army does?”

“Not like this. He’s some uberwarrior. I couldn’t even buy information on what it was that he did.”

Oh, no, the government wouldn’t sell info on their top-secret soldiers; what was the world coming to?

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“Stay away from him.”

I doubted that I could. It might be just sex, but it was great sex, and I wasn’t giving that up.

As Frank said good-bye, I considered the unknown man who had died in the swamp—the one who’d been strangled with someone’s bare hands. Then I thought of Adam’s hands, and I wondered: Would he strangle me one night?

I shook off the question. What possible reason could Adam Ruelle have for killing me? What reason could he have for killing anyone?

The mystery man had possessed an illegal rifle with silver bullets. He’d obviously been hunting a werewolf. So why had he been killed by a man? A loup-garou had so many better weapons at its disposal than fingers.

I opened one of Cassandra’s books and then another. A few minutes later I found what I was looking for. A werewolf can only remain a wolf under the light of the moon. Once the sun breaks the horizon, a lycanthrope becomes human. The beast has no choice.

The information in the book gave me a scenario. Wolf becomes man under the morning sun, and he has nothing with which to defend himself except—

“Hands.”

Such thoughts made me uneasy. Because if it followed that the stranger had been murdered by someone capable of doing the deed with his bare hands, and the only someone around here of that nature was Adam, didn’t it follow that Adam might be a werewolf?

I decided to go to town, beg a shower, some coffee—or tea, ack—and any food that Cassandra had. Considering my previous ineptitude at making friends, I should feel uncomfortable inviting myself over. But I knew Cassandra would welcome me as gladly as I’d welcome her. Chasing zombies, being confronted by werewolves, and nearly dying in a cemetery made fast friends. Which was probably why I had so few.

I reached New Orleans in record time and practically ran into the voodoo shop. Lazarus slithered down the center aisle and stuck his tongue out at me.

“Hey!” I shouted. “You wanna corral the reptile?”

The snake hissed.

“Insults will only get you in trouble.” Cassandra scooped up Lazarus and popped him back in the cage.

I’d expected her to have a spectacular black eye after Mrs. Beasly’s attack, but I could only discern a faint tinge of blue beneath an impressive makeup job. I suppose having a shiner would not be good for business.

“Why is being called a reptile an insult?” I asked.

“He thinks he’s a loa.”

“I know I’m not going to want to hear the answer, but what’s a loa?”

“You know that vodoun is a religion.”

“Vodoun?”

“That’s what practitioners prefer to call voodoo. The word means spirit or deity in the language of what’s now Nigeria. The gods of vodoun are called loas.”

I glanced uneasily at Lazarus. “He thinks he’s a god?”

“As much as he can think.”

Which I happened to believe wasn’t much, but he was her snake.

“What brings you here so bright and early?” Cassandra asked.

“Desperation.”

Her eyes went shrewd. “Are we dealing with vampires?”

So much had happened since I’d left here the last time. “I meant I was desperate for a shower.”

“Oh, sure. Help yourself.” She held up a hand as I moved toward the back of the shop. “First, tell me what you found.”

Since the reward was hot water and soap, I did.

“You think we were dealing with werewolves, not zombies or vampires?” she asked.

“Was that knife silver?”

“Of course.”

“Aren’t those a little rare?”

“Not in my world,” she said. “I’ve learned it never hurts to pack the very best.”

Considering what happened at the cemetery, I had to agree.

“You think Ruelle’s one of them?”

I bit my lip. “I can’t decide.”

“What do you know about his background?”

“I never told you what I learned from Mrs. Beasly?”

“Before she rose from the dead, then exploded?”

I gave Cassandra a long look.

“Stupid question. Go on.”

“The Ruelle women haven’t birthed a girl in over a hundred years.”

“Okay. Big whoop.”

“Adam’s dad and his grandfather killed themselves.”

“That’s a bigger whoop.” She frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“I doubt they liked it much, either.”

“The Ruelles could be the cursed family of legend. They’ve been in New Orleans for centuries. I bet they had slaves at one time.”

“If they’re werewolves, how can they kill themselves?” I asked. “Aren’t they immortal?”

“Vampires can be killed by sunlight, stake through the heart. Werewolves by silver. That’s not immortal. Not really. How did the Ruelles die?”

“Blew their brains out”

“With silver?”

“They didn’t get that specific in the newspaper accounts.”

“We might be able to get our hands on the autopsy reports.” She went silent for several seconds. “Mrs. Beasly told you this stuff and the next thing we know she’s climbing out of the family crypt drooling and snarling.”

“Pretty much.”

“I think we should talk to the Favreau family.”

“I think you’re right”

Chapter 23

A quick trip to the Internet revealed that Arianna Beasly’s in-laws owned a home in the Garden District, while her family, the Favreaus, still lived in the French Quarter. The calendar might read century twenty-one, but in New Orleans the old ways prevailed.

The original Favreaus had come to Louisiana before the area’s purchase was a gleam in Thomas Jefferson’s eye. Back then, the upper-crust French resided in the Quarter, eventually the Spanish did, too. However, when the Americans showed up, they were shunned miserably. Being Americans, they’d taken their filthy money and built the American Quarter, which began in the business district and stretched into what is now known as the Garden District.

Americans—gotta love‘’em. Bigger is always better, and if we can’t buy what we want, we’ll just build what we want and call it superior to the original.

Mrs. Beasly would be considered a Creole, a descendant of Europeans born in the colonies. That and the family residence in the high tax bracket of the Quarter explained the crypt at St. Louis Cemetery Number One.

No doubt the Beaslys owned a crypt in the more modern Lafayette Cemetery Number One, which bordered the Garden District. Perhaps Arianna had chosen to be buried with her side of the family. Not uncommon. Around here, where you were buried was almost as big of a deal as where you were born.

Cassandra and I rang the bell at a gorgeous nineteenth-century home on Burgundy Street. The door was opened by a tiny, wizened old lady sporting a ferocious scowl.

“We do not have ghosts, good day.”

She began to slam the door, but I blurted, “We came to talk about Mrs. Beasly.”

The woman hesitated, blinking through thick bifocals. Considering the murky state of her gray eyes, cataracts were the problem, not her prescription. “You’re friends of Arianna’s?”

“Yes,” Cassandra answered before I could say, Not really.

Cassandra shot me a silencing glare as the elderly woman invited us inside.

“I’m sorry I was rude, but there are stories about this house, and all those damnable ghost walk tours stop outside and stare. Some horrible people even ring the doorbell and ask to see the room where it happened.”

“Where what happened?” I asked.

“The murder, of course.”

“Of course,” Cassandra said.

The woman tottered to her chair, and Cassandra took the opportunity to whisper, “There’s always a murder or a ghost around here. That’s not what we came for.”

If we got started on the ghost stories in the French Quarter, we’d never get to the werewolves.

“You seem awfully young to know my Arianna.” She motioned for us to take seats nearby.

“She was your... “ I hesitated.

This woman resembled Mrs. Beasly around the eyes and mouth, but was she a sister, an aunt, a mother? Once people hit ancient I was no good at determining their generation.

“Granddaughter. I’m Marie Favreau.”

“Ma’am.” I nodded respectfully, earning a small smile. “Mrs. Beasly and I met at the library. I was sorry to hear about her... accident”

Mrs. Favreau’s lips lost the smile and pressed together as if she wanted to keep the words inside. But she couldn’t. “That was no accident.”

Cassandra and I exchanged glances.

“How so?” Cassandra asked.

Mrs. Favreau beckoned us closer. “We wouldn’t have buried her so quickly, without benefit of a church service, if we were only talking about a dog.”

“What are we talking about?” I asked.

She made an odd motion with her arthritic fingers— half sign of the cross, kind of an FU. I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Protection against evil,” Cassandra murmured.

Mrs. Favreau considered her with a contemplative expression. “You know the old ways.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then you know why we stuffed her mouth with monkshood and drew a pentagram on her chest.”

“Monkshood?” I asked.

“Wolfsbane,” Cassandra translated.

That made sense. I guess.

Of course I hadn’t seen anything in Mrs. Beasly’s mouth but teeth and hadn’t gotten a gander at her chest. Considering she was ashes, I’d have to take Granny’s word for it.

“Loup-garou.” Mrs. Favreau made the sign of the FU again.

Now we were getting somewhere.

“The bitten must be encased in cement and properly prepared or they’ll rise and walk as a wolf,” she continued.

“I’m afraid she rose anyway,” Cassandra said gently.

Mrs. Favreau went white. “She’ll come for me. She’ll know I’m the one who had her buried that way.”

“Relax,” I said. “She’s dead for good this time. Shot with silver, we think.”

The woman slouched in her chair, shaking fingers pressed to her mouth. “Thank you.”

“Wasn’t us.”

“That doesn’t matter as long as she’s truly dead. She wasn’t Arianna anymore.”

Remembering Mrs. Beasly’s sharp teeth and propensity for drooling, I had to agree.

“What do you know of the loup-garou?” I asked.

“Only the legend.”

“You’ve never seen a werewolf?”

She closed her eyes, took a breath, then opened them again. “We take care to bury certain bodies in certain ways so the dead don’t walk.”

“What ways?”

“If a person is killed by an animal, monkshood and a pentagram.”

“Any animal?” I pressed. “Not just canine?”

She stared at me over the tops of her glasses, and despite the murky cataracts, I could swear she saw right through me. “The wolf creates the werewolf. Other animals create other monsters.”

Other monsters? Terrific.

“One problem at a time,” Cassandra murmured.

I must have been hyperventilating.

“What else?” I asked.

“If there is suspicion of vampirism, garlic and a cross. Salt for zombies. If you think their spirit may walk, bury the dead with Apache tears.”

I glanced at Cassandra for clarification again.

“Obsidian,” she said.

Mrs. Favreau sniffed. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Do the methods usually work?”

What I really wanted to know: Was there something special about Arianna Beasly that had made her rise despite the precautions? Or did all the bitten do so, but no one ever knew?

“I never had occasion to try the practice until now.”

“What about your friends?” Cassandra asked.

“An acquaintance of mine was forced to bury her husband with garlic and a sixteenth-century crucifix made in Provence.”

“And that worked?” I leaned forward in my chair. “Her husband stayed dead?”

“I assume so.”

“Could I speak with her?”

“She fell off her balcony a few days later. Broke her neck.”

Uh-oh.

“Anyone else?”

“A dear friend’s child was bitten by a rat.” Mrs. Favreau frowned. “My friend had a heart attack not long after.”

Another nasty pattern. I had a sneaking suspicion that those who’d been the recipients of the “precautions” visited the ones who’d imposed them as soon as they became undead. Lucky for Mrs. Favreau her granddaughter had exploded in a burning ball of fire.

Note to self—leave off the monkshood, garlic, salt, obsidian, and pentagrams. They didn’t work anyway. Silver, on the other hand, might be useful.

“Mother.” Another tiny white-haired woman stood in the doorway. She bustled in, casting Cassandra and me a curious glance. “Isn’t it time for your nap?”

“I’ll be napping forever soon enough,” Mrs. Favreau grumbled. “I was just visiting with some friends of Arianna’s.”

The newcomer’s face fell. “My little girl.”

Though I knew Arianna Beasly had a mother, everyone did, it hadn’t occurred to me I’d meet her today. Although why it hadn’t, since I was speaking with Arianna’s grandmother, I wasn’t quite sure.

To have three generations alive at the same time is achievement enough. To have them alive at this age was pretty darned amazing. Of course they weren’t all alive anymore.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” I said, feeling keenly how useless those words were.

“Thank you,” she said, though she didn’t look grateful. She looked a little pissed. “Now I have to get Mother some lunch and a nap. She isn’t as young as she used to be.”

I wanted to ask how old she was, how old they both were, but I didn’t dare. Such questions would be considered rude even above the Mason-Dixon Line. Down here, I just might find myself drawn and quartered.

“Don’t worry, Anne.” The older woman patted the younger on the hand. “Arianna is at peace.” She tottered toward the door, stopping in the entryway. “Someone shot her with silver. She went kaboom.”

Silence settled over us as Mrs. Favreau disappeared down the hall. Uncertain of what to expect, I cast a cautious glance toward the other woman.

“My mother-in-law’s a little—” She twirled one finger around her ear in the universal hand signal for nuts.

“Really?” Cassandra asked.

“She was telling you the werewolf story, right?”

I stilled. “That’s not true?”

Anne gave a short bark of laughter. “You believed her?”

Cassandra made a staying motion with her hand when I would have spoken. “We shouldn’t have?”

“This might be New Orleans, but that doesn’t mean we’re all lunatics. My daughter was not bitten by a werewolf.”

“Okay,” Cassandra said. “Then why did you bury her so fast?”

Anne’s laughter died and something flickered in her eyes before she turned and headed for the front door. We had little choice but to follow. I guess our welcome had run out.

To my surprise, as we filed onto the porch she answered the question. “We buried Arianna so quickly because my mother-in-law insisted. She was hysterical. It was easier to do as she wanted.”

The door closed behind us. Cassandra and I stood in the brutal afternoon sun until someone said, “Psst.”

Marie Favreau beckoned from the corner of the house. “I did see a werewolf once,” she whispered as we joined her. “I was a child. My papa took me to Mardi Gras. We were coming home and down an alleyway I saw a man and his dog. My papa said the man had drunk too much wine, so he was resting, with his good friend Mr. Dog to watch over him.”

She passed a frail, shaking hand over her eyes, as if she were seeing it all again. “Then Mr. Dog began to eat the man’s face. I screamed and the animal glanced up. He was not a dog.”

“A wolf.”

“Yes. But that’s not why I screamed and screamed as my papa scooped me into his arms and ran with me all the way home.”

“Mother!” Anne’s voice came from the rear of the house. “Where are you?”

“I have to go,” she said.

“Wait.” I reached out, and she tilted her head expectantly. “Why did you scream?”

“The eyes.”

A chill went over me, which was downright amazing considering the blistering heat of the sun.

“Though the form may be that of a wolf, a werewolf always retains its human eyes.”

Chapter 24

I saw again the wolf at the window—the wolf that had possessed Adam’s eyes.

“Diana?” Cassandra grabbed my forearm as Marie scurried away to intercept her daughter-in-law and squeezed hard.

“I’m okay.”

I wasn’t. Not really. I wanted to sit down, maybe lie down, or stand up, maybe throw up. What I did was drag Cassandra away from the Favreaus’ and back to her place. Luckily, it wasn’t a long trip.

Once inside the cool, shadowed interior, I sat at her kitchen table and put my head between my knees.

“Don’t faint on me.”

“I do not faint.”

“You’re doing a damn good imitation.” She sat, too. “The wolf at the window?”

I lifted my head and nodded. I’d told her my dream, that I’d seen a wolf with human eyes, but I hadn’t mentioned whose eyes they were. From the expression on her face, she already knew.

“When you saw the wolf, where was Adam?”

“In bed with me.” I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Must have been a dream after all.”

“Or a premonition.”

“I don’t have premonitions.”

Cassandra went silent. Still a little woozy, I was having a hard time assimilating the information, having no luck at all interpreting it.

“You dreamed of a wolf with human eyes before we knew that werewolves have them.”

“Probably just a coincidence.”

“A coincidence is running into someone right after you thought about them. What you described to me is not a coincidence.”

‘What is it then?” I asked.

“No clue.”

“Damm, you’re helpful.”

She didn’t rise to the bait. Why I was baiting her, I wasn’t sure. Right now, she was the only friend I had, the only person I trusted. I tried to make amends by making excuses.

“Maybe I read something about werewolves in the past and my subconscious remembered. I read a lot of bizzaro stuff.”

“Could be.”

“My husband never mentioned the human eyes, though.”

Cassandra cast me a sharp glance. “He saw one?”

“So he said.”

Out on the moors, D-baby. A man became a wolf and then ran beneath the full moon.

“I’m thinking he didn’t get close enough to see the eyes.” Until that last night anyway.

“There’s one thing that bugs me,” Cassandra said. “Why is it a wolf?”

“Huh?”

“Or maybe I should ask, how is it a wolf?”

“Cassandra, what are you talking about?”

“Marie Favreau said wolves make wolves.”

“If we can believe her. If she isn’t crazy.”

“Do you think she is?”

“If she is, I am.” I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t feel crazy.”

“Crazy people never do.”

“Har-har. Could we get back to the topic at hand, which I’m still not clear on?”

“If it takes a wolf to make a wolf, where did the first wolf come from?”

“Is that a riddle?”

Cassandra ignored me again. She was getting very good at it. “No wolves in Louisiana. That’s what got you here in the first place.”

“There were wolves once. Red wolves.”

“Is this a red wolf?”

“Too big, too black, too timber wolfy.”

“Which brings us back to the curse.”

“According to you,” I murmured, “man became beast with no biting involved.”

“But why a wolf? Why not an alligator, or a snake, or a leopard for that matter?”

Yeah, why?

Without asking permission, I headed for Cassandra’s office, started clicking away on her computer before she even got there.

“What are you thinking, Diana?”

“Names have power.” Seconds later I saw how much. “ ‘Ruelle,’” I read. “French for “famous wolf.” ‘ That’s why the curse created a wolf.”

“We don’t know for sure—”

“Maybe not.” I started for the door. “But I plan to find out.”

No wonder he’d said there wasn’t a loup-garou. No wonder he’d volunteered to be my guide. No wonder he’d distracted me with the sex of a lifetime. What better way to make sure I never found what I’d come to find? If I was dazzled, I wasn’t seeing what was right under me—had been right under me more than a few times.

“Wait,” Cassandra called. “You need a weapon.”

“I don’t suppose you have any silver bullets handy.”

“No, but—” She hurried into the shop, murmuring to Lazarus when he hissed. As I stepped through the beads hanging in the doorway, she slapped her knife into my palm. “Silver, through and through.”

The idea of shoving a knife into Adam—

“I can’t”

“Believe me, Diana, if he grows fangs and a tail, you can.”

“What if he doesn’t?” I glanced at the window. “It’s daytime.”

“Touch him with the thing. See if he smokes.”

“He’s going to think I’m insane.”

“Good. If this is insane, then he isn’t the loup-garou.”

And we had a whole new set of problems. Because if Adam wasn’t, who was?

Cassandra bit her lip. “Maybe I should go, too.”

“So he can kill both of us?”

“He isn’t going to kill you.”

“No?”

“If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”

“Great.”

“You could take Detective Sullivan along. He wants to talk to Ruelle anyway.”

I considered the notion, then put it away. “Adam isn’t going to tell me the truth if I bring a cop. He hasn’t hurt me. He might hurt Sullivan.”

“You have to let me know you’re all right. Tell me what happened, what he said.”

“Okay.”

“By—” She glanced at her watch. “Seven o’clock.”

“In the morning?”

“Tonight!”

“No. Morning.”

If I was wrong about Adam, I might have to make it up to him. Considering the accusation, that could take a while.

Chapter 25

Deciding to confront Adam Ruelle and actually finding him were two different things. He wasn’t conveniently waiting for me in the living room of my rented abode. Of course, as previously noted, it was daytime.

I headed into the swamp, reversing the map he’d once drawn to lead me from shack to mansion. He wasn’t there, either. Where did he go when the sun shone?

I was tempted to use his shower. Never had gotten to check out Cassandra’s. But the idea of Adam arriving while I was naked and streaming wet stopped me, despite the grimy-grainy feeling of my skin and hair. How could I confront him with any sort of bravado fresh from a shower?

I couldn’t. So I wandered around his three-room shack, knife in hand, as I searched for clues. They weren’t any more available than he was.

Food, soap, clothes—the essentials—but there wasn’t a single scrap of the paraphernalia of daily life. No books. No papers. No bills, no checks, no MasterCard. If he lived here, where was his stuff?

The more I looked around, the more annoyed I became. There had to be something that would mark this as Adam Ruelle’s place.

Though I knew it was wrong, I went through everything. Every drawer, every shelf, every closet, even the medicine cabinet. I found nothing out of the ordinary. Not even a stray doggie biscuit or a bill from the local veterinarian.

I lost track of time, or maybe the sun faded more quickly in the swamp, because when I pulled my head from under the sink, dusk had descended. Outside, a long, low howl began in the distance. Just one. But one was enough to make me want to run all the way home.

To Boston.

“Wuss,” I muttered. “You promised Simon you’d prove him right but the first time you actually have a chance to discover something out of this world, you want to run home to Mommy.”

As if Katherine O’ Malley would ever answer to such a crass moniker as Mommy. I’d been instructed to call her Kate the instant I’d grown a half an inch taller than her. Being me, I’d continued to refer to her as Ma whenever the opportunity arose.

I crept to the front window and peered at the steadily falling night. The cypress trees blotted out the last of the sun. The sky was both bright blue and blood red—stunning and scary in one. Just like Adam.

My fingers curled around the knife. Staring at it, I frowned. I couldn’t kill him. I needed him alive. Which might be tough.

“Maybe I should—”

“What?”

My head went up. He was already inside the room. Fully clothed in loose dark pants, boots, and a black T-shirt, so at least I didn’t have to deal with the mind- numbing sight of too much bare, bronzed skin.

What I’d been going to say was wait for the cage and the tranquilizer gun. Glad I hadn’t mentioned those out loud.

“Go,” I finished on a whisper.

His lips turned up just a little. “Stay instead, cher.”

He was so damn gorgeous, he couldn’t be human.

I slid the hand that held the knife behind my thigh as he crossed the room. I let him get close, put his arm around my waist, press that great body and beautiful mouth against mine. We even did the tongue tango for several seconds. If I had to kill him, I should at least make sure he died happy.

I yanked off his shirt. Then, while he was nuzzling my neck and stroking my breasts, growing hard against my stomach, making me almost forget one little problem, I brought the knife up fast.

I couldn’t stab him. I didn’t have it in me. Instead, I pressed the silver against his skin.

He shoved me away with a hiss, and my heart seemed to stop. I stared at his arm, expecting smoke, finding none. Hell, I was going to have to try again.

I tightened my grip, and he kicked my hand. I didn’t even see it coming. The knife flew. He grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back.

“What the hell?” he growled. “You crazy?”

“Are you the loup-garou?”

He released me so fast, I fell to my knees, peering at him through the tangle of my hair. He stared back with no expression whatsoever. “I am not.”

“I’m supposed to take your word for it?”

“You asked. I answered.”

“The knife was silver. You flinched.”

“It was a knife, Diana. You think I’d let you stick me and see if I exploded?”

My eyes narrowed. “How did you know silver makes a werewolf explode?”

He swore in French, then stalked to where the knife had fallen, picked it up, and pressed the blade against his bare chest.

Nothing happened.

He flipped the thing into the air, caught the sharp end, and offered me the handle. Climbing to my feet I took the weapon but set it on a table.

“Everyone knows silver and werewolves do not mix,” he said.

“Everyone?”

“Everyone around here.”

I fidgeted, uncertain what to do or say next.

“You have more questions. Ask.”

“Is your family cursed?”

He shrugged. “Some say we are.”

“Was your ancestor cursed to run as a wolf under the crescent moon?”

Adam’s blue eyes, the eyes of the wolf in my dream, my premonition, my harsh parting from reality, met mine. “No.”

I tried to determine if he was telling me the truth, but I couldn’t. I might have shared more with this man than I’d shared with any other except my husband, but I didn’t know him. I couldn’t trust him.

“Ruelle means famous wolf.”

“Just like Diana means moon goddess.” He tilted his head, and his hair slid across one eye. “Maybe I should wonder about you and the silver, hmm?”

He picked up the knife, and a flicker of fear raced through me. Why in hell had I put the thing down?

“Come here.” He beckoned with the blade.

I shook my head and backed away.

“Never run, cher. Wolves like to chase.”

“This isn’t funny, Adam.”

He wasn’t laughing. Neither was I. But we were both breathing pretty hard. A lot of eye contact.

Stalk. Retreat.

My shoulders hit the wall. His lips lifted just a little. I wasn’t sure if I was scared spitless or aroused beyond redemption. Maybe both.

He stepped in close, crowding me with his body, bumping me with his erection. I couldn’t move. Did I want to?

For an instant I struggled, but that only made us fit together even better. I was more rubbing than fighting against him. When I stilled, so did he.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

His gaze on my breasts, which strained against the tank top I’d worn to offset the heat, he lifted his eyes to mine as he lowered the knife to the neck of the shirt. With a deft movement he split the material. The cotton fell away, hanging uselessly from my shoulders as damp air trickled across my chest. My nipples puckered inside my plain white bra.

“Don’t what?” he murmured, pressing the cool silver blade to my heated skin.

“Stop.”

“Is it don’t?” He lifted the knife, careful not to nick me, and caught the tip in the wisp of material holding the two A cups together. “Or is it stop?”

He was very good with the weapon. He’d no doubt had secret commando training, though I doubted he’d ever used a knife in quite this way. Then again, maybe he had. Maybe he did this all the time, with all the girls.

I gave a mental wince at the thought of other women, which was foolish. This was about sex, not love, and that was how we both wanted it.

I stared into his face, and I saw nothing but a man who desired me as much as I desired him. My suspicions proved groundless, my accusations now seemed foolish.

“Don’t stop,” I said.

He flicked the knife and my bra snapped open. If I’d had any breasts to speak of, they’d have whapped him in the chest. As it was, they slid along his bare skin, the sensation better than an ice-cream cone in the middle of July. Both relief and desire, sweetness and sin.

I wrapped my fingers in his hair tight enough to make him grunt as I tugged his mouth to mine.

And the knife clattered to the floor.

Chapter 26

I expected the usual slam bam without even a “thank you, ma’am,” sex that bordered on rough, a rocketing orgasm. Instead he slowed things down, and I was lost.

“Come.” He took my hand and pulled me across the floor.

I followed obediently, drunk on the taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin. I figured we were headed for the couch and that was fine with me, yet when I hesitated halfway across the room, he turned, shaking his head. “Not tonight. Tonight we do this right.”

We hadn’t been doing it right? Could have fooled me.

His bed was made, which gave me a start. He didn’t seem the kind of guy who bothered. Then again, from the military corners and the tight white sheets, maybe he couldn’t help himself.

Just like I couldn’t help myself. Certainly I’d proved he wasn’t an evil soulless beast or the walking undead. But even if he had been, could I have resisted him? I wasn’t sure.

He climbed onto the bed, never letting go of my hand. Did he think I’d run if he released me? I wouldn’t get far. Even as a man, he could catch me. Especially since I’d let him.

The line of his pants accented the ripple of muscle across his abdomen. Not a centimeter of excess flesh lapped over the waistband. Reaching out, I traced my thumb along a ridge, and his skin fluttered beneath my touch.

I wanted to taste him, feel life against my lips, push aside the button, the zipper, and lay claim to what was beneath. I wanted to make amends for doubting him, if not for the knife. What guy wouldn’t appreciate a blow job apology?

His slacks were worn soft from years of use. The single button popped free with very little encouragement. He watched me through slitted, lazy eyes, though the hardened length of his body revealed a coiled tension, the tangle of his hair hinted at a certain wildness.

The rumble of his zipper as I tugged it down seemed to fill the room, electrify the air. He continued to watch me without word or movement, except to lift his hips just enough so I could slide the pants down. No underwear lay beneath, only skin. I wanted to learn every line and every curve. Since he didn’t appear to be going anywhere, I indulged myself.

A light dusting of hair covered his legs, just enough to make them manly, not enough to nudge them toward beast. I trailed my fingernails through the curls, up the inside of his thighs, and he quivered. How far could I go before he lost control?

My hands roved higher, thumbs skating over the curve where his leg became his hip. He arched, begging me to touch him. I couldn’t deny a need I felt so deeply myself.

I lowered my head, and my hair spilled over his chest, hiding me from view as I hovered, my breath brushing his pelvis, making him think, Yes, maybe, now, before I pressed my mouth to his belly, let my tongue circle his navel, then trace a moist path downward.

My breasts cradled his erection. His pulse beat in time with mine. He slid through my cleavage, such that it was, simulating the intimate act. I lowered my head and licked him just once. His body leaped in response.

Eyes closed, he moved against me, and I lost myself watching his face. The man enjoyed sex. With him, I enjoyed it, too. Not that I hadn’t before, but when love is involved the act is more about mind than body, heart than hands, lips, and tongue. There was something to be said about sex for the sake of sex.

My nipples tightened, hardening as they brushed his upper thighs. The rhythmic strokes sent a bolt of heat through me. I wanted to lift my body over his, take him deep within. I wanted to ride him until we were both mindless and begging.

But not yet.

I inched downward and he let me go, hands sliding over my shoulders, up my neck, across my face. His fingers tangled in my hair as I took him in my mouth. He caressed my scalp with languid strokes, guiding, encouraging, urging me on.

He lasted a good long while. His control was downright impressive. It became a battle of wills; who would surrender first, him or me? I didn’t plan to lose. I wouldn’t.

My tongue did things I’d only imagined. I used my teeth where I’d never used them before. Still he didn’t come, didn’t speak, didn’t move anything but his fingers through my hair.

I grasped him at the hilt, ran my thumb down his length, followed with my tongue, scraped him with my teeth, and his hand finally tightened.

His face was set, his eyes brighter, lighter than I remembered. As I held his gaze, I licked him, once, twice, three times, swirling softly, then taking him all and suckling hard. He swelled and grew, so close to erupting. I rode him with my mouth, drawing him to the back of my throat, then nearly setting him free.

“No,” he murmured, the rumble of his voice making my lips tingle, my ears buzz. “Please.”

I lifted my head and he groaned. I blew on the chilly dampness left by my tongue, and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Please what?”

I closed my teeth over his tip, scored the skin just a little. His eyes shot open. I expected something gruff, perhaps crude. But had anything ever been as I expected with him?

“Take me inside, cher. I want to feel your body all around me.”

I frowned at the request, too personal, too revealing. I was tempted to finish him off despite any protest. He was too close; a few more strokes, and he’d be able to do nothing but come.

Though oral sex could be more intimate than anything else, right now it wasn’t. There was a distance between us, a distance I wanted to keep. Why was he trying to breach it?

His hand still tangled in my hair, his thumb stroked my cheek. My eyes burned, and my chest ached. This was so not a good idea.

In spite of that, I was captured by his gaze, compelled by his voice, murmuring words in French that I didn’t understand. I did as he wanted, because I wanted it, too, surrounding him, taking him in.

We moved together as if we’d done this a thousand times. The advance, the retreat, so new and yet so familiar, first filling me up, then nearly leaving me alone. The latter made me clutch him tight, hold him close, grasp him in the depths of myself, and consider never letting him go.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I didn’t want to. If I didn’t see his face, he wasn’t a man, or a beast, he was a ride, albeit a damn good one.

Disgusted with my thoughts, I again did as he asked, meeting his gaze, seeing myself. Who was that woman? Could she be me?

“You don’t think of him when I’m inside you.”

I said nothing, not even when he arched his back and touched me more deeply than ever before.

“Say it,” he insisted. “Say it, or I won’t make you come.”

Even if I could have spoken, I didn’t know what he wanted. He stopped moving—a little too late.

The release began so small, so far away and yet so large, so near, I wasn’t sure if the spasms were him at first or me. Didn’t matter, because both of us were rocking together, coming apart.

I collapsed on his chest; he ran his hand up my back. The world returned, and he was still inside me. I was draped all over him. Uncertain, almost childlike, he began to play with the fleur-de-lis chain at my waist.

“What did you want me to say?” I asked.

“My name.”

I lifted my head, shifted my body, but kept our legs tangled together. “Why?”

“You said ‘Simon’ the last time you were in my bed.”

I flinched at the sound of my husband’s name while my body still tingled from another man. I didn’t want to talk about Simon. Not now, not ever, and definitely not here and not with him.

“I was asleep. It isn’t as if I called you Simon while you were doing me.”

This time he flinched, and I got worried. Was he expecting more than I could ever give? He didn’t seem the type. Then again, what type was he?

“I’m sorry, Adam.” I rolled onto my back so we were no longer touching. “I wouldn’t like it if you said another woman’s name, either. Even though... “ I paused, uncertain what to say.

“Even though there’s nothing between us but this?”

I turned my head; our noses nearly brushed. “Yes.”

For just an instant I wondered if it could be more. If I could love another man the way I’d loved Simon. If I could love this man.

“I wish I could love you,” he whispered.

Was he reading my thoughts? Mirroring them? And speaking of mirrors...

“You don’t have any,” I blurted.

Confusion flickered over his face. “Love?”

“Mirrors.”

The confusion fled, replaced by wariness, just before the stoic mask returned. He’d shut me out as if he had something to hide.

“I don’t like mirrors, cher.”

“Because?”

He sat up, presented me with his back. “What you want me to say? That I can’t see my reflection? Or that I don’t want to?”

I sat up, too, but turned toward him. Something was going on here; I just couldn’t figure out what.

“There are things I’ve done,” he said softly. “Things you couldn’t imagine.”

Was he talking about the army? Or something else? “What did you do?”

He stood, muscles rippling in his back, his legs, his arms. “More than I can ever say.”

“What was your job in the army? Detective Sullivan couldn’t access your file.”

“My life then is dead. I’m here now, and I’ll never be free.” He spun around, putting his hands on the bed, leaning over me, crowding into my space. “I’m not the man for you.”

“I know.”

“I can’t love you.”

“I can’t love you.”

“Don’t ask me to.”

“I didn’t.” My voice was clipped, my back tense to the point of aching.

“Just so we’re clear.”

“Crystal.”

His lips twitched. “What you so mad about, cher? I’m just gettin’ things out in the open. No hard feelings later that way.”

“Fine with me,” I said, but my back remained stiffer than a scrub brush bristle.

He sank onto the bed, rubbed a big hand over my shoulders. “Shh,” he whispered, pulling me into his arms. “We both want the same thing. While you’re here, we’ll be together. When you go, we won’t be.”

“Okay.”

“Because you will go.”

“Yes.”

Especially since he hadn’t asked me to stay.

Chapter 27

Deesse de la lune.

The words whispered through my mind. I’d heard them before. Now I heard them in Adam’s voice.

I fought the heavy veil of sleep, tried to surface, to see. Who was speaking? What had they said and why?

Bursting awake as if coming from the depths of a rolling ocean and into a silent night, I found myself alone. I glanced toward the window, but nothing was there.

I was so sick of dreams.

The room was dark; the moon had disappeared and the sun hadn’t yet risen. A secret, lonely hour, which wasn’t night or day or even dawn.

The front door closed. Before I even knew what I was doing, I jumped out of bed and pulled on my clothes. Or what was left of them. My tank top was shredded, so I helped myself to one of Adam’s, but my breasts tumbled out the armholes, since he’d shredded my bra while he was at it.

What had been incredibly sexy last night was an annoyance now. I mumbled curses as I found a T-shirt that might have been white once but was presently kind of gray, and tugged it over my head. A quick glance out the window revealed Adam slipping through the shadows and into the tall grass.

This was his place. Where was he going?

Time to find out. I raced through the house and out the front door.

Did I actually believe I’d be able to follow him through the swamp without his knowing I was there? He’d lived here all his life, and while I’d spent a lot of time in some very odd places, I wasn’t exactly the invisible woman. Nevertheless, I had to try.

Head down, he barely looked where he was going as he meandered through the weeds and the standing water. Was he thinking of me? Or the us that could never be? What about the us that might be? Did I dare tell him I wanted to try for more, or would that scare him off for good?

Considering I’d never woken in the daylight with him by my side, no matter what we’d shared in the night, scaring him off wasn’t hard. Why worry about it now?

Dawn broke, spilling muted sunshine across the land. There was a chill to the morning, but soon the heat would rise. Ahead tires roared across pavement; a horn tooted. I glanced around, uncertain where I was.

Adam climbed an embankment, then crossed a highway I didn’t recognize. On the opposite side lay a trailer park. I crept forward, catching sight of him just as he opened the door on one of the mobile homes and went inside. Was this where he spent his days? Not in a coffin or a grave or a lair but a trailer park? I hadn’t seen that coming.

I left the cool shadows of the swamp, slipping and sliding up the embankment, then waiting for a semi truck to pass before I scooted across the two-lane highway. Expecting the trailer park to be run-down, kind of slummy, I was surprised to find neat plots of grass and flowers planted around the bases of most of the mobile homes. Each was well kept, clean, even shiny. Tricycles, Big Wheels, Flintstone cars resided in nearly every driveway. Where Adam had disappeared, they had one of each.

Who lived here? I had a very bad feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.

Tempted to bang on the door, I refrained. Just past six in the morning, I didn’t want to be rude. So I slunk around the side and peeked in the window. I didn’t mind being criminal.

Cartoons spilled across the TV screen. A little boy of perhaps four or five stared at the square yellow blob with a face, legs, and hands that appeared to be dancing under the sea.

I craned my neck. A young African-American woman stood in the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl. Her hair had been left natural, forming a short, tight, attractive Afro around her pretty face. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, maybe twenty.

I returned my attention to the child—dark hair, long and shaggy, his skin kissed by the sun. I couldn’t see his eyes. He could be hers.

Hers and—

The young woman’s head came up as Adam appeared, his hair slicked back from his face, a towel around his neck. Chest bare, he now wore jeans instead of slacks.

“Daddy!” the child screeched, and launched himself into Adam’s arms.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing until black dots shimmied in front of my eyes. I sucked in air, let it out again. I should sit down, put my head between my legs, or maybe just pound it against the cement. But I couldn’t tear my gaze from Adam and his son.

The child clung to Adam like a monkey, arms tight around his neck, legs clutching his waist and Adam rubbed his cheek against the boy’s hair. The love on his face caused a tiny sob to escape.

Adam looked up, and I ducked so fast I got dizzy again. I crouched below the window, breathing as shallowly as I dared, listening for the creak of a door, but nothing happened. So I sat on the ground, dangled my head between my knees.

I should get out of here. Someone, if not Adam or the little woman, was going to discover me dallying in the patch of grass beneath their living room window and wonder what kind of psycho they were dealing with.

He’d been angry when he thought I was married and screwing him. What was his excuse?

“Maybe they aren’t married.” Which was no excuse.

He’d lied to me somewhere along the line. Although I hadn’t asked if he was involved, nevertheless, wasn’t it good form to mention it? He definitely should have mentioned the child.

Adam had made certain I was leaving, made clear he didn’t love me and never would. He probably figured I’d be gone long before it mattered that he had a son and a live-in woman. Maybe she didn’t care if he played around. But I did.

A thought niggled at the edge of my mind. If I could just get my brain to function past the sight of that little boy’s smile and the sound of his voice shouting, “Daddy!” But I couldn’t. From the way I was hyperventilating and clutching my chest you’d think I’d just caught the love of my life in bed with another woman.

I forced myself to my feet. I’d head back to the mansion, gather my things, and move in with Cassandra. Then I’d hire another guide, find the freaking loup-garou, put a leash around its neck, and deliver the beast to Frank. All without ever seeing Adam Ruelle again.

I turned and ran right into him.

He glanced from me to the window and back again. Neither one of us spoke. I lifted my chin and tried to walk away. He side-stepped, putting himself directly in front of me.

“What are you doin’ here?” he asked.

“Get bent.”

“You followed me.”

“Duh,” I muttered, which was so constructive but the best I could think of right now.

“You shouldn’t have.”

I was tempted to say “duh” again but managed to stop myself.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the mobile home, glancing over his shoulder as if afraid someone might see. I struggled against his hold, for all the good it did.

“You have to go.”

“Damn straight.”

“I’ll come to the mansion tonight. I’ll explain.”

“Don’t bother.” I pulled free.

“You don’t understand, cher.”

“Do not call me cher!” I shouted, and to my horror, my voice broke.

He reached for me, and I stepped back so fast I tripped over my own feet. My eyes burned. I was going to cry, and I couldn’t let him see. I just couldn’t.

“Diana, it’s not what you think.”

“Not your son?”

His lips tightened and he didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought.” And suddenly I recalled his incredible lie.

“You said... “ I stared at him wide-eyed. “You said you couldn’t have children.” My fingers itched to touch my stomach, where even now his child might be growing. Why on earth had I ever trusted this man?

“I can’t.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “Not anymore.”

“And I should believe you?”

“Why would I want to get you pregnant? I don’t even want—” He broke off.

I could fill in the end of that sentence. He didn’t even want me. Not forever. Not in any way that mattered. I’d deluded myself into thinking I was the type of woman who could have sex without strings, but I wasn’t. The instant I’d had sex, the strings were there. They might be invisible, but that didn’t make them any less real.

I must have made a movement toward the road, as if I might take off, as if I had a prayer in hell of outrunning him, and his hand snaked out, his fingers encircling my wrist.

“You weren’t supposed to see,” he said.

“No shit.”

“Diana.” He sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Not much. Not anymore.”

His lips thinned again. He was angry.

Well, join the club, my mind mocked. I was the injured party here. So why was he making me feel as if I’d done something wrong?

“Who is she?” I whispered.

The child I could forgive, but a wife... never.

Adam’s eyes met mine, startled, a little confused, as if he had no idea who I was talking about, and I snapped. My free hand balled into a fist and I swung at his head.

He ducked, quicker than spit, and I nearly fell when I missed him. My other arm twisted sharply, painfully, and I would have gone to my knees if he hadn’t grabbed me and hauled me against him. Despite everything, my body recognized his. We still fit together so right. How could everything have gone so wrong?

“Daddy?”

Oh, yeah. That.

To his credit he didn’t shove me away. He released me slowly, almost gently, and stepped back, putting himself between me and his son, as if he could hide one from the other.

“What are you doin’ out here?” Adam asked.

The child didn’t answer, instead leaning to the side so he could see me. I was struck with the urge to cover my face, as if that would make me invisible.

He grinned, exposing an adorable gap in his front teeth. If that hadn’t made my heart clutch, the sight of his bright blue eyes would have.

“I’m Luc,” he said. “Luc Ruelle.”

He didn’t have the Cajun twang of his father, but the South still lived in Luc’s voice.

“Go inside,” Adam ordered.

The kid ignored him. I had to admire that. Adam wasn’t exactly ignorable.

“You gonna be my mom?”

I choked.

“Luc,” Adam growled.

“Uh-oh.” Luc’s gaze shifted to his father, then back to me. “I’m in trouble.”

He didn’t appear worried, and instead of leaving, he advanced. Adam stepped between us again, and I was tempted to shove him out of the way. Honestly, did he think I was going to gobble up the child like a... a goblin?

“My real mama died. I got sitters. Lots of ’em.” He glanced at Adam. “Sadie says she’s quittin’.”

Adam groaned as Luc gave a long-suffering sigh. “I know, another one bites the dust.”

I laughed and Luc smiled again, even as Adam shot me a glare. How could he remain so sour with such a sweet, funny child to enjoy? And why was he treating Luc like a curse and not a blessing?

My head tilted. Could Luc be ... ?

“Get back inside,” Adam repeated. “I have to take—” He broke off and scowled at me again—”her home.”

“Who is her?” Luc asked, undaunted. “What’s your name?”

“Diana.”

“Deesse de la lune.”

All urge to laugh fled. I heard again the whisper in the swamp, Adam’s murmur in my mind, Luc’s voice in the sun.

“What does that mean?”

Luc glanced at Adam, concern wrinkling his forehead. “She don’t know French?”

“Not everyone does.”

The child peered at me as if I’d just farted in church. Not to know French—what a cretin!

“Goddess of the moon. Diana.”

Interesting that a child knew all about the power of names.

“Daddy likes the moon.”

My gaze went to Adam, who stared at me with no expression. “Does he?”

“Especially the smiley moon,” Luc continued. “Whenever there’s one of those in the sky, he’s gone all night.”

Chapter 28

“Luc!” The sitter burst out the front door, pausing when she saw the three of us nearby. “I’m sorry, Mr. Adam, he slipped away again.”

Hurrying forward, she scooped Luc into her arms. “You’re like an eel, boy.”

“Bye,” Luc said as she carried him back to the trailer. The child kept his curious gaze on me the entire way.

“You don’t belong here,” Adam said.

His words hurt, but I was determined not to show it. “I know.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“To Boston?”

“Would you go?”

“No.”

“There isn’t a loup-garou, Diana. You’re wasting your time. If you stay, someone’s going to get hurt.”

“People are dying. What’s killing them, Adam? You?”

“What if I was?”

I blinked. “I—uh—what?”

“What if I was killing them?”

“You said there wasn’t a wolf.”

“Exactly. So it must be a person.”

“The police believe there’s an animal killing people.”

“Then it’s an animal, which means it isn’t me.”

“Unless you’re the loup-garou.”

“I’m not a wolf.”

“Yet you disappear under every crescent moon.”

“I don’t disappear. I stay at my shack.”

“Why?”

“Things happen under that moon.” He took a deep breath. “I mean things have happened. To me, in the army. I try not to remember, but—” He let the breath out and his shoulders slumped.

I wanted to touch his hair, hold his hand, but I knew he wouldn’t let me.

“Luc was wrong,” he said. “I don’t like the crescent moon; I despise it.”

“What happened?”

Instead of answering, he took my arm and half-led, half-dragged me to the ancient Chevy parked in the driveway. The thing appeared at least forty years old. A little restoration would do wonders, just like the mansion. Right now the car was a mess—rusted, blotchy, no true color to speak of. Adam opened the passenger door. “Get in,” he said, “or I will make you.”

I glanced at the trailer. Luc waved from the window. I got in the car, wincing when a busted spring thumped me in the ass. The seat was badly torn, as if an animal had clawed it apart.

The car was so old it didn’t have air-conditioning. In a near-synchronized movement, we rolled down the windows. The morning was already hot enough that the wind felt good in my hair.

“I’m not gonna tell you what happened,” Adam murmured. “I can’t.”

The “can’t” stopped me. I understood that special ops were a secret.

“What happened to your wife?”

His fingers tightened on the wheel. “She’s gone.”

“How?”

I imagined terrible things—things that had put the shadows in his eyes. Was this why he couldn’t love me? Death was something I understood.

“Packed up her stuff, cleaned out our bank accounts, and ran.”

“Luc said his mother was dead.”

“She is to me. To him, too.” His gaze shifted to mine, then back to the road. “She isn’t coming back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried about your sanity. Why would you tell your child his mother is dead when she—?”

“Took off. Abandoned him. Left when he was not much more than a year old and never came back. She didn’t want him. She hates him almost as much as she hates—” His mouth snapped closed over the last word. But I could figure it out. His wife hated him. I doubted he’d tell me why.

“You didn’t see her again?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t hear from her?”

“Zip.”

“So you’re still married.”

“Not in my mind.”

“Terrific,” I muttered.

“If I don’t know where she is, how can I send her the divorce papers?”

He had a point. Still—

“It was never a real marriage,” he insisted.

“You got a license?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it was real.”

“I never loved her. She never loved me. We got married because... “ He shrugged and I understood.

“You couldn’t keep it in your pants. What a shock.” Silence settled over the interior of the car. But I was unable to remain quiet for long. “Why did you tell me you couldn’t have children?”

“I can’t. Not anymore. After Luc I—” He fell silent, as if he could no longer find the words.

I had no such trouble. “You were in an accident? Caught the mumps? What?”

“I had a vasectomy.”

My mouth fell open. I seemed to have that problem a lot lately. “Why?”

“I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“What if you met someone? Wanted more children?”

“I won’t.”

My chest hurt, as if someone were pounding on it with a lead pipe, trying to break my heart.

“You can’t know that,” I managed.

“I will never marry again. Never have another child. It’s the way things are.”

I never planned to marry again, either, knew with utter certainty I’d never love anyone the way I’d loved Simon. I hadn’t wanted a baby with him; I definitely didn’t want one with anyone else. So why did Adam’s words bother me so much?

Because I smelled a lie in there somewhere; I just wasn’t sure where. Perhaps it was the lie of omission. He had another life, a family I didn’t even know about. And if he’d lied about that, he’d probably lied about something else.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Luc?”

“My life in the swamp is different from my life with my son.”

“And I’m part of your life in the swamp? How flattering.”

“Diana, you don’t understand—”

“I think I do. You don’t want your precious son being contaminated by the trampy woman you’re screwing.”

His jaw tightened. “That isn’t what I said.”

“You don’t have to.” I crossed my arms and stared out the window.

“I’ll do anything to keep Luc from being hurt.”

I shot him a glare. “You think I’d hurt him?”

“Not on purpose. But—” He lifted his hand from the steering wheel, then lowered it. “He wants a mother. I can’t give him one.”

“You could.”

“You plan on stayin’, cher? You want a ready-made family? A little cabin in the swamp? Drive a car pool? Make bag lunches? Soccer games and Little League?”

When I hesitated, he nodded. “That’s what I thought. So I keep him away. Why get his hopes up? He’s gonna have a hard enough life as it is.”

“Why is his life going to be hard?”

“That’s just the way life is.”

“You know the future?”

“Sometimes I think I do.”

I stared at him as he stared out the windshield. “You say the strangest things.”

“I don’t want you to tell anyone about him.”

I spread my hands wide. “Who would I tell?”

“No one knows he’s my son. I want to keep it that way. People around here, they think I’m nuts.”

“I wonder why.”

He ignored me. “Luc should have as normal of a life as possible.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“My life isn’t normal.”

“It could be.”

“I have responsibilities. Things I have to do—”

A thought broke through my confusion. “Are you still in the army? Some super secret agent crap?”

“No,” he said shortly.

“What, exactly, do you do?”

He didn’t bother to answer, which only made me more suspicious. But his next words hurt so much, I forgot all about that

“I don’t want you to see Luc again.”

“Fine.”

I didn’t plan on seeing Adam again, either. Just because I didn’t want children didn’t mean I was going to take kindly to being told I wasn’t allowed near one. Adam was making me feel bad, and I already felt bad enough.

He turned off the main road and slowed at the sight of a car parked in front of the mansion. Cassandra sat on the porch. As we pulled up she stood, hand raised to shield her eyes from the bright morning sunlight.

I glanced at my watch. Seven forty-five. Damn. I’d told her I’d call by 7:00 a.m. and let her know I was okay. I was surprised Detective Sullivan wasn’t here, too.

“Who is that?” Adam murmured.

“Cassandra.”

“She don’t look like a voodoo priestess.”

“Exactly what does a voodoo priestess look like?”

“Hell if I know.”

Cassandra’s face flooded with relief when she saw me. Her gaze went to Adam, and her eyebrows shot up. I’m sure he had that effect on all the women.

I climbed out of the car. “I forgot to call.”

“I can see why.”

I turned to introduce Adam, and he drove away. I was left gaping at the taillights of his Chevy. Sure, I’d planned to blow him off, but he hadn’t even given me the chance.

“Antisocial much?” Cassandra murmured.

“You have no idea.”

“What happened last night?”

“He isn’t the loup-garou.”

Cassandra’s only reaction was a slight lifting of her dark eyebrows. “How do you know?”

“I touched him with your knife, and he didn’t explode.”

“Not into flames anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smirked. “You had sex.”

“See that in your crystal ball?”

“Didn’t have to. I can tell by the way you watched him go. Where were you?”

I almost told her, then I remembered Adam’s admonition about Luc. Not that I’d promised anything. Not that I owed Adam anything. Not that Cassandra was any type of threat. Then again I had no idea whom I could trust and whom I couldn’t. I’d thought Adam and I had something—if not love, well, at least lust and extreme like.

Discovering he had a son, that he was, technically, married, had shaken my confidence. Go figure. Having him say he didn’t want me near his child hurt. But I wasn’t going to make myself feel any better by telling Cassandra. I didn’t think anything would make me feel better.

“Diana? Where were you?”

“His place.”

“In the swamp.”

I nodded. We had been, most of the time.

I remembered something else about Luc—he wasn’t supposed to exist. I’d found no record of his birth. Had I missed it? Had it been lost, stolen, misplaced?

The sound of vehicles turning off the main highway made both Cassandra and I glance up. A delivery truck and an unmarked police car rattled down the driveway.

“Sullivan.” Cassandra didn’t sound pleased.

“Ms. Malone.” Sullivan approached, nodded at me, then Cassandra. “Priestess.”

He put a sarcastic twist on the title and Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.

“You better watch it or she’ll turn you into a toad,” I said.

“Wish I could.”

Sullivan didn’t appear worried. “I’d be happy to call you Miss, Mrs., or Ms. if I knew your last name.”

“You mean you haven’t been able to uncover that information with your superior detecting skills?” Cassandra asked.

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“What is your last name?” I asked.

“I don’t need one. ‘Priestess Cassandra’ sets me apart. It isn’t as if there are two in town.”

She didn’t want to tell me. How interesting. I never would have thought Cassandra had something to hide. Maybe everyone did.

“Which one of you is Malone?” the deliveryman asked.

“Me.” I took the clipboard he offered and signed next to my name.

The stuff from Frank had arrived. Thank goodness. In less than a week the crescent moon would rise and I’d be ready.

“What’s that?” Sullivan asked as the delivery guy unloaded a cart with a long, thin box atop two shorter fatter ones.

“Cage, tree stands, tranquilizer gun.”

“You got a permit for that?”

I stopped in the middle of opening the box on the top. “I was told the gun laws in Louisiana are lenient.”

“They are. But trapping an animal and transporting it across state lines is a different matter.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Luckily Frank had. On top of the dart gun lay documents, all made out and stamped nice and legal, signed by the governor and giving me the right to take pretty much anything anywhere I wanted to. Frank might be an annoying pain, but he was an organized, think-ahead, rich annoying pain with a lot of connections.

I handed the papers to Sullivan. Frustration washed over his face. He handed them back to me with a scowl. “Did you ever tell Adam Ruelle I wanted to talk to him?”

“We already had this conversation.”

“He still hasn’t contacted me.”

I shrugged. Adam wasn’t going to call the detective in this lifetime.

“Why did you call me if it wasn’t about Ruelle?” he demanded.

I’d forgotten about the call I’d placed, the message I’d left, but I remembered the question I’d had. “Did you ever identify the man who was strangled in the swamp?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that strange?” Cassandra asked. “Shouldn’t someone be searching for him?”

“Eventually. Maybe.” Sullivan shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many John Does there are in the world. Especially around here. Speaking of which, we never found Charlie Wagner’s body.”

I tried hard not to look at Cassandra. Probably as hard as she was trying not to look at me. The detective glanced back and forth between us.

Before be could ask us questions we wouldn’t answer, I asked one of my own. “The St. Tammany police thought there was a rabies problem in the swamp.”

“There’s something. My boss called in a specialist.”

“What kind of specialist?”

“There’s been a problem in several states with a new strain of rabies.”

“Really?” Cassandra murmured. “Funny we didn’t hear about it.”

“They try to keep information of that nature quiet. People panic.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I said.

“Guy should be here in a couple days. He’ll do his thing, and then we can concentrate on our other problems.”

“Which are?”

“Who strangled a stranger and who’s stealing dead bodies?” He squinted at Cassandra as he said the latter. She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

“Maybe you should wait to do your trapping until our rabies expert is finished,” he said.

“What if my wolf is the one with the rabies problem?” And I kind of thought he was—if you considered rabies was a euphemism for the curse of the crescent moon.

“Then you’d definitely better back off. You don’t want rabies, Ms. Malone. Even with the new medicines, it isn’t pretty.”

As I didn’t want to be baying at the moon, either, I wasn’t going to take any chances.

“You’ll wait until I give the go-ahead before you move forward with… ?” Sullivan made a vague motion toward the cage and the dart gun.

“Of course.”

“Great. I’ll be in touch.” The detective climbed into his car and rumbled down the drive toward the highway.

Cassandra cleared her throat. When I glanced at her, she lifted a dark brow. “You really plan to wait?”

“Hell, no.”

Chapter 29

Cassandra left after I assured her I wasn’t going to set a trap in the swamp. What would be the point? There wasn’t a crescent moon tonight.

However, I did want to scout the area and figure out the best location for the cage when the time was right. I should be safe in the sunshine, at least from a loup-garou. If there were rabid wild dogs, coyotes, or even a real wolf, I might be in trouble.

Except I didn’t believe that. Not anymore.

I loaded the tranquilizer gun before I took a walk. I also had the pistol Adam had given me, but the thing made me nervous. What if I shot someone accidentally? Heck, what if I shot them on purpose?

As jumpy as I was, that could easily happen. There’d been enough death in the Honey Island Swamp. I preferred not to cause more. The tranquilizer gun would only put someone to sleep for a few hours instead of permanently.

I was so close to proving what Simon had always known. Werewolves existed right under our very noses. How they managed to do so and not be found was a mystery. One I wanted to unravel.

I understood now what had obsessed my husband. My guilt at not supporting him while he was alive returned, but I refused to let depression take hold. I could atone for my lack of foresight if I proved his theory. If I found a loup-garou and presented the beast to the world, Simon’s reputation would be saved. No one would ever dare speak his name and laugh again.

I hadn’t realized in what direction I was walking until I reached the top of a small rise and saw Adam’s shack in the narrow valley below. I was not going in there. I was not talking to him again; I was definitely not going to get close enough for him to seduce me.

I made a derisive sound. As if.

I wasn’t going to jump into bed with a man who didn’t think I was fit to share airspace with his son.

“Asshole.” There. I felt better now.

So why didn’t I leave? I stood on the ridge and stared at the shack, watching a shadow move beyond the window. I remembered what we’d shared there.

I glanced at the yard. And there. Not to mention several other places.

My sigh was pathetic. I forced myself to turn away. It wasn’t as if I’d loved him. I’d wanted him. I’d had him. We were done. Then why did I feel as if I’d buried my best friend?

Because you did. You just forgot about him while you were boning a stranger.

“Nice,” I murmured. “With a conscience like that, who needs enemies?”

Still, my conscience was right. I’d let myself be distracted by bulging biceps, rippling abs, and an excellent dick. Which just might be an oxymoron.

While I was having this conversation with myself I’d kept walking and managed to get all turned around. The swamp was tricky; a section could appear similar or very different depending on the time of day, the direction of the sun, the slant of the shadows.

I nearly slipped into a tributary that was far too wide to cross without an airboat, even without the alligators bobbing in the center. One splashed at the edge of the water and slunk onto the bank. I patted my pocket, relieved to find the gris-gris still there.

Pulling the bag free, I rolled it in my hand, as much for courage as magic. My heart rate returned to normal when the gator did an about-face and slid noiselessly into the water.

Backtracking to a familiar path, I glanced at the sky, then took off down the trail double time. The sun was fading fast. I heard a rustle, then the thud of pursuit—something that possessed more feet than two.

I would not glance over my shoulder. How many times has the idiot heroine in a horror movie tried to catch a glimpse of what was chasing her? Then she trips over her feet, goes to her knees, and we’ve got snarling and screaming and blood. Basically, she’s too stupid to live, so she’s dead.

Not me. I heard the pitter-patter of multiple feet and I ran. I’d thought I was within shouting distance of the mansion, not that there was anyone to shout to. Minutes later I still hadn’t burst out of the tall grass and into the overgrown yard. I wished like hell I hadn’t run. I’d have been better off facing the predator than making myself the prey. Although I had a feeling I’d been the prey since that fire iris had made an appearance on my bed.

A body hit me between the shoulder blades and I fell. My hands took the brunt of the impact, but still my forehead banged into the ground, and I saw stars. Whatever had knocked me down ran right over my back and kept going.

Definitely not a person—a little too quadrupedal.

I lifted my head as the tip of a tail disappeared into the foliage. With a groan I rolled onto my back and stared at the night sky. Three-quarters of the way up, a full moon shone. How could the loup-garou be out now?

According to legend, it couldn’t. However, according to legend, and Mrs. Favreau, wolves made wolves. Which explained the howls I’d heard in the night. I thought about Charlie, Mrs. Beasly, the other missing persons, and the missing bodies.

There might not be wolves in New Orleans, but if there were werewolves, there were probably a lot of them.

I dragged myself to my feet, sore and scraped but thrilled to be alive. My dart gun had flown into the weeds when I’d fallen, and I bent stiffly to pick it up.

The only person who’d been of any use in this mystery was Marie Favreau. Well, Arianna Beasly had been helpful, too, but she was dead. Twice. If I ever got back to the mansion, I’d call Mrs. Favreau and ask if she knew anything else worth knowing.

I continued down the path, skittering into a semi-run when the howl of a wolf from the east was answered by another from the west. Then a whole chorus began, making the hair on my arms stand up almost as high as that on the back of my neck.

When the howls died away, I could have sworn the grass swished in my direction, from several locations. I tried not to run, but it was hard. I wanted to be inside the mansion, right now. Why hadn’t I stayed there in the first place?

After what seemed hours, I caught a glimpse of the Ruelle residence between the dripping branches of the cypress trees. I hesitated at the edge of the swamp, concerned any number of beasts could be waiting for me once I left the cover of the greenery.

More howls commenced, much farther away, and I stepped into the yard. Nothing attacked me.

I popped the trunk of the car and retrieved Adam’s pistol; then I went into the house and shut the door, not bothering with the lock, since all the windows were broken anyway.

There was no way I was sleeping here tonight, but first things first I called information and moments later the phone was picked up in the French Quarter. “Hello?”

I recognized Anne’s voice and considered hanging up, but that would be childish. “Is Marie there?”

Silence came over the line. I didn’t like the sound of that silence.

“Who is this?”

“Diana Malone. I visited the other day.”

“She’s dead,” Anne said flatly.

My fingers tightened on the phone. “How?”

“She was old. Heart attack.”

I frowned. “Didn’t Arianna have a heart attack?”

“This wasn’t the same.”

“How was it different?”

“Mother wasn’t attacked. She just... died.”

“Where?”

I didn’t much care for the way people were dropping like flies not long after I talked with them.

“In the garden. She likes to sit outside and watch the stars.”

And the moon, too, I’d bet.

“There weren’t any bite marks?”

“She’s gone.” Anne made a disgusted sound. “Can’t she rest in peace?”

“I hope so. Did you happen to stuff her mouth with wolfsbane and draw a pentagram on her chest? Maybe shoot her with silver, just to be sure?”

Anne slammed down the phone hard enough to damage my eardrum. I couldn’t say I blamed her.

Marie’s death disturbed me. The old woman’s heart might have given out. Then again, she could have been confronted by a werewolf and gotten a little help.

The way people were dying around here they’d be dubbing me Typhoid Diana soon. I was tempted to call Cassandra, make sure she had no plans to stand outside and stare at the moon. Ask if she owned any silver jewelry. Tell her to put some on and save a piece for me. Maybe I’d just tell her in person.

I began to gather my things, but a soft footfall on the porch made me lift the pistol. The door slid open, creaking loudly. I had an instant to think, Wolves can’t open doors, before a figure darted inside.

A figure too small to be a man and too human to be a wolf.

Chapter 30

Luc Ruelle blinked at the gun. I shifted the weapon away. This was why I didn’t like to use them. More often than not, the wrong person got shot.

“Guns are dangerous,” he said solemnly.

“Damn straight.”

“Curse word.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Heard it before.”

I bet he had.

“Just not from a lady.”

He still hadn’t but I wasn’t going to point that out.

“What are you doing here?” I craned my neck. “Did your dad bring you?”

I heard the hope in my voice and wanted to curse again. If Adam had brought Luc, then maybe he’d changed his mind about me seeing the boy. And if Adam had changed his mind about that then what?

He’d buy me an engagement ring, fix up the mansion, we’d move in and start playing Ozzie and Harriet?

Doubtful.

At any rate, I needed a reference a little more up-to- date. Was there an example of a happily married couple on TV these days? For the life of me, I couldn’t think of one.

“My dad doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Uh-oh,” I said before I could stop myself.

Luc Drew his toe across the floor in an “aw shucks” gesture. Only then did I realize he was barefoot. On closer examination, his shirt was inside out and his shorts weren’t zipped.

“Were you in a big hurry to leave?” I asked.

“Huh?” He stared at me with innocent Adam-eyes.

“Your... um—” I waved vaguely. “Barn door.”

He glanced down, then presented me with his back. “I forgot to X-Y-Z.” The sound of the zipper being zipped punctuated his words.

“What’s X-Y-Z?”

“Examine your zipper. Duh.”

As I said, I knew nothing about kids, particularly male ones, having never been one myself. I felt pretty “duh” all around.

“I should call your dad,” I said.

“No phone.”

“No phone?”

“Don’t need one.”

Everyone needed a phone. Didn’t they?

Luc wandered around the mansion, glancing at my stuff, peering into corners, then staring upstairs.

He saw me watching him and shrugged. “Never been here.”

This was the family home—despite its disarray. Why hadn’t Adam brought him?

I hate that place. I wish it would rot, but the damn thing never will.

Oh, yeah.

“I cut through the swamp,” Luc said. “Wasn’t far.”

“Do you walk around the swamp a lot?”

“Uh-huh.”

I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. He was so little, the things out there so big. Or at least they’d seemed big while chasing me.

“Did you see anything strange?” I asked.

“No.”

That was informative.

“Did you see anything?”

“Trees, gators, water, snakes. Critters.”

“What kind of critters?”

“I didn’t really see any. Just heard ’em scratchin’ around.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go in the swamp for a while.”

His face creased into a mulish expression that resembled a dried-apple doll. “I’ve been playing in the swamp since I could walk.”

“And your dad doesn’t care?”

“He says I need to know how to survive there. Someday I might have to.”

What a bizarre thing to say to a child.

The two of us stared at each other. I smiled uneasily. What was I going to do with him until Adam showed up? He would show up. Wouldn’t he?

I’d wait a half an hour, then I’d take Luc back myself and head into town as I’d planned.

“Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

I smiled. “I’ve got crackers.”

“That’s not food.”

“Cookies?”

“Okay.”

I dug out the package, handed it over.

“How many can I have?” he asked.

“Go nuts.”

Which was probably the wrong thing to say to a kid, but he wasn’t my kid, and Adam had made it clear he never would be. If Luc went home on a sugar high, that was no more than the man deserved. What kind of father allowed a child to roam the swamp?

What did I know about it? Maybe down here, or anywhere for that matter, a four-year-old was plenty old to swamp-wander.

I eyed Luc’s size, then thought of his speech, his behavior. Maybe he was older than four. Regardless, he wasn’t twenty-four. Which is how old I thought he should be before he went into the swamp alone again.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“How old are you?”

“It isn’t polite to ask a woman her age.”

“How come? Don’t you know?”

God, he was cute.

“I’m thirty.”

‘That’s old.”

“Is not.”

“You’re older than my dad.”

Well, wasn’t that special?

“How much older?”

“A year.”

In my opinion, that didn’t count.

“Okay, your turn.”

I took a cookie myself, earning a scowl of reproof from Luc. Did he plan to eat them all? From the way he was wolfing them down—stupid question.

“I’m seven.”

“Really?”

“I’m little, but I’m quick. And smart.”

“I bet you are.”

“My mom was little. And Dad said he didn’t grow until he was twelve. Then he grew five inches in one year.”

“That must’ve hurt.”

“Hurt?” His eyes went wide and his lip trembled.

Hell. I had no idea how to talk to kids.

“I meant helped. That must have helped. With... basketball.”

From his expression he didn’t buy the excuse. He was quick.

“Dad didn’t play basketball.”

“No? What did he play?”

“Nothin’.” His lip stuck out “He says life isn’t a game, it’s a responsibility.”

“Well, yippee.”

Luc grinned. “Yeah.”

That gap in his teeth just did me in.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” I asked.

“Dad teaches me.”

Mobile residence. Multiple babysitters. Home-schooling. But why?

Another question for Adam, if he ever spoke to me again.

“You wanna play cards?” Luc asked.

“I don’t have any cards.”

He reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a deck.

“Just one game,” I allowed. “What do you play?”

“Hold ’em.”

I put my hand out to take the cards, and he stared at my palm, confused.

“You don’t want me to hold them?” I asked.

“I meant Texas hold ’em.”

“Like on TV?”

“That’s where I learned it.”

He started shuffling with card-shark precision, which was both adorable and scary. Also sad. The child had to learn games from TV?

“How often do you see your father?”

“Every day.”

“Then why the babysitters?”

“They stay all night.”

“Where’s your dad at night?”

“Workin’, I guess.”

“Working at what?”

“Dunno.”

Stranger and stranger. I’d slept with the man, shared intimacies untold, yet I didn’t know what he did for a living. But, to be fair, neither did his son.

Luc beat me at hold ’em. Badly. Several times. I forgot about “just one game.” I forgot about leaving in a half an hour. An hour later we were still playing; I was still losing.

“I think that’s enough.” I tossed in another hand of junk.

“That’s what they all say when I win.”

I contemplated his tangled hair, his gappy teeth, his familiar eyes. “Why did you come here, Luc?”

He pocketed the cards and crawled into my lap. I was so surprised, I let him.

“Dad likes you.” He shifted his butt, snuggled his head under my chin, and put his arms around my waist. “I can tell.”

“I don’t think he does.” Not enough. Not anymore.

“He’s never mumbled a girl’s name in his sleep before. That’s gotta mean somethin’.”

I knew what it meant, and I wasn’t going to tell Luc.

“I thought he worked all night,” I said, wondering how Luc could have heard Adam mumbling in his sleep.

“Then he sleeps most of the day. That’s when I watch hold ’em.”

What was Adam up to all night that made him sleep when the sun shone? I had a feeling I didn’t want to know.

While we’d been talking, my arms had automatically circled the child. My cheek rested on his hair. His body was warm, both bony and soft. His hair smelled like summertime in the rain.

“If Dad likes you,” he murmured, his voice slurred with sleep, “I like you.”

I didn’t say anything until his breathing evened out and he went slack. I wasn’t going to be taking Luc home anytime soon. He might be little, but he was probably too big for me to carry. Besides, I didn’t want to wake him.

I stretched out on the bedroll, letting his body tumble onto the cover next to me. When he mumbled and shifted, I stroked his hair and whispered, “I like you, too.”

He fell back to sleep, his hand resting in mine. I found myself fascinated by that tiny, soft hand. He had a scrape on one knuckle, a scab on the palm; his fingernails were encrusted in dirt. Had he been digging with them? I suspected that might be something little boys did, but I wasn’t sure.

Luc looked so much like Adam. From the blue eyes, to the dark hair, to the skin that turned bronze beneath the sun. Was there anything of Luc’s mother in him at all?

I’d never had a maternal yearning in my life. Never heard the biological clock ticking. Never went gaga over babies. I didn’t drool over sunsuits and tiny shoes. So why did holding Luc Ruelle’s hand make my stomach flutter?

A movement at the corner of my vision made me glance up. I wasn’t surprised to find Adam watching from the window.

From his expression, Luc was wrong. His father didn’t like me very much at all.

Chapter 31

Adam came into the house as I sat up, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. Without a word, Adam bent and lifted Luc into his arms. Equally silent he walked out of the house. I expected he’d walked out of my life forever.

What was it about the Ruelles that made me feel things I never had before and never expected to again? What was it about a silent man and a chatty boy that made a foolish, lonely cryptozoologist long for a life she’d never wanted?

This wasn’t me, to ache for a child. To contemplate loving again with the same depth I’d once loved before. To consider a future so far gone from the one I’d planned as to be unfathomable. I had to be under a spell.

Was I behaving so oddly, thinking so strangely, longing so deeply because of magic? The very idea should make me laugh, but after what I’d seen since coming to the Crescent City, laughing was the farthest thing from my mind.

There was only one person I trusted here, and conveniently that person knew magic. I grabbed my bag and my keys and drove to town.

Bourbon Street was hopping. I heard the music, saw the lights, from several blocks away. I was tempted to take a detour and soothe my problems with a zombie. But I figured the way things were going, I’d actually run into a zombie.

Cassandra opened the door before I even knocked.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I peeked through the window.”

“Oh.” I stepped inside.

“Lock the door. You need a drink.”

Right again. Sometimes I thought she was more than a little psychic.

Within minutes I sat across from her at the kitchen table, sipping from a glass of something complete with a tiny umbrella. I took a big swig. “Fruity.”

Probably had twelve types of alcohol--just what I needed. I took another glug. “What do you know about love potions? Maybe a charm or a spell?”

Cassandra took a ladylike sip and set down her glass. “More than you, I suspect. Why?”

I wasn’t sure. Adam had insisted he couldn’t love me, didn’t want me to love him. What good would a love spell do? But Luc was another matter. The child wanted a mother. If I fell hopelessly in love with him, wouldn’t I take the job?

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Cassandra about the boy. Adam didn’t want anyone to know. And while I trusted Cassandra with my life—had on several occasions already—it wasn’t right for me to trust her with Luc’s. He wasn’t mine to give.

“You’re talking about Adam. You love him?”

“I something him,” I muttered. “I don’t like it.”

“Just because you don’t want to love the man doesn’t mean you’ve been put under a spell. In truth, if you had been, you’d be thrilled about it. That’s part of the magic.”

I took a huge slurp, and the end of the paper umbrella went up my nose. Sneezing, I tossed it aside.

“You better slow down,” Cassandra said. “You’re going to be smashed.”

“Okay.”

I’d been right about the twelve kinds of alcohol. Right now, every one of them zipped through my bloodstream, both relaxing and revving me. My cheeks felt on fire.

“I love my husband.”

“Shouldn’t you say loved?”

“I don’t know how to stop. He still feels alive to me.” I touched my chest “Right here.”

“Maybe that’s why you saw him in your dream. In your heart he’s still alive. You need to let him go.”

“No.”

The idea of letting Simon go, of giving up, giving in, going on, was too much for me. Maybe that was why I had come up with the notion that my feelings for Adam had been induced by voodoo. They couldn’t be real, because if they were, I didn’t love Simon anymore. And if my love for him died, then so did he.

I know, I know, he already had. But when was love ever rational?

I took another swig of courage before blurting what I’d been wondering since I’d seen Simon at the window? I stared at my fingers, clutched together in my lap. “Could you raise him?”

Cassandra took a quick, sharp breath and held it. Afraid she’d pass out if she didn’t breathe, afraid I’d panic if she didn’t speak, or maybe if she did, I glanced up, then right back down again. The sorrow, the pity in her eyes made me want to crawl under the table and stay there.

“I’m not that powerful,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

Something in her voice made me tense—hope and fear at war. “But you might be soon?”

“Someday perhaps. But even if I was, I couldn’t raise Simon.”

“Why not?”

“How long has he been gone?’

“Four years.”

She reached across the table and took my hand. “He wouldn’t be the same, Diana.”

“I don’t care.”

“You would care. Dead is dead; there’s no going back.”

“There is—you said so yourself. There are zombies. They’re real.”

“But they aren’t alive. They aren’t the same people. They aren’t even people. You want to rip Simon out of the afterlife, reanimate his disintegrating body, have him look at you with hollow, lifeless eyes? Wonder why he’s here? Ask who you are?”

“He’d know me.”

“Maybe.”

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

She squeezed my hand, and I met her gaze once more. “Simon didn’t have to die. I could have saved him.”

Cassandra stared at me for several seconds. “That’s what this is about? Guilt?”

Now that I’d started talking, I couldn’t seem to stop. “I didn’t believe him when he said he’d found a werewolf. I was so sick of his wild-goose chases. We went here; we went there. He saw something and every single time, when I got there, there was nothing. Everyone thought he was crazy.”

I took a deep breath and admitted my secret shame. “I started to think so, too. Then that last night, I lost my temper and we fought. He stormed out alone. The next thing I knew, he was dead.”

“I missed the part where your going with him could have saved him.”

I shot her a glare. “I’d have saved him.”

How I wasn’t sure, but I’d have tried. And if I’d failed, I’d be dead, too. Sometimes—hell, most times until I came here—I wished that I was.

“He’s gone now,” she said, “and you need to move on. Quit sabotaging your chance at a new life by clinging to the old one.”

“I have to find the loup-garou. Prove that Simon wasn’t crazy. Clear his name.”

“All right. Then maybe you can move on.”

I considered her words, which were an echo of my own earlier thoughts. Maybe I could. Except— “How do I know if what I feel is real?”

“You really believe Ruelle put a hex on you to make you love him? I thought it was all sex, all the time.”

“Not all the time,” I muttered, though she did have a point.

“There might be a way to discover the truth.”

“How?”

“A ceremony.”

“Voodoo?”

She lifted her eyebrows and didn’t bother to answer.

“What do I have to do?”

“Come to the temple. We’ll ask the loas if you’re under a love spell.”

“That works?”

“So far, whatever I’ve asked, they’ve answered.”

She was starting to scare me.

“If they say you’re not being influenced by magic, will you quit fighting the feeling and tell the man you care?”

I wasn’t sure. Adam had said he couldn’t love me, that I shouldn’t ask him to.

“Diana?” Cassandra pressed.

“Let’s just do whatever voodoo that you do, and then we’ll see.”

“Promise you’ll give him a chance.”

“What difference does it make to you?”

She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to waste a perfectly good voodoo ceremony on someone who’s too stubborn to reap the benefits.”

“Okay. Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

“Take a breath. Slow down. The temple is peaceful. You might enjoy your time there.”

Instead of heading out the back door, Cassandra returned to the shop and picked up a wooden bowl. She proceeded to add items from her shelves, then turned toward the snake cage.

“Whoa,” I said, my voice a bit slurred from the alcohol. “No snake.”

“We need him for the ceremony.”

“I hate snakes.”

“Consider him Danballah.”

“I know I’m going to be sorry I asked, but what’s Danballah?”

“The Great Serpent Father of the loas.”

“A god.”

“More of a spirit. In vodoun there was an original supreme being known as the Gran Met. When he finished his work and returned to the other worlds, he left the loas behind to help the people.”

I’d been raised Catholic, though I hadn’t practiced since I’d left my parents’ house. Nevertheless, all this talk about gods made me twitchy. “You don’t really believe this, do you?”

“You can’t ask me to perform a voodoo ceremony for truth, then wonder if I believe.”

I very nearly pointed out that I hadn’t asked her to do anything, but she was on a roll, so I let her go.

“If I don’t believe, then what in hell am I doing here? For that matter, what are you?”

“All right. You believe.”

“Gotta believe in something,” Cassandra muttered, and shoved the bowl into my arms.

I didn’t see it coming and bobbled the thing, nearly dropping it. “Hey!”

“You wanna hold the snake?”

“Nope.” I waved my hand. “Carry on.”

She pulled Lazarus out of the cage, murmuring softly. He took one look at me and hissed. The feeling was mutual.

“Think of the loas like saints.” Cassandra led the way from the shop, through her living area, and out the back door. “They’re a kind of bridge to the supreme being.”

“I can see why the Catholic Church was so snarky about voodoo. A snake spirit is a far cry from a saint.”

“Didn’t Saint Patrick charm the snakes out of Ireland?”

“Watch it when you talk about Saint Patrick and Ireland,” I muttered.

Cassandra spared me a smile. “When the slaves arrived they were baptized Catholic right off the boat, and their religion was outlawed, so they secretly combined the two and got—”

“Vodoun.”

“Exactly.”

Behind Cassandra’s shop lay a partially enclosed courtyard filled with plants, flowers, and a fountain. The ground was hard-packed earth—no grass, no stones, no pavement. A door had been set in one wall; Cassandra opened it.

“No lock?” I asked.

“On a temple?” She flicked the light. “Besides, most people are scared to come in here with me. They certainly wouldn’t come without me.”

“Terrific,” I said, and followed.

I stopped just inside the door. The room was so full of stuff, I didn’t know what to stare at first. Cassandra placed Lazarus in a cardboard box near a flat stone covered with candles and smaller, more colorful flat stones. She proceeded to light the wicks, and I continued to stare.

Surrounding the stone were flowers, pebbles, tiny flags, and charms. The walls were decorated with brightly colored symbols: a cross, a heart, a snake, a box of some sort. Long, thin.

“Is that a coffin?” I asked.

“The drawings are veves. They act as magnets, to draw the loas to the earth. The coffin is the symbol of Baron Samedi. He is Saturday, the day of death.”

“I’d think you would want to avoid that one instead of magnetically sucking him into your personal space.”

She gave me a look that I recalled from my third grade teacher—extreme annoyance from a very patient woman. “Death is powerful, and it isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“Then why does everyone try so hard to escape it?”

“It’s human nature to fear what we don’t understand. I try to see death as a beginning.”

“Of what?”

“Who knows?” She finished the candles and joined me. “A new plane, a different world, an adventure.”

She could be right, but I’d rather wait as long as possible to find out.

“The cross is for Legba,” she continued, “god of the sun and the way of all spiritual communication.”

I could see why that would be handy.

“The heart is Erzulie.” Cassandra met my gaze. “Goddess of the moon.”

A warm wind seemed to brush my skin. I’d have thought I was imagining it, except the candles fluttered.

“She likes you,” Cassandra whispered.

“Will that help?”

“Won’t hurt.”

“What about the snake?” I glanced at the python on the wall, whose bright green eyes seemed to shine.

“Danballah.”

The snake god. Spirit. Saint. Whatever. I should have known.

“Now what?” I asked.

“The ceremony brings the loas to earth; then we ask for guidance.”

“How, exactly, do they come to earth?”

Her gaze slid from mine. “They inhabit another living being.”

For a second my brain refused to accept the information my ears had heard. But only for a second. “Possession? Are you nuts? That’s dangerous!”

“Which is why I don’t take the ceremony lightly. It’s also why people are scared to come here. Word gets around.”

“If you think I’m going to let some snake spirit possess me, you are off your rocker.”

“I doubt Danballah would be interested in you. I was thinking more along the lines of—”

She traced a finger through the heart, her touch smudging whatever had been used to draw the symbol on the wall. “Deesse de la lune.”

The candles fluttered again in a nonexistent wind. As I gazed into their wavering flame I murmured, “That just might work.”

Chapter 32

I tore my gaze from the flames. “You’ve done this before, right?”

“A few times.”

“Anyone spend the rest of their days mumbling and drooling? Any former customers sitting in a corner of the insane asylum doing this?” I took my index finger and wagged it back and forth across my bottom lip, making the crazy noise from childhood.

“Not yet,” she said.

“Great.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t dangerous, and maybe we shouldn’t do it.”

I considered her warning, but I wanted to know the truth. I was tired of being confused.

‘‘I want to ask more than if I’m under the influence of a love spell. I want to know if there’s a loup-garou and, if so, where can I find it?”

“You don’t exactly ask questions.”

“What then?”

“You’ll be her—or she’ll be you. As one.”

My skin went a little prickly, a little cool. “What if she doesn’t want to leave and I’m stuck with voices in my head forever?”

I wondered momentarily if that was what was wrong with schizophrenics, then shook off the notion. Not every person who heard voices could have been a participant in a voodoo-loa ceremony. That would have been on the news.

“Relax, Diana. Erzulie is a goddess. As much as we enjoy our time on earth and fight not to leave it, to her this place sucks.”

She probably had a point.

“Ready?”

Was I? “Yes.”

Cassandra knelt next to the flat stone, which resembled an altar, picked up the clay bowl, and started to mash the ingredients together with a pestle.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Open your mind.”

Easy for her to say. My mind had been closed for most of my life—especially to stuff like this. But I sat on the floor and tried to breathe deeply. Hyperventilating would probably scare away the loas.

Cassandra spread the concoction on the altar, then she spread some on my forehead. I cringed, but she didn’t stop. Instead she began to chant in another language. Luckily, the stuff was pink and smelled like flowers. If it had been blood, I’d have been out of there.

She picked up a rattle that appeared to be encircled with bones—I didn’t want to know whose—then shook it. Lazarus hissed, and she scooped him out of his box. In front of the veves she stopped and tapped the heart with the rattle. “I ask you, Legba, to open the door for the spirits.”

The wind returned, swirling through the closed room, skimming the candles, lifting my hair. Something pushed at my forehead, something I couldn’t see. I closed my eyes. Instead of black, there was a wash of silver, like the full moon shining on a still lake. I heard the lap of the water, smelled it, too, could almost feel the cool, gentle drift on my skin.

Let me know the truth, I thought, and opened my eyes.

The candles went out. Every last one of them.

Open your mind.

“Cassandra?”

“I’m here.”

“Did you say something?”

“I said, ‘I’m here.’ “

“Before that.”

“You heard Erzulie. Listen to what she says. Hold on. I’ll light the candles.”

I wasn’t sure how to open my mind. I wasn’t the touchy-feely type.

A cool finger brushed my forehead. Open.

I closed my eyes again and imagined a door. Reaching out, I turned the knob and pushed it wide. On the other side a woman waited. She was tall, voluptuous, with mahogany skin and the best Afro I’d ever seen. I expected her eyes to be dark, too. Instead they glowed silver. Her body was covered in a loose white robe that looked really comfortable, as did her sandals.

She beckoned, and I stepped into a midnight garden. “Where am I?”

“Physically, still in the temple, but your mind has joined with mine.”

Her voice was as lovely as she was, smooth, calm, the voice of a woman who knew her own strength, her own place, all the answers.

The garden was filled with flowers in colors I’d never imagined. The moonlight caused them to appear as if they’d been painted with rain. But the air was warm, comfortably moist, like the last day of summer before autumn descends.

“Are you Erzulie?” I asked.

“What is it you wish to know?”

Was that an answer? For her, probably.

“Am I under the influence of a love spell?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is there a loup-garou?”

“What do you think?”

This was not going well. “All I want is the truth.”

“And the truth you will have.”

She led me down a rock-strewn path. Not the usual gravel but a hardscrabble gray rock that reminded me of the moon. As we walked, her robe changed colors, reflecting every shade of the moon—white, silver, blue, gold, even red.

Erzulie’s lips curved as she pointed to one flower amid a hundred others, the bright red petals unmuted by the night. A fire iris. “Take a piece and the truth will come to you.”

“I thought the fire iris was bad luck. That they attracted animals.”

She turned her cool, silver eyes in my direction. “The truth comes with some risk.”

I guess everything worth having did.

As I tore a tiny petal from the fire iris, the now-familiar scent of cinnamon in flames tickled my nose. “Which truth are we talking about?”

I turned. The garden was empty except for me.

I blinked, and I was back in the temple. The candles were lit Cassandra stared at me as if transfixed.

“Which truth?” she whispered.

I opened my hand. In the center of my palm lay a bright red petal. When I opened my mouth, two voices came out—mine and Erzulie’s.

“All of them.”

Chapter 33

“What happened?” Cassandra asked. “Are you okay?”

I wasn’t sure. I’d been here, but not here. Myself, yet not myself. The sensation should have been frightening; instead it had been...

“Comforting.” My voice was my own again. I no longer felt... full.

“What was comforting?” Cassandra asked.

“Erzulie. She’s like... “ Again I groped for a word to describe her.

“A mother.”

I tilted my head. “If you say so.”

My mother was nothing like Erzulie.

Cassandra refrained from exploring that avenue, thank goodness. Bending, she untwined Lazarus from her ankle, then dumped him into his box.

“Tell me everything,” she ordered, so I did.

When I was finished, Cassandra bit her lip, and her forehead crinkled. I began to get uneasy. “What?”

“You went farther than anyone else ever has. Most only hear the voice of the loa, become a little scrambled. You traveled to Ife.”

“I didn’t go anywhere. Did I?”

“Not physically.”

“I just traveled to Ife in my head.” I paused. “What’s Ife?”

“There’s a town called Ife in Nigeria, but the one you went to is a legendary place, the Mecca of vodoun, where the revelations of the loas came to the first faithful.”

“And what about this?” I unfurled my fingers to reveal the petal of the fire iris that I’d picked in a place I hadn’t actually gone.

“I can’t believe you brought a piece back.”

“What does it mean that I did?’

“Not sure.”

“Wow. You’re as helpful as she was.”

Cassandra ignored me. I wished I could do that whenever someone was annoying. Instead, I always felt compelled to sarcasm them to death—or at least until they went away.

“Keep the petal nearby,” Cassandra said. “Any questions you have should soon be answered.”

“Just like that? Poof. I know the truth?”

“Got me.”

“What happened in the past when you performed this ceremony?”

“The loas came, inhabited someone else, and answered their questions.”

“Truthfully?”

“Loas don’t lie.”

“Then why didn’t she answer me?”

“Maybe you had too many questions. Maybe she didn’t know the answers. Maybe you could only discover the truth by seeing it yourself.”

“Maybe this is all bullshit.”

Cassandra tilted her head, and I had to admit, if the previous hour had been bullshit, it was extremely convincing bullshit.

“Never mind.” I tightened my fingers around the petal. “I’ll just wait for the answers. Should be along anytime now.”

“You believe?”

I considered the question, remembered what had happened, where I’d been, how I’d felt.

“Yeah.” How could I not?

“I need to do some research,” Cassandra said. “Make some calls. Find out why you traveled to Ife. How you could have brought something out.”

“Isn’t there both good and bad voodoo?”

“They’re mirror images. Can’t have one without the other.”

“So Erzulie might have been bad.”

“No. The loas are all about truth. It’s the maker of the magic who brings about good or bad. We call the evildoers ‘ones who serve the loas with both hands.’ “

“You used both hands.”

“It’s an expression. Don’t you trust me?”

She appeared so crestfallen, I wanted to reassure her, but I didn’t want to lie, either. “I’ve never dealt with voodoo, Cassandra. For all I know you could have been calling Satan himself. He could be running around New Orleans having a grand old time.”

“He already is,” she said dryly.

“Ha-ha.”

“You spoke to the loa, Diana, which means the good or the evil intent came from you. Are you evil?”

“Sometimes.”

“That just makes you human. When you asked for help, direction, truth, did you ask so you could use the result to hurt someone else?”

“No.”

“Then go in peace.”

I glanced at my watch and my eyes widened. “It’s almost morning.”

“Time flies,” Cassandra said. “Let me put that petal into something before you ruin or lose it.”

She rustled through the mess on one of the shelves and came up with an empty gris-gris bag.

“Do you have those lying around all over the place?”

She didn’t bother to answer, just held open the bag.

“Will it work in there?”

“Of course.”

I guess I had to take her word for it.

“How will I know what’s true?” I asked.

“You just will.”

“That is so not helpful.”

“It’s like love—you’ll just know.”

“I’ll know the love I’m afraid is contrived is real because I’ll just know? That makes no sense.”

“What does?” As usual, she ignored my scowl. “If you find a charm, destroying it should break the spell.”

“What does a charm look like?”

“Could be a gris-gris, or maybe a fetish.”

“Which is?”

“A small figure—wood, bone, maybe stone, even cloth—fashioned into the shape of a person. Many cultures use totems for luck, for curses or charms—both good and evil.”

“All right,” I said. “Find something weird, destroy it, and the magic is gone.” Although how I would destroy stone, I had no idea.

“Or you could just leave it be.”

“Why?”

“Is being in love with him so bad?”

“I need the truth, Cassandra. That’s just the way I am.”

She nodded as if she’d known I’d say that. She probably had. “If Erzulie said the truth would be revealed, it will. I’m not sure how, or why, or when, but have faith.”

“Faith has never been my strong suit,” I muttered, and left.

If I’d had faith in Simon none of this would have been necessary. But if I hadn’t had it then, in him, how could I have it now in someone I barely knew and in something I didn’t trust?

Never one to put off what I could do today, I drove past Adam’s trailer, but his car wasn’t there. I even walked out to the shack, but it was empty. So I set up a trap in the clearing where Charlie had died. Scene of the crime and all that. Besides, I didn’t have a better idea.

I also had my doubts the snare would work. If a werewolf had human eyes, it might have a human brain, and then the beast would know better than to creep into the cage and let the door close behind it. However, I planned to be sitting in a tree with my loaded tranquilizer gun. If I had to, I’d shoot the thing, then shove it inside myself. There was more than one way to skin a cat. Although I’d never actually figured out a second way.

I spent several days tramping through the swamp in the heat, went to town a few times for supplies. Then I endured as many nights with very little sleep, lying alone on the floor, listening to weird noises and faraway howls that should be coyotes but weren’t. I hadn’t seen Adam, and I’d kind of stopped looking for him.

I’d been gung ho for the truth, but the more time that passed, the more time I had to think about things, the more afraid I became. What if he’d misled me about something important? Something I wouldn’t be able to forgive.

What if Luc had cast a spell over me, and what I felt for both of them was a lie? I didn’t want it to be a lie. Caring for Adam and his son was the first thing that had felt right in a long, long time.

I considered Cassandra’s suggestion that I just let everything be. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. However, what if there wasn’t a spell? What if I truly loved Adam and he didn’t love me?

I considered all the questions that had no answers as I took a sponge bath in the tributary in front of the mansion. I never had managed to rent another hotel room. I fell asleep eating a sandwich on my sleeping bag. I must have been near meltdown, because I didn’t wake up until sometime after sunset and only then because I sensed I wasn’t alone.

My heart kicked up a notch, but before I could fully panic, I saw someone silhouetted I front of the window. I’d know that shape anywhere.

“Adam.”

He didn’t answer, just crossed the room and lowered himself onto the sleeping bag. Hell, let’s be honest, he lowered himself onto me.

The only thing adorning his upper body was his bracelet. I liked him best that way. His khakis were soft, his body already hard. Despite the clothes, we fit together just right. Pressure, friction, heat. What more could a girl ask for?

Truth.

In that moment, I understood that I couldn’t go on without knowing it. Where was that petal?

I kept one hand on his shoulder while the other crept around like Thing from The Addams Family. I was distracted by Adam’s lips crushing mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. I wore loose shorts and his fingers skimmed my thigh, drifted higher, slipped beneath. His thumb stroked in a rhythm to match his tongue, and I forgot about the gris-gris bag.

After my makeshift bath, the high temperature had made me opt for a thin light green camisole. I hadn’t even considered a bra. So when his lips closed around my nipple, the moist heat encircled me as if there weren’t anything between us but air. Not long after, there wasn’t.

He hadn’t spoken, had barely looked at me, and I needed him to, so I touched his face. His eyes met mine at the very first thrust. My free hand clenched, as did my body, and my fingers brushed the gris-gris.

I gathered the small bag into my palm, and a breeze swirled through the room. Scented with cinnamon, it whispered indecipherable words but left behind a feeling of certainty.

Whatever else might be a lie, this was the truth.

Chapter 34

My eyes snapped open. How long had I been asleep?

I lay on my sleeping bag, alone—nothing new there. What was new was the crescent moon centered in the window, a bright silver slash against an indigo sky.

Showtime.

I’d rather Adam were with me, wouldn’t mind having him around while I spent the rest of the night in a tree with my dart gun. But he hadn’t offered and I hadn’t asked.

In fact, neither one of us had said a word. He’d behaved as if he were drawn to me even though it was wrong, stupid, destructive. He’d behaved like a man who couldn’t help himself, and that wasn’t love. But it was something.

I dug out some jeans and a dark T-shirt. As an afterthought I tucked both gris-gris in my pocket. Alligators I didn’t need, and one never could tell when the truth might come in handy.

The dart gun was loaded, but I put some extra darts into my backpack, along with a bottle of water and some cookies. I could be out there all night. Last, I opened the cooler I’d bought in town yesterday and withdrew a long white paper-wrapped package from the ice.

The trek to the clearing was uneventful. Though it would be too much to hope for that the loup-garou was poised to step into my trap, nevertheless, I approached quietly, just in case. However, when I pushed through the tall grass, the only thing I saw was an empty cage.

Not that it was easy to see it, if I do say so myself. I’d positioned the apparatus, large enough to hold five grown men, beneath a particularly weepy-looking cypress tree. After I rearranged the moss and the ground cover, the metal was almost impossible to distinguish by the simple light of a crescent moon.

I tossed the contents of my white paper package inside. “Fresh steak ought to entice you.”

Wolves preferred live prey, but they weren’t against a free meal when they could find one. Me, I couldn’t stomach tying up a live creature to await a bloody death. Prime rib would have to do.

Over the past few days I’d not only readied the cage, the darts, the gun, I’d also readied a second perfect cypress nearby. Tall, with acres of moss, I’d placed a portable tree stand about twenty feet off the ground.

I tied my rifle to the rope I’d strung over a branch. Using the heavy-duty nails I’d pounded into the tree, I climbed to the flat metal stand. After allowing my gaze to wander over the area, I hoisted my gun upward by way of the rope pulley, secured the safety strap around my waist—more fatal hunting accidents occur when hunters tumble out of their trees because they fall asleep, have a heart attack, or are just plain stupid than when they are actually shot—and settled in to wait.

The sounds of the swamp surrounded me. I’d thought the place loud when I was inside the mansion? I hadn’t met loud yet.

Birds, insects, alligators, nutrias, out there somewhere I could have sworn I heard a pig squeal. A farm animal gone wild? Or were there wild boars in the depths? I probably shouldn’t have been wandering around as much as I had been without a gun.

My gaze was caught by shifting swamp grass beneath an ebbing moon. Not the wind. Something was coming.

Slowly I raised the gun. I don’t know what I expected, but when the wolf stepped from the swamp into the clearing, lifting his nose and sniffing, I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.

His fur shone in the sliver of moonlight, glinting black, then blue, then black again. I’d been right to gauge the dosage for an Alaskan timber wolf. This thing might even be larger than that.

The animal paid no attention to the steak. Instead he trotted around and around the open area as if he knew something was there but couldn’t find it.

I wasn’t surprised; I didn’t even consider it magic to have the wolf from my dream materialize. I’d seen a black tail. I knew what a wolf looked like. Put one and one together and I got two, even in my sleep.

But how was I supposed to determine if this was a real wolf or a werewolf?

Though the form may be that of a wolf, a werewolf always retains its human eyes.

I squinted against the night, against the distance, as the wolf circled away from me again, but I couldn’t see his eyes, let alone determine if they were human.

Suddenly he stopped, stiffened, and stared right at me. I hadn’t made a movement, not a sound. What had caused him to sense I was there? Wolves did not peer into trees for their prey.

I lifted the gun to my shoulder. He didn’t care. He charged across the clearing as if he planned to climb up the trunk, snarling as if he would tear me apart once he got there. Why wasn’t he afraid of the rifle? He couldn’t know that I didn’t have silver bullets. Right now that seemed like a big mistake.

I forced myself to remain steady, to be patient, to aim. I didn’t think a wolf could clamber this high, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Right before I squeezed the trigger, I saw his eyes, and I had no qualms about shooting. I couldn’t determine a color, but I did see the whites.

Real wolves didn’t have any.

The dart struck him in the chest. He yelped, leaped. My heart did, too. The thing had a damn nice vertical extension. If he hadn’t been shot, he might have cleared the lowest branch of my tree, about a yard below my feet. Not that he could have done much damage hanging there, but the ability startled me. What else could he do?

The wolf fell to the earth, staggered, toppled, and went still. The silence following so much sound seemed deafening. I needed to drag the beast into the cage, then call Frank. Lucky for me, the animal had dropped over right in front of the enclosure. I wasn’t sure how far I’d be able to move deadweight that approximated my own.

Once on the ground, I wasted no time. Though I didn’t want to, I leaned my weapon against the tree. I couldn’t do much with one hand.

The grass was damp, so when I tugged on his rear legs, the beast slid. After much grunting and groaning, I had him in the cage. Straightening, I allowed myself to smile. I’d done it.

Like a dog dreaming of a rabbit the wolf’s legs twitched, and my smile froze. He lay between me and the door. I leaped over his inert body, skidding on the grass and falling on my ass. Stunned, I didn’t immediately move. Until I heard a low, rumbling growl.

I rolled onto my feet in a single movement, which was pretty darned athletic if I do say so myself. Terror will do that to a woman. I dived for the open door as the wolf slowly sat up, shaking his head as if he were coming out of deep water. The dart hadn’t worked very well. Of course it had been fashioned for a 120-pound animal. This one weighed quite a bit more than that. I guess I should count myself lucky he’d fallen over at all.

The door clanged and I turned the key, then yanked it out of the lock and backpedaled as quickly as I could. Slipping again, I fell to my knees. Could I be any more of a klutz?

I’d specifically requested a lock and key on the cage. A wolf couldn’t undo a catch, but a person could. And if this animal was what I thought it was, he’d have opposable thumbs by morning, if not before.

A body slammed into the bars. Snarling and slavering commenced. Still on my hands and knees, I looked up and my whole world shifted.

The wolf was exactly like the one in my dream. Huge and black, he also possessed the eyes of Adam Ruelle.

Chapter 35

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

I couldn’t stop muttering, couldn’t stop staring. How could this be? I’d touched Adam with silver. He hadn’t minded.

The thing in the cage appeared mad, throwing his body against the metal, trying to chew a way out. Blood marred the white spittle dripping from his snout. Maybe the wolf was rabid after all.

“That’s not a wolf,” I whispered.

I shoved the key into my pocket, and my fingertips brushed the gris-gris. The animal howled as if in pain and began to change. The transformation was something from a horror film; at first my mind refused to accept what my eyes couldn’t help but see.

The sleek, dark fur receded, becoming shorter and shorter as if it were being sucked through the skin. Paws became feet at the ends of legs and hands at the ends of arms. The claws evaporated the same way the fur had. The neck twisted; the spine lengthened; the animal moaned. Going from quadrapedal to bipedal couldn’t feel good.

His snout shortened, dividing into nose and mouth as the canine teeth shrank. The tail disappeared with a thick, wet thunk. The eyes remained the same. Inside the cage stood a naked Adam Ruelle.

He didn’t appear upset to be revealed a monster. Didn’t seem to care he was in his altogether for the world to see. In fact, he seemed to like it, or maybe, if the size of his erection was any indication, he liked me.

What he didn’t like was the cage. He slammed both hands against the bars and growled, “Let me out.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.

“Goddammit, bitch, set me free!”

That didn’t sound like Adam. Of course, what did I know? I’d believed him when he said he wasn’t the loup-garou.

He tilted his head to stare at the crescent moon. “How did you do it?”

“D-do what?”

“Make me shift.”

Staring into his eyes, I was reminded of Lazarus—cold-blooded and empty of emotion. This man would kill without flinching and forget about it before the blood dried on the ground.

The Adam I knew wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he wasn’t evil. Or maybe I’d just been too busy getting my brains screwed out to notice.

My hand ached from clutching the gris-gris. I glanced down, opened my fingers, and understood. I’d been unable to see the truth until magic cleared my eyes.

“I run as a wolf under the crescent moon. I have no choice.”

I lifted my gaze. “The curse.”

“Oui. But I become a man when I choose, or when the sun comes.” He swept a hand down his body. “This was not my choice.”

I brushed my thumb along the gris-gris. I had asked for the truth.

“Why you lock me up like this?” he asked. “You know I come to you in the night. I like to hear you scream when I fuck you. You didn’t have to put me in a cage.”

I’d been sleeping with a monster. I’d believed myself in love with him, had begun to imagine a life together. I was a fool.

“Let me go, and I’ll do you right here.”

He took himself in his hand and pumped. His moan was more of a growl and marched along my skin like biting red ants.

“I’ve been imagining such things, Diana. You, me, this way and that. You ever want to mate with a beast?”

My eyes widened. I couldn’t speak. Adam seemed like a completely different man. Was he possessed by Satan under the crescent moon? Apparently.

“I’ll shift again. It’ll be doggie style like you never had before. And if you make me howl, I won’t even kill you tonight.”

I took a step back and he smiled. Were his teeth growing longer along with his—?

I yanked my gaze away, but not before he saw my unease and smirked.

“With the flower I marked you as mine.”

Adam had taken the fire irises away from me, thrown them into the swamp, told me not to pick them again. Was he schizophrenic? That would make a certain kind of sense. I’d read all of Simon’s research into lycanthropy. Many psychiatrists and other physicians believed the historical reports of werewolves stemmed from the behavior of the insane. Back then mental illness was labeled possession.

I stared at Adam, locked in a cage. I could understand the theory.

“I watched you whenever I could. The others knew you were mine to keep or kill.”

I guess I hadn’t been crazy when I’d heard more than one wolf in the swamp, seen slinky shadows in town. History often repeated itself, and one of its great lessons is that evil loves to beget evil.

“I wanted to be inside you that first night,” he continued, “but the crescent moon called. I had to make do with a few touches.”

No wonder I’d had such an erotic dream at the hotel on Bourbon Street. My skin went clammy at that memory and several others.

“Set me free. I’ll get out sooner or later. But if it’s later, you’ll pay. I will do things you never imagined. I will keep you alive forever. You will beg to die, Diana, and I will never let you go.”

I wasn’t stupid. If I let him out now, obsession or no, he’d kill me.

I rubbed my thumb over the outline of the key in my pocket. If I had my way, he would never see freedom again.

“I have to get back to the boy,” he whispered. “He expects me come morning.”

Black dots danced in front of my eyes. Luc. How could I have forgotten?

I couldn’t connect the man who’d so tenderly held his son, who had refused to allow me near him lest the boy be hurt when I left, with the one who spoke so calmly of both killing and fucking me.

Definitely possessed by Satan.

Without another word, I walked away. Adam’s voice followed me down the trail. “What the hell? You think you can leave me here?”

“Just did.”

“I will kill you!”

“Redundant.”

“I will tear out your guts and strangle you with them. I will drink your blood; I will bathe in it.”

“Original.”

And pretty scary. Nevertheless, I had to get to Luc and take him away.

I ran all the way to the mansion, grabbed my stuff, and tossed everything into the trunk except the dart gun, Cassandra’s knife, and my cell phone. Those I placed on the front seat. I stared at Adam’s pistol for a second, then realized he wouldn’t have helped me out by loading it with silver, and left the thing in the trunk. Around my waist I secured a fanny pack with my money and travel documents.

As I climbed behind the wheel, a howl rose toward the descending moon. Uneasy, I glanced at the swaying swamp. That had sounded close.

I floored the accelerator, spewing grass and dirt until I fishtailed onto the highway. Then I used one hand to dial frank. Since it was the middle of the night, I wasn’t surprised when his machine answered.

“Your loup-garou is confined in a cage in the swamp about a mile east of the Ruelle Mansion. If you have a problem finding him, call Detective Conner Sullivan and have him take you to the place where Charlie died.” I hung up. “The first time.”

I didn’t consider where I was going, what I was doing, or how I would hide from Adam for the next fifty years. I focused all my attention on getting to Luc and getting him gone.

The moon was nearly down; the sun would soon be up. I parked in front of Adam’s trailer. I’d walked halfway to the door before I went back and grabbed the knife. I tucked the weapon into the pack at my waist.

A few seconds later, hand poised to knock, mind occupied constructing a stupendous lie for Sadie, the babysitter, I hesitated, then tried the doorknob. The door swung inward without a sound.

After glancing over one shoulder, then the other, I scampered inside. I’d been bent on doing anything it took to get to the child and then kidnap him, but strolling into a house uninvited made me uncomfortable.

I crept down the hall. In the first room, Sadie slept. I pulled the door shut and moved on to the room illuminated by a night-light. A gaggle of boy toys—a football, a bat, a deck of cards that appeared to have been the victim of fifty-two pickup—were strewn across the floor, as well as several dirty T-shirts and a dozen smelly socks.

Luc lay on top of the covers, arms and legs flung apart with wild abandon. I let out the breath I’d been holding in a rush and Luc’s eyes snapped open. He must have been a real treat to get down for a nap as a baby.

I put my finger to my lips, and he grinned as I hurried across the floor to kneel at his side. Before I could speak, he flung his arms around my neck and hugged me. What I wouldn’t give to be able to trust like that. After this, I probably never would.

“We’re going on a trip,” I whispered. “Do you have a suitcase?”

“You and me and Daddy?” he whispered back.

“Just you and me.”

“Is that okay with Daddy?”

“No,” said a familiar voice from the door.

Chapter 36

Adam leaned against the wall just inside the room. He wore jeans, a sleeveless shirt, tennis shoes. His bracelet gleamed dully in the half-light from the hall. Now that I thought about it, he hadn’t had that bracelet on in the cage. Then again, something like that could fall right off your paw.

“How did you get out?”

Confusion flickered over his face. “Out?”

I cast a glance at Luc, who looked back and forth between us. I needed to get Adam away from the boy, especially since I might have to kill him.

“Let’s discuss this outside.”

He gave Luc a stern glare. “Stay here.”

Adam headed for the front of the house, and I followed, fingers surreptitiously unzipping the compartment that held the silver knife.

Outside, the night was completely dark. The moon was gone; the sun wasn’t yet up. I pulled out the weapon, tightening my fingers around the hilt. “I’m taking Luc.”

Adam faced me, saw the knife, and laughed. “Didn’t we do this already? I’m not a werewolf.”

He was so different from the man I’d left in the swamp. Sure he looked and sounded the same, but the snakelike coldness had left his gaze and the nasty smirk no longer twisted his mouth. When he spoke he didn’t say evil, hurtful things. At least not yet.

“I saw you change,” I said.

Something flickered in his eyes. “When?”

He didn’t deny it, and even while I’d seen the truth, believed it, too, somewhere inside I must have been hoping for a miracle. “You don’t remember?”

“Just tell me when and where.”

“About an hour ago. Where Charlie died. I left you in a cage.”

He cursed.

“How did you get out?” I repeated.

He ignored my question, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“I’m not going to let you hurt Luc.”

Fury spread across his face, and quick as a forked tongue, his hand shot out and grabbed the knife by the blade, taking it away with an ease and quickness that was mind-boggling. He flipped the weapon end over end and it stuck in a fence that separated the trailer park from a used-car lot.

I fought the urge to run. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“You aren’t leaving with him, either. He’s my son.”

“You lied to me.”

“I lie all the time, cher. Anymore I wonder if I even know what’s a lie and what isn’t.”

“You said you weren’t the loup-garou.”

He sighed. “I’m not.”

“And I should believe an admitted pathological liar?”

“Believe what you want.”

Maybe the loup-garou wasn’t harmed by silver. Maybe all the tests I’d run on Adam had been a waste of time. Hell, maybe he could slip through bars, or at the least bend them with his superhuman strength.

Adam started for the trailer.

“Where are you going?”

“To tell Sadie I’ll be back in an hour. I have to go into the swamp.”

“What? Why?”

He ignored me, disappearing inside for a few moments before coming out again, then grabbing me by the arm. “You’re going with me.”

“I don’t think so.”

He could easily strangle the life out of me and toss me into the swamp as alligator bait. I was starting to think he’d done it before.

His grip tightened. “I leave you here and you disappear with Luc. I don’t have time to search for you. I can’t leave New Orleans until the new moon comes.”

I was so surprised he’d admitted that, I allowed him to shove me into the passenger seat of my car, where I promptly got a dart gun up the ass. I moved the paraphernalia out of the way as he skirted the front fender, then got behind the wheel.

His gaze flicked over the gun. “So that’s how you did it.”

I didn’t bother to answer.

He picked up the weapon, checked the ammo, found it empty, and tossed the thing into the backseat.

“Why are we going into the swamp?” I asked.

“I have something to do.”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you not to.”

“No.”

“Frank Tallient will wonder what happened to me. When he gets here—”

“He’s coming?” The glare he shot my way was downright cold. This was the man I’d left in the cage. “What did you do?”

I swallowed and forced myself to answer. “I told Frank where he could find the loup-garou.”

“When was that?”

“Less than an hour ago.”

Some of his tension eased. “We’ll be there before him.”

“He’ll raise a stink if he can’t find me. You can’t leave Luc alone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you kill me, you’ll fry.”

The death penalty was alive and well in Louisiana, though I didn’t know for certain if they actually fried people anymore, or how often.

“You think I’m going to kill you, cher?”

“You’ve killed before.”

“I’ve risked more than I’ve ever risked in my life to protect you,” Adam said softly.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

We remained silent for the rest of the drive to the mansion, as well as the hike into the swamp. The sun was up. The day was going to be another scorcher. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop shivering.

Adam was insane, if not a werewolf. He was going to kill me and probably everyone I’d spoken to about him. Cassandra, Detective Sullivan, Frank. Had he killed Mrs. Favreau?

He’d most likely killed Charlie, the mystery stranger, and Mrs. Beasly. Such carnage was beyond my comprehension. But what really made me ill was the idea of leaving Luc in Adam’s care. What would happen to the child with a monster for a father?

I stepped into the clearing first, stopping so abruptly, Adam nearly ran me over from behind.

The cage was still there; the lock was still locked.

And Adam was still inside.

Chapter 37

Dizziness washed over me and I swayed. “What—? Who—? How—?”

Adam rushed to the enclosure, saw the lock, and turned. “The key.”

I was having trouble breathing, so I sat down and put my head between my legs. After a few minutes, the black dots receded.

When I glanced up, two men, so alike in appearance and yet so different, stared back. Now that they stood together, how could I have thought they were the same? One look into their eyes and the difference was obvious. The Adam in the cage was evil; the one who’d brought me here was not.

“Twins?” I asked.

They shook their heads, and their hair swirled around their shoulders.

“My great-great... well, several-greats-grandfather.” The Adam outside the cage jerked a thumb toward the one inside. “Henri Ruelle.”

The naked man bowed.

“The picture,” I murmured.

Henri smirked. I hated that smirk.

“Obviously taken before you became a loup-garou.” Considering my trouble photographing them.

“Obviously,” Henri returned.

“Why would you leave it on the wall where anyone could see?”

“I only wanted you to see.”

“Grandpere likes to confuse people.”

He’d confused me all right.

“You said your family wasn’t cursed.”

“No. I said, ‘Some say we are.’ “

“I specifically asked if you’d been cursed to run as a wolf beneath the crescent moon.”

“I’m not.”

“You look so much alike. Couldn’t you at least cut your hair? Make some distinction?”

“The better to protect me, my dear,” Henri said.

I glanced at him, then back at Adam. “You protect it?”

“Hey!” Henri protested.

“There will always be a loup-garou of Ruelle blood. If Grandpere dies, the next Ruelle male becomes the beast.”

“You.”

“Then Luc.”

So many things were starting to make sense.

“Your father and grandfather?”

“They couldn’t bear knowing what they might become.”

“Pussies,” Henri spat.

“Who did you piss off?” I demanded.

“I didn’t know she was a voodoo queen. She was—” Henri shrugged. “A slave. I wanted her, I took her.”

“You raped her?”

“No.” Confusion flickered over his face. “She was mine. I never understood what she was so angry about.”

I rubbed between my eyes. “Why didn’t she just turn him into a bug and squash him?”

“Too easy,” Adam murmured.

“Dismemberment would have been too easy.”

“She called on the moon goddess to make me a beast.”

I lifted my head. “What?”

“Queen of heavens, mother of creatures, lady of the wild, patron goddess of the outlaw werewolf, the instant I heard your name, deesse de la lune, I knew you were here for me.”

I glanced at Adam, who shrugged. “He’s been obsessed with you from the beginning, but he couldn’t figure out if you were here to help or hurt him.”

“Diana is a huntress,” Henri continued. “You rule all dark forests; you command the moon. Queen of witches, daughter of Satan.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong Diana.”

“I’m cursed by a woman who calls on a moon goddess, then you arrive? How can that be a coincidence?”

“It’s a hundred and fifty years later!” I shouted.

“Time means nothing to me.”

I suppose after the first century, that’s true.

“Listen,” I said. “My name is just a name. It was my grandmother’s, and you can bet your everlasting life she wasn’t a moon goddess.”

“Did you come here to make me stronger, to be at my side until we ruled the world?” Henri asked.

Did this guy listen? “I don’t think so.”

“Then you came to cure me, and you have to die.”

“Huh?”

“The one thing Grandpere fears is being cured. He likes what he is. He doesn’t want to go back to the way he was.”

“In life I was at the mercy of forces I could not change—weather, government, stock market, death. Now everyone is at the mercy of me. Like this, I’ll never be hungry or poor again.”

I looked at Adam. “I thought you were poor now.”

“I want none of his money.”

Couldn’t say I blamed him.

“I can understand cursing Henri,” I said, “but why the entire line?”

“Curses are funny that way,” Adam said. “They tend to hang around for more than a generation.”

“You’re certain killing him will curse you?”

“I can’t kill him and find out!” Adam shoved a hand through his hair. “I’ve spoken with voodoo experts; they all say the same thing. A curse like this is on every Ruelle born until the curse is lifted. And that I don’t know how to do. No one does.”

“So what, exactly, is the curse?”

“He is an evil, soulless thing. A selfish prick who cares only for himself.”

“Wasn’t he that already?”

“I didn’t know him before,” Adam shrugged, “but most likely.”

“I’m right here,” Henri muttered.

“Under the crescent moon he runs as a wolf,” Adam continued as if Henri hadn’t spoken. “He murders innocents and creates more werewolves.”

“Like Charlie.”

“Yes.”

“He told me he has to change under the crescent moon.”

“He does. Many more nights of being a beast that way.”

“A blessing, not a curse, if you ask me,” Henri said. “I like to kill.”

“We didn’t ask you.” God, he was annoying. “Why did I see Charlie under a half-moon?”

“Charlie was a werewolf; Grandpere is a loup-garou.”

“My head hurts.”

Adam’s mouth tightened. “Grandpere wasn’t bitten; he was cursed. Those he bites rise and run as wolves within twenty-four hours—day, night, doesn’t matter. After that, only the full moon compels them to shift. Under any other, it is their choice.”

Which made as much sense as anything else around here.

“What about him?” I jerked my thumb toward the cage. “When the moon isn’t a crescent?”

“He’s a man—or as much of a man as he can claim to be.”

“Sounds like less of a curse.”

“The longer he’s in human form, the more violent he becomes when the wolf is upon him.”

I scowled at Henri, who examined his fingernails. I considered all that I knew and all I did not. “When did you find out about the curse?” I asked.

“Luc’s first birthday.” His face softened. “Family tradition. By then you’re in love with the boy. You’d do anything to protect him.”

“I couldn’t find a record of Luc’s birth.”

Adam cast Henri a suspicious glance, and Henri shrugged. “Less people know of us, the better.”

“Once your father told you the truth,” I continued, “he killed himself?”

Sadness flickered over Adam’s face. “I was old enough to watch over Grandpere, and by then I’d had Special Forces training. Didn’t know I’d need it for this.”

“Your father left you alone to raise your son, protect that thing, and find a cure? He couldn’t stick around to help?”

“Knowing what was to come preyed on his mind, drove him over the edge.”

I got the feeling Adam was talking as much about himself as his dad.

“When I was a boy he would be gone certain nights and come home beat to hell. He was a gentle man, a scholar. He didn’t know how to fight; he had no idea how to counteract evil and violence.”

Henri snorted but refrained from comment for a change.

“Your mother?”

Adam looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. “She left the instant she knew the truth.”

No wonder he’d been so worried I’d leave him and Luc behind. Every other woman in his life had.

“My father asked me to enlist,” he continued. “I’d always been fascinated with weapons, interested in military history; I believed he wanted me to be happy. Later I understood he wanted me trained to do the family dirty work better than he had been.”

“You plan on taking the easy way out when Luc’s old enough to protect that monster?”

“I’d let the curse fall to me before I’d leave him to suffer.”

“You’ll like it,” Henri whispered. “You’ll see. The power is exhilarating. With one stroke you can kill or impart life everlasting.”

“Unless someone has a silver bullet,” Adam said.

“So few do.”

“Wait a minute. Doesn’t everyone he kills rise again?”

“No, thank God, or we’d be overrun. If he kills but doesn’t drink their blood or eat their flesh, they become a werewolf. If he partakes of the kill, they’re just dead.”

“I do so love when they beg for their life,” Henri murmured. “I usually give it to them.”

“Shut up, old man,” Adam said.

The incongruity of calling someone who didn’t appear a day over thirty “old man” made me choke back a giggle. Hysteria was obviously not far behind.

“Why are there no Ruelle girls?”

“What?” Adam blinked at the sudden change in subject.

“No girls born for over a century. I checked.”

“The curse. Grandpere’s voodoo queen wanted only men to suffer. I don’t think she cared too much for them.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Henri grabbed the bars and rattled his cage. “Let me out!”

“Not so fast,” Adam said. “You will leave her alone.”

Henri’s gaze flicked to me. “What if she tries to kill me? Will you protect me then, petit-fils? Will you trust her with your soul? What about the boy’s?”

“If she meant to kill you, Grandpere, I’d be dead. She thought I was you.”

Henri frowned. I didn’t think he was the brightest star in the sky. Or should I say the fullest moon on the calendar?

“True,” he agreed. “She’d have slipped a silver knife between your ribs while you were doing her. That’s always the best time.”

“You two seem to have me confused with a psychopathic serial killer.”

“If she doesn’t want to kill me—”

“I didn’t at first, but now that I’ve met you I’ve changed my mind.”

“Diana—” Adam began, but Henri interrupted: “What do you want?”

“To prove a werewolf exists and show it to the world.”

“That isn’t going to happen.” Henri glanced at Adam. “Right?”

Adam sighed. “Right” He let his head fall forward, and his hair sifted over his face.

I stood, resisting the urge to shove it back.

He lifted his gaze. “I need the key.”

“He wants to kill me, or maybe screw me—”

“How about both?” Henri asked.

“Why you think I said I’d be your guide?” Adam demanded. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you. I still won’t.”

Sadness filtered through me. Adam hadn’t hung around because of my charms—no kidding—but because he’d wanted to make certain Henri didn’t tear out my throat or worse. And what better way to get close than to pretend he wanted to sleep with me and then do so?

I’d been right: This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even lust, just duty.

Voices floated on the still morning air, startling us all.

“Frank,” I muttered. How had he gotten here so fast?

“Hurry up,” Henri said.

“I have to let him go, Diana.” Adam’s gaze captured mine. “If they don’t kill him here, they’ll dissect him somewhere else. If he dies and I’m possessed, there’ll be no one to care for Luc.”

“You think Henri should be free to kill people?”

“I do my best to contain him. And I spend the nights he can’t shift eliminating those he’s made.”

My eyes widened. “You shot Charlie and Mrs. Beasly.”

Adam nodded.

There was a shout, much closer, and Adam held out his hand. “Please.”

I looked into his eyes, saw the shadows and the pain. I also saw his fear, his need, and his son.

I gave him the key.

Chapter 38

Henri barreled out of the cage and started toward me. Adam hauled back and decked him on the chin. He staggered.

“I won’t kill you.” Adam jerked his head toward the tall grass. “But they will. Get lost.”

Henri glared at me, a promise in his eyes, but he went, gliding into the swamp and disappearing.

“I’ll take care of you. I swear.”

I wanted Adam’s words to mean something, but they were only words he’d say to anyone who’d helped him protect his son. He owed me, and while I should tell him to stuff his help, I’d looked into Henri’s eyes and I didn’t ever want to run into him again alone.

“Diana?” Adam took one step toward me, hand outstretched.

“Don’t move, asshole.”

Adam froze. So did I.

Big, muscle-bound men with bandoliers of bullets strung across their impressive chests spilled into the clearing. Each of them had a rifle in his hands, a pistol on his hip, and a knife strapped to his thigh.

Another man walked into the clearing carrying Frank Tallient. Frank’s legs hung uselessly over his helper’s arm, revealing why he’d sent me to find the loup-garou instead of coming himself.

He placed Frank atop a rotted stump at the edge of the clearing. Frank pointed a handgun at Adam’s head.

“How did you get here so fast?” I asked.

“I knew you’d find him this time, Diana.” Frank never took his eyes or his gun off of Adam. “I came to New Orleans yesterday so I’d be close by when your call came.”

“He-he got away,” I blurted.

Frank made a tsking sound. “He’s right here. Henri, it’s been a long time.”

“No—” I began.

Adam shot me a silencing glare, and I zipped my lip. Then he returned his attention to Frank. “Do we know each other?”

Fury washed over Frank’s face. “I suppose it’s nothing for you to wipe out an entire family and leave a man crippled.”

“Where was this?” Adam asked.

“You really don’t remember?”

Adam shrugged.

“Iron Mountain.” At Adam’s blank expression Frank continued, “Upper Michigan.”

Michigan? When had Henri gone there? And if he’d traveled that far, where else had he been? How many others had he killed? How many werewolves had he made?

“When was this?” Adam’s voice was a bit hoarse. Frank didn’t seem to notice.

“Seven years, one month, three days, and five hours ago, you son of a bitch.”

Seven years meant Henri had left Louisiana before Adam had taken over his protection. That information was irrelevant to Frank. His family was dead and he meant to have his vengeance. But he had the wrong man.

I stepped forward and Adam yanked me back. “No.”

One glance at his face and I understood. Adam was going to let Frank riddle him with silver bullets on the off chance the man didn’t know a werewolf would explode. Then Frank would leave, believing his vengeance complete.

“Protect Luc,” Adam whispered. “Find a way.”

He was putting his son in my care? I didn’t like this plan. However, I didn’t have a better one, except— “He isn’t Henri.”

“Diana... “

I ignored Adam’s plea. Henri had lived this long; he’d no doubt live a lot longer. He was probably halfway to Acapulco by now. Frank hadn’t been able to find him without me, and I wasn’t going to oblige him by locating Henri a second time.

“The one who killed your family and hurt you is out there.” I pointed to the swamp. “This is Adam. His great—a bunch of times—grandson.”

“Bullshit,” Frank said. “I saw Henri maliciously murder everyone I loved. Then he left me alive to remember and mourn.”

“He was a wolf; how do you know it was Henri?”

Frank’s eyes glazed with the memory. “I’d taken my family to our cabin. We were having dinner in town and Henri was at the bar. He and I struck up a conversation. He was an interesting, intelligent man. I even considered fixing him up with my daughter.” He shuddered. “You should have seen what he did to her.”

No, I shouldn’t.

“He leaped right through our picture window. I tried to stop him, and he knocked me down the steps. Something snapped in my back, and I couldn’t move my legs. I watched him kill them all. I’ll never forget his eyes. I see them every night in my sleep.”

“The curse makes all the Ruelle men look alike.” I wasn’t certain that was true, but the explanation made sense, especially when combined with the lack of females born into the family since the voodoo queen had done her thing. “This is Adam,” I insisted, “not Henri.”

“I don’t believe you.” Frank sighted down the barrel of his gun.

I threw myself in front of Adam as the weapon fired. I expected pain; instead all I felt was Adam’s arms close around me.

“He missed,” I breathed in wonder.

Adam glanced at his bicep, where blood dripped from a two-inch gash. “Not exactly.”

“Get out of the way, Diana. I don’t want to, but I will kill you.”

“I’m not moving,” I said.

Adam’s hands tightened on my shoulders. I smiled, thinking the movement was affection, then gasped when he tossed me aside to land with a thud out of the line of fire.

“Adam!” I shouted, scrambling up, tensing in expectation of a gunshot, but there wasn’t one.

Detective Sullivan stood behind Frank, pressing his sidearm to the base of Frank’s skull. “Drop it,” he said. “And your friends, too.”

Frank complied, as did his goons.

“You don’t understand—” Frank began.

“I understand plenty.” The hula dancer on Sullivan’s tie undulated with the force of his anger. “You’re under arrest. You tried to kill that man, and you threatened that woman.”

“But he’s a werewolf.”

Sullivan blinked, then glanced at me. I shrugged and made the crazy sign by rolling my index finger next to my ear.

“He asked me to find a wolf in the swamp.” I looked at Adam, who was letting the blood drip down his arm and into the ground, making no attempt to stanch the flow. “I didn’t realize he was nuts and meant a werewolf.”

“This is the guy you work for?” Sullivan asked.

“Not anymore,” Frank muttered.

Sullivan put away his weapon as the clearing filled with cops who began to cuff the minions and collect the evidence.

“Do you know who I am?” Frank shouted. “I’ll have your job for this.”

Two cops carried a struggling, cursing Frank Tallient away.

I hurried across the short space separating me from Adam, tearing a strip off my shirt as I went. He must have been feeling pretty woozy, because he let me bind his arm without arguing.

“Why did you come here?” I asked Sullivan.

“Some guy wanted to know where Charlie died. Since that’s an open case, I got suspicious. I came to your place and saw them head into the swamp. That much guns and ammo, couldn’t be good. So I called for backup and here we are.”

“I appreciate the help.” Adam offered his nonbloody hand.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.” Sullivan took it and they shook.

“Talk.”

“You know anything about the man strangled on your property?”

“No.”

“Ever seen any animals behaving oddly? Maybe rabid?”

“No.”

Sullivan’s gaze slid to mine. “A regular fountain, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea.”

“The rabies expert has arrived. He was supposed to meet me at the mansion—” Sullivan glanced at his watch. “Damn. I need to get back there.”

He disappeared pretty quickly for such a big guy. Within moments, everyone else had followed, and Adam and I were alone.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do,” Adam murmured.

“Now?”

His lips quirked before he reached out and yanked the gold chain from around my waist, then tossed it into the weeds. He lifted his hand and another spilled out—interlinking silver fleurs-de-lis. “I’d put it on for you, but—” He shrugged, then winced when the movement tugged his wounded bicep.

I took the gift and looped it around my belly, unreasonably touched. I had to admit, silver flattered my skin much better than gold. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Adam shifted his gaze from my stomach to the trail. “Sullivan’s expert will be Henri bait.”

“You don’t think Henri is long gone?”

“Even if he left, he’ll be back. This place is as much a part of him as his fur.”

“I’ll have to tell the expert there’s no wolf, no rabies. Considering my credentials, maybe he’ll believe me and go away.”

Adam continued to stare into the swamp with a frown. I followed his gaze to a nearby cypress tree where a tall, gaunt, ancient man watched us from the shadows.

“Hello,” I called. “Are you lost?”

He approached slowly, his gait more measured than pained. Despite the heat, he was dressed in black, which only made him appear more skeletal. I figured his age at eighty-plus. His hair might once have been blond but had faded to a dusky white. His blue eyes had faded, too, but they still shone with a fervor that made me want to snap a salute.

“Diana Malone?”

The accent was German—less pronounced than if he still lived in the motherland but thick enough to reveal he’d been born there.

“Yes?”

“I am Edward Mandenauer. I was called by Detective Sullivan about a rabies problem.” His gaze flicked to Adam. “Would he be you?”

Adam merely shook his head.

“This is Adam Ruelle.” I spared Adam a “don’t be rude” glare. “He owns this land. Detective Sullivan returned to the mansion to meet you.”

“I must have missed him. His men directed me here.” Mandenauer strode to the cage, inspected the lock, the moss, the bars, then lifted a yellowed brow in my direction. “You caught nothing?”

“Nothing.”

He turned to the nearest cypress, where my tree stand remained.

“Hmmm,” was all he said—until he turned with a pistol in his hand. “Where are the werewolves?”

Chapter 39

“Werewolves?” I laughed. “You’ve been watching too many B movies.”

Mandenauer’s face didn’t change. He didn’t find me funny. Imagine that?

“You lie to everyone else, but you cannot lie to me. I have hunted these beasts for longer than you have both been alive. Unless... “ He considered us. “Unless one or both of you are possessed by the demon werewolf.” His gaze lowered to Adam’s bloody arm. “I don’t suppose you were shot with silver.”

“As a matter of fact—” I began, and Adam elbowed me in the ribs.

“Who the hell are you, mister?” Adam demanded.

“I will be happy to tell you as soon as you prove you aren’t evil.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” I asked.

“Well, in the good old days, I would just shoot you and see if you exploded. But as everyone has been telling me, that causes too many questions. I hate questions. So I have come up with another way.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge silver crucifix, throwing it at me before I knew what he was up to. I had no choice but to catch the thing or let it hit me in the nose.

“No smoke,” Mandenauer said. “You live.”

My silver fleur-de-lis chain had disappeared down my shorts. I tugged it free. “I could have shown you this.”

He glanced at Adam. “Are you wearing one?”

Adam cast him a bland glance.

The old man lifted an eyebrow in brow in my direction. “If you please?”

“I’ve already done this test.”

“Humor me.”

I pressed the cross to Adam’s nonbloody bicep, then glanced in Mandenauer’s direction. “No smoke, no flame, no explosion. Happy?”

The old man lowered his gun. “Ecstatic. Now where is the beast?”

“What beast?” I asked.

“You have a cage in the swamp. You have been hunting from a tree. You understand about the silver. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were one of mine.”

“Your what?”

“Jager-Suchers.”

“My German is a little rusty.”

“Hunter-searchers,” Adam said.

Mandenauer’s gaze narrowed. “You know of us?”

“I know a little German. My guess is you hunt things no one else believes in.”

“Ja.”

“You’ll find nothing here.”

“I know better. Even without the physical evidence, the newspaper reports of disappearances and deaths, the rabies concern, there’s what I know about her.”

“Me?”

“Diana Malone, obsessed since her husband’s untimely death with finding evidence of a paranormal creature and clearing his name. For the past four years you have traversed the globe searching. But at last I think you have found one. Why are you not calling the national media?”

I tightened my lips and kept quiet.

“Could it be because you’re in love with the thing?” His gaze turned to Adam. “Lycanthropes are accomplished at the physical. They will do anything, say anything, to keep themselves alive.”

“Are you hinting that I’ve allowed myself to be seduced to the dark side?” I asked.

“It has happened before,” Mandenauer muttered.

“I just showed you that silver doesn’t affect him.”

“Perhaps the beast in the swamp is a different kind of beast from the one I am used to. Perhaps whatever hunts beneath the crescent moon in the Crescent City has grown strong enough to survive the usual methods.”

He lifted his gun, and I stepped in front of Adam again. “No. I mean, yes. But... hell. Adam, I think we should tell him.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“I sent a man down here a few weeks ago,” Mandenauer continued as if we’d said nothing. “He saw wolves where they did not belong, led by a black wolf with all too human blue eyes. Then my man disappeared. Now I learn he was strangled not far from here. Do you know anything about that?”

I started to sweat—actually I’d been sweating all along, it was hot, but the sweat trickling down my back turned cold.

Although Adam hadn’t told me so, I was pretty sure he’d been responsible for the strangulation. What would Mandenauer do if he discovered Adam had killed one of his operatives to protect the evil, murdering loup-garou? Edward Mandenauer might appear too old to do much of anything, but in his eyes I recognized a steely resolve, a lack of compassion reminiscent of the beasts he hunted, and that made me nervous. Because even my grandpa could fire a gun.

“I can cure lycanthropy,” Mandenauer said.

Adam’s sharply indrawn breath was drowned out by my blurted, “You can?”

“Not me, but there is someone I would call.”

I turned to Adam, hope making me babble. “This could be the break you’ve been looking for.”

“Or a trap. He said he’s a hunter. All he knows is how to kill.”

True. Why should we trust someone who’d walked out of the swamp? He could be anyone. Or anything.

“You were in the army, Ruelle. Elite Special Forces. A team known as Company Z—last resort. You were assassins.”

“How do you know that?” Adam demanded. “No one is supposed to know that.”

“I have worked for the government most of my life,” Mandenauer said. “Even now, though I am in complete charge of my unit, I receive my funding from them.” He pulled a cell phone off his belt and tossed it to Adam. “You must have a contact, a friend, still in the employ of Uncle Sam. Call him.”

“If you are who you say you are, no one will tell me anything.”

“They will if I say so. Call your friend; have him access my file, then type in A-I-R-A-M when asked for security clearance. After he relates the information, you can decide if you want to tell me the truth. But remember, I will either kill or cure whatever I find here. It is your choice which it will be.”

Adam’s gaze met mine and I shrugged. What could it hurt?

He followed the instructions, then listened as his contact recited the information in Mandenauer’s file. Adam disconnected, appearing a little shell-shocked.

“He is who he says he is. He runs some Special Forces monster-hunting unit.”

“You mean werewolf-hunting?”

“According to my contact, there are a lot more than werewolves out there.”

“Simon was right all along.”

“And often quite helpful to us,” Mandenauer said. “We monitored his Internet and library usage, his book purchases—”

My eyes narrowed. The Patriot Act could be a real pain in the ass. Although this seemed to be slightly beyond the realm of the rightly paranoid Homeland Security Force. Just what kind of power did Mandenauer wield?

“Your husband was very good at weeding the truth from the lies,” he continued. “Often we followed him, and on more than one occasion we eliminated what he found.”

“Those times he said he’d discovered something, but when he took me to see it, it wasn’t there.” The times I’d wondered about his sanity.

“We killed the beasts before they killed someone else.”

“What about the night he died?”

I’d always wondered what had really happened. Not that it made any difference. Dead was dead. Or was it?

Simon had died from a fall. His body had been broken, marked, torn. Then, I hadn’t thought to check for bite marks. If there’d been one—

The Simon I’d seen at the window of Adam’s shack could very well be running around the swamp on four paws. And if Mandenauer actually had a cure—

My heart leaped with hope, even as my gaze went to Adam. What would I do? I loved them both.

“Was one of your agents there that night?” I asked. “Did they see what happened to Simon? Is he—?”

“Out there killing people? No. We made certain he would not rise again.”

“He was bitten?”

“Yes.”

“But you said you could cure lycanthropy.”

“The developments are recent I am sorry.”

“You couldn’t save Simon before he was attacked?” Adam asked. “What kind of army are you?”

“The best that we can be. But sometimes even the best are too late. All the Jager-Suchers can do is continue to fight as we’ve been fighting since the war.”

“Which war?” I asked.

“World War Two.”

The idea that monsters had been multiplying for over sixty years was disturbing, to say the least.

“You had better explain what you mean by that,” Adam ordered.

The old man collapsed onto the stump where Frank had been. “I was sent to Berlin to find out what Hitler was up to.”

“Hitler,” Adam repeated.

“I hate that guy,” I said.

Mandenauer’s lips twitched. He didn’t seem like a man who would smile much or laugh ever, but I’d been wrong about the nature of a man before. I took Adam’s hand in mine, some of my tension easing when he not only let me, but held on, too.

“The fuehrer ordered Josef Mengele to create a werewolf army.”

“Mengele was the one who performed the experiments on the Jews?” I asked.

“And the Gypsies and those lacking in their mental capabilities, and anyone else Hitler did not like.”

“Which means he had plenty of test subjects.”

“He had no shortage,” Mandenauer agreed. “Mengele was given a laboratory in the Black Forest. By the time I discovered this, D-day came and went. Hitler panicked and ordered Mengele to release what he’d created into the world. I was only able to watch as unimaginable atrocities emerged from the trees.”

“And the werewolf army?”

“Has been multiplying ever since, as have all the other beasts he created.”

“What others?”

Mandenauer didn’t answer at first; then he clapped his hands on his knees and rose. “One problem at a time.” He fixed Adam with a stare. “I can help you, if you will help me. What is going on in New Orleans that has left so many dead and so many others undead?”

Adam took a deep breath and began to tell Mandenauer the history of his family and the curse. He revealed everything, except that he had a son. The old man listened without interrupting.

Though Edward Mandenauer was spooky, he seemed to know what he was doing, and while his story about the Black Forest was far-fetched, it was also plausible. I had no problem imagining that Hitler might demand a werewolf army; I found it easy to believe Mengele would concoct monsters. He had, after all, been one of them. And it made perfect sense that those horrors had been released into the world to wreak havoc for the next half-century and beyond. I’d always known Hitler was far too evil to just die.

“My grandpere wasn’t made by Mengele,” Adam said. “But by a voodoo queen.”

“Not all the monsters came out of the Black Forest. There are things walking the earth so ancient they are beyond the scope of our minds. Every culture has its dark myths, and legends. Each day new beasts are born and others mutate by accident or design.” He spread his hands. “Magic, if you will. What worked to kill them once, does not a second time. This is why my Jager-Sucher society is getting larger with each passing year.”

“It’s a wonder I’ve never caught wind of you,” Adam said.

“We are a secret society.”

“Yet you told me.”

“I am sure you can keep my secret as you have kept your grandfather’s for so long. I’ve sent agents here before. None of them were able to discover anything until this one. And they all disappeared.”

“Maybe they got tired of working for you.”

The two men held each other’s eyes like two alpha wolves over a fresh kill.

“Maybe,” the old man conceded.

I knew as well as Mandenauer did that Adam had taken out those he’d sent. But the Jager-Sucher didn’t seem angry about it. Instead, he appeared intrigued.

“Will you give me a chance to end the curse?” Mandenauer asked.

Adam rubbed his forehead, his hair swinging forward to cover his face as he considered the request. If the cure didn’t work, Mandenauer would most likely kill Henri, then Adam. From the looks of Mandenauer, he’d probably kill Luc and only lose a single night’s sleep.

“All right,” Adam agreed. “I’ll give you one chance at a cure, but I won’t let you kill him. I’ll kill you first.”

“You can try.” Mandenauer pulled out his cell phone.

While he gave orders to someone named Elise, Adam beckoned me. “I’m going after Grandpere. I want you to take Luc out of town. In case the miracle cure doesn’t work.”

“Or in case it’s bogus.”

He brushed my hair off my cheek. “Great minds, cher.”

“All right” I agreed. “But I want to know as soon as the cure is successful; then I can bring Luc home.”

Adam lifted his chin in Mandenauer’s direction. “He’ll know.”

“So will you.”

“You can’t contact me until you’re certain the cure has worked, and if it hasn’t you need to disappear. If Mandenauer kills Henri, I’ll be searching for you, and I won’t be me anymore.”

I remembered Henri’s cold eyes, his vicious words, the blood he’d spilled just for kicks. I didn’t want to see Adam like that. I’d do anything to keep his son from seeing it. Still—

“You wouldn’t hurt Luc.”

Sadness flickered over Adam’s face. “Wolves are very good parents, but werewolves could care less about their young. To them a child is just another midnight snack.”

I winced.

“Promise me.” His voice was urgent; his gaze, intense. “Promise you’ll take care of him if I can’t.”

“Of course.”

His eyes gentled. “Thank you.”

Mandenauer ended his call. “My assistant is on her way. She has the cure and will meet us at your mansion in—” He glanced at his watch. “Three hours. Is that enough time for you to locate the beast?”

“It’ll have to be.”

Adam kissed me on the forehead, then disappeared. I touched the place where Adam’s lips had brushed. A good-bye if ever I’d felt one. I guess he wasn’t as confident as Herr Mandenauer that the cure would work.

“I have to run some errands,” I said, and headed for the mansion.

Mandenauer followed. I hoped he didn’t plan to stick to me like gum on a shoe until Adam came back. If he did, I’d have to take drastic measures. My eyes searched the underbrush for a great big branch or maybe a rock.

To distract him, and because I was curious, I asked some questions. “What is this cure? A serum? A pill?”

“No. Although Elise has invented an antidote that can restore the bitten if they are injected before the first change.”

“Which would be handy if you were around the serum when you were attacked.”

He shot me a speculative look. “My point exactly. Most people aren’t, and they don’t realize they’ve been infected until it’s too late.”

“Then what do you do?”

“That is where the cure comes in.”

“What is it?”

“You shall see,” he said cryptically, which only made me more nervous. “Elise has also invented a serum that will fade the bloodlust under the full moon.”

“Did it help with the—” I wasn’t sure how to explain the soul-deep evil I’d sensed. “Henri appeared human, but he wasn’t. Not really.”

“Lycanthropy is a virus, passed through the saliva when a werewolf bites a human. The virus destroys their humanity, leaving behind pure wickedness. What we call the demon.”

I guess I’d been right about possession.

“Henri wasn’t bitten,” I said. “Does he have the virus?”

“Did he make others by biting them?”

“Yes.”

“Then I assume the curse created the infection. It is impossible to know without testing him.”

“If he isn’t like the others will the cure work?”

“Also impossible to know.”

We reached the mansion. The police had gone. The place was deserted.

“I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” I lied.

Mandenauer studied me with faded yet sharp blue eyes. “It is good that you leave him. Even if the loup-garou is cured, your lover will never be normal. There are too many memories, too many secrets, too many deaths.”

He thought I was hitting the road because I was afraid of what Adam might become, or the problems he might have adjusting to all that he’d done to protect an evil thing. Fine by me. The old man could believe anything he liked as long as he didn’t prevent me from climbing into the car and leaving him behind.

Though I doubted Mandenauer would follow, since he didn’t want to miss Henri, I wasn’t going to take any chances, so I drove around and around the area before I headed for the mobile home. By the time I got there, noon had come and gone. I knocked on the door, and when no one answered, I tried the knob. Just like the last time, it turned in my hand.

I stepped inside and saw the blood.

Chapter 40

“Luc!” I shouted, running into the house, skidding across the floor. I didn’t see a body, and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

I stopped in the doorway of Luc’s room. Definitely bad.

Henri sat on the bed, holding Luc in his lap, his hand over the child’s mouth. From what I could tell, the blood wasn’t Luc’s, although Henri was a mess. I guess we were short another babysitter.

Henri smirked. “I knew you would show up eventually.”

Would Adam be able to follow his great-grandfather’s trail to this place? I had a feeling Henri wasn’t that stupid.

“What do you want?” I asked.

He lowered his hand from Luc’s mouth but kept his arms locked around the child’s body so he couldn’t run away. Luc’s bright, happy blue eyes were now dull and very sad. What had he seen? How long would it take him to forget?

“This isn’t Daddy,” Luc whispered.

“I know.”

“Who is he?”

I was surprised Luc didn’t know the truth, but Adam had said he kept his two lives separate. He must have used a very serious threat in order to keep Henri on a leash, so to speak.

“I’m your grandpa.”

I guess the threat was gone or Henri didn’t care anymore what Adam did to him. Maybe both.

“My grandpa died.”

“I’m a few generations removed, but I’m blood of your blood. You’ll understand better when you have a child of your own.”

Luc’s face crinkled in confusion. “Where’s Daddy?”

“In the swamp,” Henri said. “He has a very bad headache.”

My eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

“Nothing permanent. I need him. But now I’m going to figure out if I need you.” Henri shoved the child from his lap as if he were a pesky dog. “Go in the bathroom and turn on the shower.”

Luc ran to me and I hugged him. Henri had managed to smear blood here and there. Maybe a shower wasn’t such a bad idea. At least Luc would be out of harm’s way by a few feet.

“He hurt Sadie,” Luc whispered. “She cried and cried and I wished she’d stop.” He swallowed. “Then she did.”

“That’s not your fault.” I pushed him gently toward the bathroom. “Do what he says, Luc.”

The boy stared at me with worried eyes.

“I’ll be fine.”

He went, dragging his feet all the way. The door closed and the shower turned on.

“You won’t be fine,” Henri said.

“I know.”

A cunning expression came into his eyes. “I’ll let you go if you leave now.”

“Me and Luc?”

“No. Either you or the kid dies today.”

“Me,” I said automatically.

He tilted his head the same way Adam did. The similarity made me nauseous. “Why so hasty? He isn’t even yours.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I suppose it doesn’t, but did you ever wonder why?”

“What?”

I was having a hard time focusing, trying to listen to Luc, to think of a plan, to pray that Adam wasn’t dead and was already on the way.

“Ever wonder why you fell so hard and so fast for Adam and his son?”

“Who said I fell? Normal human beings don’t sell out others just because they can; they don’t sacrifice children to save themselves.”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “Most people aren’t exactly human and without exception they pick themselves over strangers, even lovers and children.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What I can’t believe is that you’re one of the few to be self-sacrificing, and now I understand why. Ever seen one of these?” He held up a gris-gris.

My hand went to my pocket. Mine were still there. “A few.”

“I found this one under the boy’s pillow. It’s a love charm.”

I had been under a spell. I no longer cared.

The sound of a match being struck made me jump. Henri held the flame to the bag, and when it went up as if drenched in lighter fluid, he dropped the gris-gris to the floor and stomped on it.

“How you feel now about the boys now?” he asked.

I thought a minute, then couldn’t help but smile. “Exactly the same.”

Henri frowned. “That’s impossible.”

“Guess you were wrong about the magic. We got true love.”

“Adam doesn’t love you,” he said. “He’s as incapable of it as I am.”

He might be right, but I wasn’t going to admit that. I shrugged and his face darkened.

“We’ll find out soon enough. He’ll have to choose, too. You or his son.”

A hysterical bubble of laughter spilled from my lips. “You’re a moron.”

Fury washed over his face. He moved so fast I didn’t even see him coming. His hand at my throat he slammed me against the wall. I saw stars.

“Watch your mouth,” he said.

Since I couldn’t talk, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

“I like to make people choose. I smell their fear, the sweet aroma of despair. I swear it makes me stronger.” He put his nose to my neck, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. Like that.”

I toyed with the notion of bringing my knee up, hard, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t react like a regular man.

Until Adam, or even Mandenauer, got here, I needed to keep Henri away from Luc.

Henri licked my neck. I fought the gagging reflex. “Tallient, despite his holier-than-thou attitude, chose himself over his family without a quibble.”

Was that why Frank had become so obsessed? Grief and guilt did funny things to a person’s mind. I should know.

“We have time before Adam comes, and I want to discover if screwing a moon goddess will give me any power over the moon.”

“I don’t have any magic. My name is just a name.”

“Then you’re dead.” He laughed. “But that was my plan anyway. I just want to make sure.”

He ground his erection against me; then he yanked off his shirt. He looked so much like Adam, my eyes burned. After this, would I ever be able to be with Adam again without remembering Henri?

I’d be dead soon; the worry was moot. One less thing.

Henri fisted his hand in my shirt and tore it down the middle. His body was so close to mine, he didn’t see the fleur-de-lis chain, but he certainly felt it when the silver touched him.

I heard the hiss, smelled flesh burning, even as he howled and spun away.

My gaze lowered to his stomach, where the image of a dozen tiny French crosses had been scalded into his skin. I’d be able to tell them apart after all.

“What the hell?” he shouted. “Where you get that?”

“Adam.”

“Someone will pay.” He turned toward the bathroom.

I vaulted after him, grabbed his arm. “No. Come on, let’s, uh, do it.”

He shook me off as if I weighed no more than a fly, and I stumbled. Before I could regain my balance, he’d opened the bathroom door. A roar of fury made my ears ring.

Luc was gone.

Henri backhanded me. I flew across the room, crumbling in a heap near the bed.

“Where did he go? How did he get out?”

There were no windows in that room. My only thought was a trapdoor somewhere. No wonder the child hadn’t fought against going into the bathroom. Clever, clever boy.

I shook my head as Henri advanced, and stopped midmovement when my ears began to ring again. He’d hit me pretty hard.

He pulled me to my feet by the hair. Damn, that hurt. But not as much as when he wrapped his hands around my throat. I choked, clawed at his fingers, saw black dots. But my life didn’t pass before my eyes. Only Adam’s face, and then I heard his voice. “Let her go, Grandpere. Now.”

The weight on my chest lightened. I could breathe just a little.

“What will you do?” Henri murmured. “I wonder.”

I tried to speak, to tell Adam he didn’t have to choose, but my voice was gone.

“He will do nothing.”

Mandenauer’s voice. How many people were in this cavalry?

“It would make my day, as they say, to blow you back to hell. Let her go.”

I was falling and someone caught me. Before I opened my eyes I knew it was Adam. I recognized the gentleness of his touch, the strength in his arms.

“You okay?”

I nodded, wincing at the pain in my throat “Luc—”

“He’s fine. Used an escape hatch under the sink.” Adam lifted one shoulder. “Can’t trust a beast to follow the rules forever.”

He’d always known Henri would come one day.

“Where’s is he?” I asked.

“We ran into him coming up the road. He wanted to rescue you with guns blazing, but I convinced him to wait for us next door.”

Soothed by the knowledge that Luc was fine, I managed to force back the dizziness. Cassandra waited in the hall with a willowy blonde, who wore hot pink shorts and an electric blue tank top. Talk about bright. I was dizzy again.

Henri sat on the bed, Mandenauer’s pistol stuffed in his ear. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“How?” The word dissolved into coughing, so I just pointed at Cassandra.

“I got worried when I didn’t hear from you. Came to the mansion just as Adam stumbled in.”

“Grandpere was insane with the idea I’d sold him out.” Adam couldn’t stop touching me. I sat on the floor, still a little woozy, and he knelt at my side, holding my hand.

“Insaner, you mean?”

“If that’s possible. He knocked me out.” Adam’s mouth tightened. “When I came around, I knew he’d gone after what mattered to me most.”

“Luc.”

“And you.”

I blinked. But now was not the time to examine his sudden change of heart.

“Why is he so obsessed with Diana?” Cassandra asked. She didn’t know about the goddess-of-the-moon part of the curse, so I told her.

“That bears looking into.”

“I’m not magic,” I protested.

“We’ll see.”

“She’ll leave,” Henri blurted. “They always do. Your wife couldn’t bear it. The woman had no guts. Or at least she didn’t when I was through with her.”

Shock spread over Adam’s face. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said she’d left and never come back. He just hadn’t known she was dead.

My shirt hung in two pieces, and I tied them together under my breasts, which was the best I could do. With Adam’s help, I got to my feet. “Fix him,” I said, voice hoarse.

Henri scowled. “I don’t want to be fixed.”

“They never do.” Mandenauer nodded to the woman. Henri reared up from the bed, and Adam left me to shove him back down. He hovered over his grandfather nose to nose. The resemblance was downright creepy.

“You like so much the choice, here’s yours. Be cured or die.”

Henri’s top lip curled back. “I choose to die.”

He banged his hands against Adam’s chest Adam flew into a nearby wall and slid to the floor. Henri ducked as the old man fired, and the bullet plowed into the bed.

Adam scrambled up, but Henri was already streaking toward the door. The blonde stood in his way. I tensed in expectation of her flying through the air next. Instead, she slammed the palm of one hand against his forehead.

Henri jerked as if in pain. “You’re like me.”

“Not really,” she said, and her eyes closed.

Henri appeared frozen. Adam, Cassandra, and I gathered closer to watch.

“What’s she doing?” I asked.

“Magic.” Mandenauer didn’t appear happy about it.

“Cool,” Cassandra said. “What kind?”

“I have no idea. According to a dead old native woman, Elise has been blessed, though I cannot see it.”

“She’s your werewolf cure?” Adam asked.

“Ja.”

“And she’s a werewolf.”

“Ja.”

“But you haven’t killed her.”

“She is different.”

“How?”

“No demon,” he said simply.

“That would be handy,” Cassandra murmured.

Mandenauer shot her a suspicious glare, but she just smiled.

A thud drew our attention to Henri and Elise. He lay on the floor, twitching. She stared at him, uncertain, one hand fiddling with a tiny white wolf icon she wore around her neck; then slowly she turned up her palm to reveal a tattoo in the shape of a pentagram.

“What’s with that?” I asked.

Elise blinked as if she’d forgotten we were there. “I received it in the Land of Souls.”

I glanced at Cassandra, who shrugged. “Not a voodoo land.”

“Ojibwe,” Elise said. “Another time, another place, different werewolves.”

“I thought a pentagram was protection against a werewolf,” I said. “Although from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t work.”

“According to legend, the points ascendant are benevolent.” Elise held up her hand so we could see she was one of the good guys. “Descendant points indicate evil.” She returned her attention to a still unconscious Henry. “Something’s wrong.”

“What?” Adam demanded.

“Usually I touch a werewolf and the demon is gone. They’re human again.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Pretty much. I see their soul on the other side of darkness. A faint light that becomes brighter and brighter until it fills my mind and theirs.”

“But not this time?”

“I saw his soul, but it wasn’t very bright. Kind of hazy and gray.”

“He wasn’t much of a human to begin with,” Adam said. “Getting his soul back isn’t going to change that.”

“Maybe,” Elise said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

“Do the cured werewolves remember what they did?” I asked.

“No. The big problem has been trying to explain to them why they’ve woken up in a different century and enabling them to live in this one.”

“What do you do?”

“We have a branch specifically created to deal with those issues,” Mandenauer said.

Henri’s eyes opened. They were different now, no longer evil but haunted.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, his voice quavering. “I can hear than screaming.”

He slapped his hands over his ears and started to scream himself.

Elise grabbed her medical bag, put on gloves, then used a hypodermic needle on Henri. He went limp again. We stared at the man on the floor. No one spoke for a very long time.

“He has his soul back,” Elise said.

“How do you know?”

“Only someone with a soul would care about those he’s killed. Which is why none of them remember what they’ve done. I think if they could, they’d go mad.” Elise cast a considering glance in my direction as she snapped off the gloves. “Maybe you should touch him.”

“Me?” My lip curled.

“This goddess-of-the-moon thing might help.”

“I’ve touched him. Well, he’s touched me. Nothing happened except nausea. Names may have power, but I don’t.”

“His soul is restored. Perhaps your touching him now would be different.”

I hesitated, but Adam looked at me with such hope, I sighed. “Fine.”

Kneeling, I put my palm against Henri’s head as Elise had.

Nothing.

I shut my eyes, opened my mind, got a little creeped out to be so close to him while unable to see, and opened them again.

“Zip,” I said.

Elise joined me. “Let’s try it together.”

She pressed her fingers to Henri’s forehead, too. A jolt, like an electric shock, made his body jump. I yanked back, and so did she.

“Hell. I’d forgotten how much that hurts.” Elise lifted her gaze to Mandenauer’s. “He’s still a werewolf.”

“How can you know that?” Adam demanded.

“When we touch, skin to skin, we know.” She rubbed her brow. “Major ice-cream headache.”

Henri appeared unaffected by everything we’d tried. I wondered what she’d doped him with and how long it would last.

Elise dropped her hand. “I don’t know what to do. This hasn’t happened before.”

“You’re forgetting Damien,” Mandenauer said.

“Who the hell is Damien?” Adam demanded.

“He was a werewolf,” Elise answered, “but he was cursed by an Ozark Mountain magic woman to get his soul back.”

“That doesn’t sound like a curse to me,” I said.

“The lycanthropy stayed. He was cursed to shift, to hunt, to kill, all the while knowing exactly what he was doing but unable to stop.”

“I can see where that would suck.”

“We need to make a decision,” Adam said.

I glanced up and saw what he meant. The sun was going down.

Chapter 41

“Stand back.” Mandenauer pointed his gun at Henri’s head.

“Old man, you try my patience,” Elise said

Confusion swept over his face. “What did I do?”

“You can’t shoot someone with a soul.”

“Since when?”

Her mouth moved as if she was counting to ten. I kind of thought she was. “We’ve been over this. Put the gun away.”

“Never.” But he did lower it. “What do you suggest? A mad werewolf, soul or no, is not something I plan to let run free.”

“I’m with him,” Adam said.

Elise stared at Henri as if he were a brand-new science experiment. “I wish I could cage him until I’m certain what we’re up against.”

“I’ve got a cage,” I said.

“I’d forgotten,” Mandenauer murmured, and Elise shot him a glare.

“That’s not something that should be forgotten.”

“I’m ancient.” He sniffed. “Sometimes I forget.”

“One day you’ll forget to shoot the bad guys, and then you’ll be dead.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t appear concerned. “We must hurry and incarcerate Henri before the sun disappears.”

A flurry of activity ensued, followed by a frantic trip to the mansion; then we practically dragged Henri through the swamp, and tossed him into the cage. Not a minute too soon.

I turned the key in the padlock as he came awake with a howl of agony. His body bent; his clothes tore; hair sprouted from every pore. I’d seen him change from wolf to man; now I watched as he went from man to wolf. That had to hurt

His too human eyes peered at us from behind the bars. When I’d seen them before they’d been full of hate and hunger. Now the hunger was there, but the hate was gone. He paced back and forth, whining, pawing the ground, then throwing himself against the bars until he bled.

“Give him the serum, Elise,” Mandenauer ordered.

She’d already pulled a vial from the pocket of her shorts and snapped gloves onto her hands once more. Another migraine she didn’t need.

“What’s the matter with him?” I asked.

“The hunger is maddening. On the night of the full moon I have to run as wolf. Without this,” she held up the vial, “I’d kill. I wouldn’t be able to help myself. For him, the same thing must happen under the crescent moon.” She shook her head. “One night a month is bad enough.”

“Why is he whining?” I resisted the urge to cover my ears, the pathetic noise grating on my nerves like sandpaper.

“Killing sickens him, but he can’t resist the desire.” Elise walked to the cage, and Henri slammed against it right in front of her.

“Be careful,” I said.

“He can’t hurt me. I’m a werewolf already.”

In a lightning-fast movement, she reached inside and grabbed Henri’s snout. Then she poured the contents of the vial down his throat. When she was through, he actually licked her hand before falling asleep.

“Does Damien still get furry every full moon?” I asked.

“My touch cured him.”

“But you can’t cure yourself?”

Something flickered in her eyes, and she looked away. “Not yet.”

“And Henri? What’s his problem?”

“I’m not sure. I’d like to take him back to the lab and figure that out.”

“No,” Adam said flatly.

“I can fix him,” Elise insisted. “I haven’t spent much time in the lab since this.” She lifted her palm. “Works better than any medicine. But not so long ago, I lived there. I’m sure I can discover what his secret is.”

“You can’t kill him. If he dies, I’m cursed.”

“The curse might be lifted. His soul is restored.”

“The only way to know is for him to die. I’m not willing to take that chance.”

“He’ll be safe with me. You should see the compound we built. Impregnable this time.”

“This time?” I asked.

“Last one went boom. But the werewolves survived the blast.”

“That really sets my mind at ease,” Adam muttered.

Cassandra, who hadn’t said a word since we’d gotten here , moved closer to the cage. “I think I might know why your cure didn’t work.”

“I’m all ears,” Elise said.

“Henri was made a loup-garou through voodoo, not by science or by being bitten.” Cassandra stared at each of us in turn. “A voodoo curse can only be removed by voodoo.”

My heart kicked against the wall of my chest. “You can fix him? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Not me.”

“Who?”

“Only the one who placed the curse can take it away.”

My shoulders slumped. “She’s gotta be long dead.”

“Exactly.” Cassandra’s eyes met mine. “But the dead can rise.”

“Zombie.”

Elise’s eyebrows shot toward her silky blond hair. I was amazed that in her profession she could still be surprised.

“Zombies are dangerous,” Mandenauer said. “And unpredictable.”

“You’ve seen one?” Cassandra asked.

“I have.”

“You know someone who can raise a zombie?”

“I did.” He sniffed.

“That means he killed the guy,” Elise said. “Grandfather, sometimes it’s better to keep them alive.”

“Wait a second.” I held up a hand. “He’s your grandfather?”

That the head werewolf hunter had a granddaughter who was a werewolf was a little hard to digest.

“Yes,” Elise confirmed. “Neither one of us is too happy about it.”

I could imagine.

Adam turned to Cassandra. “Tell me about raising the woman who cursed my family. Could you do it?”

“Not me, no. I’d need to find a practitioner powerful enough to perform that kind of magic. I’m not even sure it’s possible to raise someone who’s been dead that long.”

Adam’s shoulders slumped. I moved closer and slipped my hand into his.

“Until then, let me try,” Elise urged.

I understood why Adam didn’t want to give anyone power over Henri. In relinquishing his grandpere, Adam relinquished control over his own and Luc’s destiny. But we’d exhausted our options. Protecting Henri wasn’t getting us anywhere. We needed the experts’ help.

Adam must have thought the same thing, because he squeezed my hand and said, “Okay.”

The night passed; the sun rose; Henri became a man again. A very crazy man.

Elise was forced to sedate him to get him back to the compound in Montana. She’d been right. The knowledge of all he’d done had sent him over the edge. He did a lot of moaning and muttering. If I hadn’t almost been one of his victims, I might have felt sorry for him. As it was, I was glad to see him go.

Cassandra decided to take a trip to Haiti, courtesy of the Jager-Sucher society.

“Mandenauer wants me to discover more about voodoo, zombies, and this goddess-of-the-moon question. I’m game.”

She’d hired a local to run her store and take care of Lazarus when I refused to. Cassandra and I were friends, but I drew the line at snake-sitting.

“I think we’ve proved I’m not a moon goddess,” I said.

“Maybe. Maybe not. It won’t hurt to look into things a little more. You want Henri cured, don’t you?”

“For all I care, Henri can burn in hell.”

“He probably will. But if we can make certain Adam and Luc don’t follow him there—”

“I’ll do anything,” I said.

“That’s what I thought. I made a few calls after you traveled to Ife and spoke to Erzulie.”

“Do not tell me I’m a lost priestess of the voodoo nation. I’m a cryptozoologist from Boston. Period.”

Cassandra’s shoulders shifted, as if something were crawling down her neck. “I think I sent you to Ife.”

“What?”

“I performed the ceremony. The magic came from me.” Cassandra appeared sheepish. “I might be more powerful than I thought.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Don’t tell Mandenauer. He gets weird when people talk about power.”

I couldn’t imagine why.

“What’s next for you?’ Cassandra asked.

“I don’t know.”

She tilted her head. “Love, marriage, mommyhood. I see it in the cards.”

“You don’t read cards.”

She set her hand over mine. “Your future is with them.”

“I haven’t seen Adam or Luc since Henri went away.”

Three days ago. I’d moped around the mansion waiting. Pathetic but true. I’d have to get a job soon, considering Frank hadn’t paid me. Since his butt was in jail, courtesy of me, I didn’t think he was going to.

Before Mandenauer had left he’d told Detective Sullivan there’d been one rabid wolf in the swamp and he had killed it. Case closed. I had no reason to hang around.

“Adam loves you,” Cassandra said.

“I’m not so sure.”

“He put his son in your protection. There’s no greater love than that.”

“Henri found a gris-gris under Luc’s pillow.”

“I guess that’s the love charm you were so worried about. You want me to give you one to counteract the magic?”

“He burned it.”

She peered into my face. “And you still love them both, don’t you?”

“Desperately.”

I’d realized sometime over the past few nights I’d slept alone that I’d fallen for Adam before I’d even met Luc. The gris-gris was irrelevant even if it weren’t dust.

“Maybe you need to say good-bye to your first love before you move on to the last one.”

At my confused expression, she continued. “Simon. You’ve never really put him to rest.”

“And how do you suggest I do that? Another gris-gris?”

She squeezed my hand. “Only you can say good-bye to him, Diana.”

I wasn’t sure how I’d say good-bye to a dead man, but I certainly couldn’t do it long-distance.

I packed my things and went to Chicago, where I’d buried Simon four years ago. The place no longer felt like home. I’m not sure it ever had.

The cemetery was peaceful, deserted. No one would see me talking to a headstone.

“You were right, Simon. There’s more in this world than anyone could imagine.”

I sat on the grave and ran my hand over the grass. “I had to break my vow, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t clear your name. I’d only hurt more people. I figured you’d understand.”

Absently I pulled out the gris-gris that contained the fire iris petal. A little truth wouldn’t be so bad. Where was Simon now? Had he truly come to me in the swamp? Was there any way of getting him back? Did I want to?

When I touched the sack, the tie fell off, and when I peered inside, I discovered the petal had disintegrated into dust. The wind swirled the particles away.

I guess some truths are better left unknown.

“I still miss you,” I said. “I probably always will, but I have to say good-bye.”

The breeze, warm despite the autumn chill off Lake Michigan, stirred my hair. I wanted to smell Simon’s aftershave, hear his voice, feel his love, know that he’d heard me. I closed my eyes and wished for him, but he was as gone as the wind.

When I opened my eyes, Adam was there. Talk about magic.

“You scared me to death, cher. I thought you’d left for good.”

How had he found me?

“Cassandra,” I said as I got to my feet.

He shrugged, then indicated Simon’s grave with a tilt of his head. “You were saying good-bye.”

“I can’t live in the past anymore.”

“Me, neither.”

Hope lit my heart and probably my face, because he held up his hand. “There’s something I have to tell you. Luc and Sadie did a love spell.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

I nodded.

“I was going to destroy it, but Luc can’t find the gris-gris.”

“Henri burned it. One of his insane little mind games.”

“But I still feel the same way.”

“Which is?”

“Crazy mad in love with you.”

“Ditto,” I said. “And your little boy, too.”

Adam gave me a rare smile. “I never thought I’d love anyone but my son.”

“I never thought I’d love again.”

“I guess we were both wrong.” He tugged on my hair. “What you think about fixing up the mansion?”

“I thought you hated the place.”

“Kind of grew on me. Lots of good memories there now.”

My face heated at some of them.

“I can’t promise a certain future.”

I lowered my gaze to Simon’s headstone. ‘Who can?”

After several moments of silence, Adam said, “Mandenauer offered us jobs.”

“Us?”

He nodded. ‘We’d be perfect.”

“What would we have to do?”

“Same thing we’ve been doing.”

I wiggled my brows. “He’s going to pay us for that?”

“If only. He wants you to chase down rumors of paranormal beasts. He wants me to kill werewolves.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“I’ve been doing it for years, cher.”

“What about Luc? We can’t both traipse off, tra-la-la.”

His lips curved. “You’re thinkin’ like a mother already.”

I was. When had that happened?

“You sure you want a ready-made family?” he asked.

“I’m sure I want you and Luc.”

“There’ll be no more children.”

“I’ll be lucky if I can handle the one we have.”

“You’ll do fine,” he said. “The boy was crazy about you from day one. That’s why he did the love spell. Couldn’t bear to lose you. I have to say I understand why, but he’s still grounded.”

I laughed at the notion of being grounded for performing a voodoo love spell. My life certainly had taken a turn for the strange.

“I figure if we accept Mandenauer’s offer we can take turns bein’ away from home.”

“Home,” I murmured. “That sounds nice.”

Adam reached into his pocket. For an instant I thought he’d brought another belly chain. I still wore the one he’d given me. I planned never to take it off.

“Partners?” He held out his hand.

In his palm lay a circlet of interlinked silver fleurs-de-lis with a moonstone center. The ring was so beautiful, I ached to put it on. But not yet. “When you say partners …?”

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to marry me. Who knows when I might change under the crescent moon?”

“I’d still love you, even then.”

He just shook his head.

“The only way I’ll do this is if we’re married. I adopt Luc. I’ll protect him if you can’t. Once that’s settled, we take the jobs, help save the world. Together, we’ll face whatever comes.”

He hesitated so long, I feared he’d take back the offer and the ring. At last he slipped the silver circlet onto my finger, sealing the deal without saying a word.

There was one thing that still bugged me.

“Did you really believe everything that was between us was the result of magic?”

“I still believe that.” Reaching out, he touched my cheek. “Don’t it feel like magic to you, cher?”

I couldn’t speak, could only nod, as he took my hand, then led me away from my past and into a bright new future.

About the Author:

Lori Handeland sold her first novel in 1993. Since then she has written many novels, novellas and short stories in several genres—historical, contemporary, series, paranormal romance, urban fantasy and historical fantasy—for such publishers as Dorchester, Kensington, Harlequin, St. Martin’s, HarperCollins, Simon and Schuster and Penguin.

She has been nominated five times for the RITA Award from Romance Writers of America, winning twice, for Best Paranormal and Best Long Series Contemporary. She is a Waldenbooks, Bookscan, USA Today and New York Times best-selling author.

As well as writing The Nightcreature Novels, The Phoenix Chronicles, The Shakespeare Undead series, The Luchetti Brothers and several stand alone novels, Lori also writes gritty, sensual western historical romance under the name Lori Austin.

Lori lives in Southern Wisconsin with her husband enjoying occasional visits from her grown sons.

She can be reached through her website at www.lorihandeland.com or www.loriaustin.net.

For a list of Nightcreature Novels, please go to:

http://www.lorihandeland.com/night_creature.php

Forever Freed

by

Laura Kaye

Forever Freed Copyright SECOND EDITION June 2013 by Laura Kaye

FIRST EDITION May 2011

FOREVER FREED © Laura Kaye.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part or whole of the book may be used, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work via electronic or mechanical means is a violation of international copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment.

Terms for the eBook: The ebook edition is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Please do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and/or are used fictitiously and are solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to persons living or dead, places, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Cover Art and Interior Design by The Killion Group

DEDICATION

To my family, for helping me make my dream come true

And for everyone who has already loved Lucien, Sam, and Ollie

Chapter One

The sleek silver Beemer swerved roughly to the curb in front of my driveway, cutting me off as I pulled out. The bike fishtailed underneath me as its tires fought to grab the concrete.

“What the hell?” My boot heel caught the kickstand. I dismounted as I tore off the glossy black helmet. I hadn’t eaten in over a month. I was in no mood.

The passenger window eased down. “Lucien Demarco,” a deep voice called. “Thought that was you. This must be fate.”

“Langston?” I peered in the window and found his trademark grin. He stuck his hand out and we shook across the empty passenger seat. I leaned against the door frame, helmet in hand. “Holy shit. Good to see you. Been a while.”

“What? Ten, twenty years?” “That’s about right.”

Langston’s pale yellow eyes glowed against the warm brown of his skin. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but was more like seventy-five. “Look, man,” he said, “I gotta be somewhere five minutes ago. Here”—he thrust a business card into my hand—”I’m thinking you might want to come see me.”

The embossed lettering read:

LANGSTON BROWN

DIRECTOR

DETROIT MEDICAL CENTER BLOOD BANK

My eyes snapped back to his, which were full of the same humor I’d started tasting. “Well, that’s…interesting.”

“Tell me about it. I work again tomorrow. Come see me in the evening, around seven?”

Distracted by the realization of what he was offering—a much-needed alternative—I murmured, “Yeah. Okay.”

“All right, then. I’m outtie.” He tapped his hand twice against the center console. I saluted him with his business card and stepped back up on the sidewalk as he pulled away from the curb.

I scrubbed my hand through the length of my brown hair, still trying to wrap my brain around the coincidence of Langston’s offer just as I was heading out to hunt. Filled with an unusual hopefulness, I walked the Harley back into the garage. I was used to going hungry. What was one more day?

The next evening, energized by my anticipation of guilt-free sustenance, I approached the hospital just as the spring sun dipped below the city’s skyline.

Out of nowhere, feelings of amusement and awed curiosity filled my chest with intense, comforting warmth. I had learned to control my empathic ability and could generally tune out others’ emotions if I concentrated, but there was always a low buzz of perception in the back of my mind, one that flared when the emotions had to do with me. A defense mechanism, of sorts. I turned and scanned the plaza.

A little girl’s blatant stare caught and held my gaze. “Hi,” she said with a smile. She waved her tiny hand. The evening breeze blew long strands of gold across her face.

She was so focused on me she stumbled, which only brightened her smile. She continued to grin and look at me over her shoulder as an elderly black woman drew her toward the entrance and through the automatic doors to the lobby. Then she was gone.

I was stunned.

Humans generally didn’t interact with me unless I wanted them to.

Yet, the girl saw me. Not only that, she met my eyes and held them. I smelled no fear from her at all, just that unbelievable curiosity and amusement, and an inexplicable touch of affection.

Her unusual attention made me feel present in the world, for once. The goodness of her emotions felt warm, tasted sweet.

I craved more. I wanted her to see me again. Which was why I needed to get the hell out of there.

I flipped open my cell phone and made a call, then left a message: “Hey, Langston. Sorry. Tonight’s not good after all. Can we do this in the next day or two? Let me know.”

My hunger too greatly tested my control, my judgment. I couldn’t risk staying. So I retreated through Detroit’s blighted streets back to my hulking, dilapidated manse on Edmund Place. The crumbling dark red sandstone, rusted ironwork, and numerous boarded windows were more than good enough for me.

The house’s poor condition brought me no special attention given the surroundings. Once posh, the Brush Park neighborhood had decayed with the rest of the city during the twentieth century. Abandoned mansions stood guard over debris-filled vacant lots. Just across the street a Gothic-style church sat empty—even God had forsaken this place.

I entered my dark parlor, knelt down before the hearth and built a fire. Starvation clawed at my gut. The girl’s unprecedented observation nagged at my mind. I needed a distraction.

Pulling a chair closer to the radiating heat of the fire, I bent and flipped the latches on the antique case. Raising the lid revealed one of the few mementos I permitted myself from my human life. The neck of the reddish-brown instrument filled my hand and felt like the only home I’d ever known. Nothing helped fill my endless time like my violin.

The instrument smelled of pine rosin, reminding me of idyllic days in Italy. Whenever I played, my human memories echoed as loud in my head as the notes sounded in the room.

Any pain those memories brought…well, it was deserved.

Soon, rich yearning tones filled the room. The melancholy of the anniversary hung over me still, and my dire need for sustenance didn’t help. It didn’t take long, therefore, before the image of the smiling blonde girl transformed in my mind’s eye into another girl, with olive skin and chocolate ringlets.

A girl who had once been my whole life. A daughter whom I had failed.

***

Two days later, I was back again to see Langston, finding myself in more urgent need of his assistance.

From the empty waiting room of the blood bank, I sensed him immediately. He had an expectant smile on his face when he came around from the back to the reception counter. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. How the hell are you this fine evening?”

“Okay, Langston.” I surveyed the laboratory space behind him. “Interesting work you’re doing here.”

“You have no idea. Come on back through that door,” he said as a buzzer sounded. I walked through, and he extended his hand, which I shook as the door clicked behind me. “So, what have you been up to all these years?” He led me into the more private space in the back.

“I’ve been around. Lying low. You know.” “Yeah, I know.”

We stared at each other. “So…”

“Laumet finagled me this job,” he offered. “Been in it about a month now. He figured a more formalized relationship with the blood bank was overdue.” He smirked as he leaned against a counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

I frowned at the mention of Laumet’s name. “Well, there aren’t many of us who could do it, I guess.”

Langston broke into a grin. “That’s for sure.” From Langston’s first moments as a vampire, he’d been completely free of bloodlust. It was his special gift, one Laumet found quite useful.

So here was my biggest concern about being back in touch with Langston: Antoine Laumet. Laumet was the oldest and most powerful vampire in the city, and we’d both worked for him. In fact, I’d already been with Laumet for two decades by the time Langston was turned and had helped train him. Having fought free of Laumet’s criminal underworld, however, I had no interest in interacting with him again. But Langston was still under his thumb.

Yeah, but you need this blood source, Lucien. It was a chance I had to take. “So, can you supply me from time to time?”

“Yeah, man, of course. I figured you might be interested…with everything.” The compassion that filled his words also warmed my chest. I was so unused to someone looking out for me I found myself surprised he had thought about me. But I wasn’t surprised he knew what feeding did to me, knew my empathy forced me to suck in my victims’ emotions with each accursed draw of blood. We’d worked together for over two decades, after all. “Just, Lucien, you realize Laumet will have to know.”

“I know. Cazzo,” I grumbled. “I expected as much. You can pass on that this is just a business deal. That’ll make it more acceptable to him.”

Langston nodded. We worked out cost, transport, and storage arrangements. He agreed to contact me in a day or two when he had extra again, the blood he’d set aside for me before having been used in a trauma. I only hoped it wouldn’t take too long—my pallor, dropping body temperature, and the dark circles beneath my eyes all reflected the nearly five weeks since I’d last fed.

This new source promised freedom from my ancient dependency on the weak blood of animals and the punishing blood of evildoers. Imagining what that freedom could mean for me, I wound my way through the hospital corridors toward a side exit.

And gasped as I walked into a haze of pure bliss. A young woman approached the same exit, wearing the green scrubs of a doctor or nurse. Her golden blonde hair hung in a thick braid well past her shoulders. Her arms were tanned and, as I caught up with her, I could see where the sun brought out a light freckling across her upper cheekbones and nose. The color of her eyes was striking—a dazzling blue-green with nearly black edges around the iris. She was young and vital and pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way.

As beautiful as she was, her most remarkable quality had captured my attention in the first place: the extraordinary feelings of joy, affection, gratitude, and contentment washing off her. Her emotions tasted sweet and gripped every part of my body in warmth and pleasure. My borrowed euphoria left me dumbstruck as she hurried through the door and around the hospital drive. The intensity of the feeling diminished in direct correlation to her growing distance from me.

I gasped for more. Having lived without such feelings for so long, this reminder of true unqualified happiness beckoned to me. So I followed her. I stalked her emotions, grateful for the cloud-covered evening, and learned the location of her residence.

And then an unbidden thought entered my brain: If her emotions felt this good, what would it be like to consume her blood?

Certainly I’d feel her regret. But what came out of her would also be life-giving, humanity-restoring, beautiful, and sweet.

The thought of it was intoxicating. She was a temptation of such magnitude, I lost all capacity for reason or rationality. I simply had to have her, had to have that one fleeting feeling of light in the darkness, that one richly sweet moment free from pain and grief.

In that instant, I was so far gone it never occurred to me that my efforts to avoid the blood of bad humans led me to plan to kill a good one.

***

Driven by the promise of rapturous relief, I lurked around the edges of the beautiful woman’s life that night, but had no opportunity to claim her. She always seemed to be surrounded, as if the humans she knew were equally drawn to her.

I wasn’t interested in taking out others to get to her—hell, going after her at all was unconscionable, violated the rules I’d created to try to bring meaning and structure to my unnatural life. But defying her pull was about as possible as a moth resisting the lure of a flame.

The following night, I made my way under cover of darkness back to her townhouse on Farnsworth Street. She lived in an unusual enclave in this city— a full square block of adjoined tan townhouses, arranged around new streets carved out of the interior of the block. I stood in the shadows on the side of her building until I captured the feeling of her mind. To my relief, I found her easily, the sweetness of her contentment palpable even as she slept.

A long branch of a thick oak tree passed within feet of her window. I jumped onto it and moved as close as I dared, knowing she was unreachable within the confines of her home but needing to see her nonetheless.

The sheer curtains interfered little with my view as she lay sleeping on her side in the wide bed, her hands tucked under her chin. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully, though the whirlwind of her emotions revealed the intensity of her dreams.

Oh Dio, her feelings felt good. Too good. But good enough to harm an innocent, something I’d avoided since I’d largely harnessed the bloodlust over a century ago?

I hated how flippant it sounded, but this woman was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I saw her, I had not fully emerged from the melancholy of the anniversary of my human family’s murders at the hands of my maker. Each May, I attempted to pay penance for failing my wife and daughter by secluding myself and observing the old Italian mourning rituals I’d known in life. And I denied myself all sources of pleasure, all means of distraction from my loss of them: no television, no music, no Internet, no books, no violin, no companionship, no blood.

Encountering the woman less than one week after my seclusion ended, before I’d had the chance to feed, made her a temptation of unimaginable proportions. It made her joy not just appealing, but vital to restoring any peace to my state of mind.

For hours, I sat and watched and savored and imagined. When the rising sun turned the edge of the nighttime sky pink, I jumped down from the tree and headed back to Edmund Place, realizing as I did so how close I lived to this woman—no more than sixteen city blocks. Even at a human pace, it was no more than a half-hour walk. To think relief had been so close all this time.

Now I just needed to make her mine.

***

Langston called me to pick up blood two days after our reunion at the blood bank. Carrying a soft- sided cooler, I approached the entrance to the hospital for my evening meeting—and stopped short upon feeling and then seeing the woman sitting on a bench ahead of me. Unless I looped around to another entrance, I would have to walk right by her to get inside.

How ironic I’d been stalking her for days and now encountered her out in the open—though the comings and goings of patients, staff, and visitors continued to protect her. I swallowed thickly, acknowledging my rather dire undernourishment. Nearly six weeks had passed since I’d fed on a trio of wolves on the shores of Black Lake north of the city.

I scoffed. I’d gone this long before without feeding, and now she had me doubting my control as if I were a neophyte. I was used to the clench of hunger in my gut, had forced myself to endure it for much of my existence. I usually didn’t tempt myself by intermingling with humans, let alone with one who was so appealing, but I was eager to taste and feel her happiness again.

So I resumed walking. Her feelings intensified within me as I approached. Forty feet, then thirty. By the time I was within ten feet, my mouth was so alive with the rich sweetness of her joy, I was salivating and struggling to keep my fangs retracted.

Her emotions provided such exquisite relief I couldn’t force myself to pass her by. Without a conscious decision, I stopped in front of her, her allure locking me into place as surely as if I were shackled. She looked up and smiled. Her teal eyes settled on me like a caress. In that instant, I needed to be in her presence. I hadn’t intended to, but I was going to have to talk to her now.

“Would you mind if I asked you a question?” I finally asked, working hard to make my voice relaxed, casual—the exact opposite of the tense anticipation that shivered over my skin.

Her brow dropped and her expression became a little guarded, but she smiled. “Sure.” Her eyes widened and her heart rate increased as she took me in.

I walked over to the bench and hesitated as my nineteenth-century manners resurfaced. “May I?”

She nodded uncertainly, her pose less relaxed. So close to her for the first time, it took everything I had not to reach out and cup my hand behind her neck and pull her into me, particularly as her pounding heart pumped blood into a blush that spread from her face down her throat.

Touch her. Feel her. Taste her. I shook the urges away.

“I’ve noticed you once before when I was here visiting a friend. Please feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but both times I’ve been struck by how incredibly happy you…look. Such happiness seems a rare quality.”

Her blue-green eyes sparkled, reflecting the inner light I could feel. Her smile was reserved at first but more open as she spoke. “Uh, well, a lot of times working at a hospital can be emotionally draining. The hours, the pace, the stress, and especially losing patients can all take it out of you. But on occasion working here can be the best thing ever.” She paused in thought.

I found myself having to concentrate to keep my breathing normal. The strong mixture of her joy and love was arousing—a sensation I hadn’t experienced in far too long. The tingling around my canines intensified.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened to make it feel like the best thing recently?” I smiled and searched her eyes. With effort, I restrained myself from charming her.

Her surprise at my interest rang through my gut as she shrugged. “Well, I’ve been doing a rotation in the pediatric oncology department, and one of my favorite patients found out recently she’s in remission. It’s been such a wondrous week, because her family has been through so much. She’s always reminded me of my daughter Olivia—I couldn’t imagine something threatening to take her away. So, I’ve just been riding on cloud nine ever since. I’ve never seen anyone more appreciative of life than this girl and her family. It’s just really been…great to know they won’t lose each other, you know?” For a brief second, a sharp torrent of loneliness underscored her words. I frowned and studied her thoughtful expression, but as quick as the bitter-tasting sadness came, it was gone. Her joyfulness returned, immersing me once more.

I listened and nodded in the right places, but was overcome with the certainty her happiness was my irresistible siren song. Like the mariners of old, I would be wrecked in my pursuit of her.

My devoted attention apparently made her feel self-conscious, because I tasted her self-doubt just as she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on forever—”

“Not at all,” I began, forcing myself to relax as I considered her words. “Thank you for sharing that. It is certainly something to feel good about.”

She nodded her head and smiled as she looked down. I took the moment to study her profile. She had a small scar that cut through the edge of her right eyebrow and ran into her temple. I fought the urge to run a soothing finger over it.

At first appearance, she seemed so young and carefree. But the set of her shoulders, the pale purple beneath her eyes, and her obvious compassion for others spoke of a woman who knew a little something about hardship. Though her emotions at the moment well concealed whatever difficulties life had thrown at her.

The soft evening breeze blew long tendrils of gold around her face and stirred up her intoxicating scent, at once luscious and fresh. I swallowed hard against the sensory assault. She was too appealing for her own good.

More. I wanted, needed, to learn more so I could convince myself she was nothing special, no one to regret killing. “How long have you worked here?” I asked before the pause in the conversation turned awkward.

She looked up at me and then shrugged. “Actually, I don’t formally work here. I’m a nursing student. I have one semester left at Wayne State and am finishing a clinical practicum. But hopefully I’ll get a job offer before the end of the fall semester.” She cut herself off and glanced over at me through the wisps that had fallen free of her braid.

“Interesting,” I reassured before her self- consciousness returned. Inwardly I grimaced, because it was true. Before me sat a woman with ambition, purpose, compassion.

She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, my break is about over. I have to be getting back.” She smiled and rose from the bench.

I panicked. Stay.

She hesitated and looked down at me a little dazed, as if she had gotten up too fast.

I stood and offered a steadying hand under her elbow. “Are you okay?” The warmth of her skin and the rush of her quickened pulse in my palm thrilled my senses.

“Yes, I…” She placed her other hand on her forehead. “I just got a little dizzy for a second.” Her embarrassment washed through me. “Um, thank you.”

“Of course.” I soaked her in through all my senses. I stood a full head taller, but her presence was the one that filled the darkening courtyard.

Free of my charm, she stepped back and smiled up at me. “It was nice talking to you.”

“To you, too. I’m Lucien, by the way. Lucien Demarco.” I offered my hand, eager to assess her reaction.

She reached out and shook with a firm grip. “Hi, Lucien. I’m Samantha Sutton.”

She touched me voluntarily and with complete ease. Remarkable. “Glad to meet you, Samantha.” My voice sounded different, lower, as I met her eyes. Her body heat soaked into me where our palms pressed together. Her hand was small and soft, but strong.

She blinked lazily. “Sam. Everyone…calls me Sam.” She took an unconscious half step toward me.

I relished the proximity. “All right, then, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.” A couple passed us on the sidewalk. I reluctantly released her hand and her will.

She shook her head. “See you ’round,” she murmured as she turned away. “I hope your friend gets better.”

I nodded and watched as she walked up the sidewalk toward the doors, so bewildered by the loss of her emotions I hadn’t thought to correct her assumption about my friend. Not that it mattered.

“Samantha,” I whispered as I pressed the hand that had touched her to my mouth and tasted her there. I closed my eyes against the pleasure of her scent. Finally I glanced down, replaying the unexpected conversation in my head. The blue cooler bag was still in my hand.

Cazzo! Fuck!

Looking at the sky, I knew I was late for my appointment with Langston. I hurried through the hospital and ignored the pull of Samantha’s scent. When I pushed through the door to the blood bank, Langston called me back to the laboratory space in the rear. I followed his voice and found him standing near a large refrigeration unit.

“Thought you were gonna stand me up,” he said without any particular annoyance as he held out his hand.

We shook. “Sorry, Langston, got sidetracked.”

“I figured. Just glad you made it. I held aside ten units for you. Hand your bag here.” He arranged them. “These should keep refrigerated for four to six weeks. You can freeze them for longer. Did you get the equipment I suggested for all this?”

“Yeah.”

“You should be set then. Just give me a shout a few days before you want more.” He zipped the packed cooler shut and handed it over to me. In exchange, I passed him an envelope, which he tucked inside his lab coat.

I looked at him and debated whether I wanted the answer to the question in my head.

“Yeah, Laumet knows,” he said, guessing what was on my mind.

“And?”

“He said he’s looking forward to catching up with you soon.”

Damn. I was going to have to be careful to keep out of Laumet’s orbit. I didn’t have a particular interest in being caught up with. I nodded and slung the pack onto my shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

We spoke for a while longer, then I made my way back out of the hospital. I half hoped to see Samantha again but didn’t want to make her suspicious. I needed her to stay happy.

A bright moon lit my way through Detroit’s urban decay back to Edmund Place, where I had recently refitted a basement closet to conceal a refrigeration unit for the contents of my cooler. I drank five of the pints immediately, grimacing at the coolness of the liquid as it flowed down my throat but feeling the relief and the power of it hum through me.

With effort, I convinced myself to save the rest—though my body craved more. But I wasn’t sure how frequently Langston would be able to do this for me. I opened the refrigerator and stored the remainder, suddenly restless from a combination of the rejuvenating jolt of the blood and the earlier conversation with Samantha.

Samantha. I had not planned to speak with her before having her. It was pleasurable to have done so, but it unnecessarily complicated the matter. She had proven interesting, selfless, and giving in the course of our brief conversation. She’d demonstrated the very specialness I’d hoped to disprove. But I couldn’t resist what I had to do.

She was the light, and I had been drinking the dark for so very long.

Chapter Two

The next morning, I emerged from a normally restorative trance—a semi-conscious state that was my only form of rest—agitated and strung out. My body craved more blood, my mind yearned for Samantha’s joy. Jesus, I was just hungry.

One thing was for sure: I had to get out of my head.

All night, the most punishing memories had assaulted me. I thought of Lena, my beautiful wife who crossed an ocean at my request, her body rounding with our second child, only to die at the hands of a monster who forced me to watch. I saw the tumble of my little Isabetta’s dark curls sprawled out over a blood-covered blanket. My conscience also pulled in Catherine, my best friend in this dark existence and also my lover for a time.

I had loved all of them. Failed them. Lost them.

I muttered my aggravation in my mother tongue as I stalked into the bathroom. Setting the shower water just shy of scalding, I stepped in.

My skin was hotter than normal from feeding, so the heat was tolerable. When I fed infrequently, my skin paled and cooled, and hotter water became less comfortable. Minutes later, I twisted the nozzle to off and grabbed a thick towel.

The steam from the shower distorted my reflection in the mirror—a fitting analogy for what my unnatural existence had done to the man, the husband and father, I’d once been. Cazzo. There was one way to stop all this pathetic self-flagellation. Samantha. Today she becomes mine.

With renewed purpose, I dressed in my typical worn jeans, long-sleeved shirt, and work boots. I walked to the window and tugged the layers of heavy drapes aside. Cloudy. Good. Detroit’s frequent overcast weather was part of why I lived here. The city’s large criminal population and proximity to my adoptive coven in North Ithaca, whom I avoided because I felt such a burden to them, were other considerations.

The city was just stirring. As the morning dawned, an occasional car sped down Woodward Avenue on the side of my house. At a human pace, I ghosted through the dark gray of the morning.

When I reached Samantha’s neighborhood, I surveyed the block to determine where best to intercept her. From Brush Street, I turned right on Frederick. A park sat opposite on my left, empty in the early morning gloom.

I followed the driveway into her development and then cut along the rear of the row that included Samantha’s unit. The large oak tree that served as my nocturnal post obscured most of her house and provided cover as I came close enough to assess with frustration she wasn’t home.

I pushed forward with my reconnaissance, circling an abandoned brick house behind Samantha’s and fronting Frederick. Its boarded bay windows created an asymmetrical façade capped by a few randomly situated dormers and a conical tower. The deep-set covered entryway shielded the front door.

It was another of the city’s endless inventory of late-nineteenth century houses. Unlike many such structures, however, this one looked relatively well maintained from the outside—cut grass, clean yard and, except for the first-floor bays, intact windows.

I noticed Victorian-era houses like this all the time. Since I’d come to Detroit sixty years before, I’d honed the carpentry skills I’d learned in life to restore dozens of houses. This work was just one way I kept myself busy, distracted.

These houses fulfilled another purpose as well: I’d promised Lena a home of her own when I’d convinced her to travel to America. To be sure, I hadn’t kept my most important promises to her, but I kept this one. Once, she’d given me everything. The least I could do was build her these small memorials to her life, and her death.

My previous surveillance of Samantha suggested it would be hours until her shift ended and she returned home. I ducked into the arched entryway of the old house and, intent on a diversion to pass the time, fished my silver cell phone out of my pocket and hit a number on speed dial.

On the fourth ring, the voice mail of James Bryant at LeClare Bryant LLP picked up.

“Mr. Bryant, this is Lucien Demarco. Take down the following information and get back to me. I am interested in learning the status of”—I looked more closely at the front of the house—”448 Frederick Street. Find out who owns it and whether it can be purchased. If not, persuade the owner to consider a long-term lease. Make this happen as soon as possible.”

The phone snapped shut in my palm. As my long-time and well-paid attorney, Bryant routinely performed a variety of seemingly odd requests for me. He was conversant with my interest in the city’s abandoned historic homes and wouldn’t think twice about it.

I jumped down off the porch and gazed up at the dark red façade, impatient about the house. It would provide the perfect retreat once I captured Samantha. Then I could enjoy her at my leisure. I didn’t want to have to rush. If I was going to do this, I was going to savor it. I tugged my hair back and walked around the corner of the Victorian.

Just then, a high-pitched laugh captured my attention. The tenor of the laugh, so joy-filled and innocent, called to me. I opened my senses and felt the warmth of sheer glee. It was mesmerizing.

“Slow down, Ollie!” an old man’s voice shouted from down the street to my left.

My gaze followed the sounds, and I was startled to see the little girl from the hospital gliding down the sidewalk on a scooter. The man was a fair distance behind the girl. Noticing, she stepped off the scooter, turned it around, and propelled herself back to him.

“I can go fast, Grampa!” she called.

“Yes, I see that. But I can’t. I’m barely awake, ya twerp.” He mussed her hair. “Just don’t go too far ahead, ’kay?”

“Okay.” She turned her scooter around and headed in my direction again. Her eyes connected with mine before she looked back down to coordinate her foot with the pavement.

I stood and stared, her childish enthusiasm warming my chest, providing such comfort. The part of me that wasn’t entranced by the girl was frustrated by my interest in her. How could any other girl interest me?

I shook my head and felt awkward, exposed. She’d already seen me. Again. Now she would have to pass me. I wondered if she would speak to me like last time but thought not, hoped not. I felt oddly cemented in place as she neared.

Stopping about ten feet away from me, she looked back over her shoulder for her grandfather, still a good sixty feet behind her. Then she turned to me and smiled. Her carefree disposition tasted refreshing, rejuvenating. I’d never been stared at so intently.

Finally, she said, “You’re that…um, from the hospital—”

The ringing of my cell phone interrupted her curious speech, but I’d become as interested in observing her as she seemed to be with me.

Her eyes cut from my face to the silver rectangle in my hand and back. “Your phone’s ringing. Aren’t you going to answer?”

“Yes.” It was the first word I’d uttered to any child since Isabetta.

The girl’s intense curiosity felt warm and tingly in my gut. But most notable was what I didn’t feel. No fear. Again.

“I suppose I should,” I added.

She cocked her head and met my eyes. “Yeah. Somebody wants to talk to you.” Then she shrugged, hopped on her scooter and pushed herself past me. “See ya later.”

Remarkable! My eyes followed her back until I stepped under the cover of the deep porch once again. I answered my phone, pleased to hear Bryant’s formal voice, and picked the lock to the door before the girl’s grandfather ambled by with a steaming mug in his hand. Because the house wasn’t currently inhabited by humans, there was no barrier to letting myself inside.

As I looked around, Bryant detailed the information I’d been waiting for: “The house is owned by a development company that held the whole block at one time. They leveled most of it in the late eighties to build townhouses but left two historic homes standing, then still inhabited. Four forty-eight was one of those. I’ve worked with that company’s attorney before and just got off the phone with him. He recalled the property and feels certain his clients would be willing to lease.”

“Good. Insist on my usual terms and offer whatever they require.”

“Of course, Mr. Demarco.”

“I’ll wait to hear about the paperwork. We can take care of it by fax.”

“Certainly. I’ll be in touch.” We both hung up.

Free of the phone, my mind doubled back to my most recent interaction with the girl. How extraordinary she is! Twice now she’d spoken to me and had neither shown nor felt fear. The conversations themselves were trivial, but it was the very fact of the interaction with her, with a human child…I shook the thoughts away. Fascinating as she was, the girl was not my focus.

Samantha was my purpose; she was the one who’d drawn me to this place. I pondered whether to prepare the old house for her arrival. It wouldn’t take much to make it presentable, and the work would offer a distraction. I made a mental checklist of projects, materials, maybe even some furnishings. The property owners were apparently eager, as Bryant’s call came within the hour. I signed the contract early that afternoon.

A thunderstorm darkened the late afternoon, and I ducked into the downpour with hopes of claiming Samantha. When I found her already protected within the confines of her home, I resolved to fix the new house up a bit and collected some supplies from another property. With the image of Samantha standing in the middle of my living room in mind, I labored, painting, sanding, and staining for hours on end. Working with my hands was one of the few productive outlets besides playing my violin that allowed me to pass time and redirect my thoughts away from the past.

A little before seven the next morning, I stepped outside to meet a delivery truck arriving with additional materials. I was gazing up at a sky promising to be problematically sunny when a horn blared.

I jumped down off the porch in time to see the blonde girl standing in the middle of the street. The truck wasn’t going to stop in time. The girl froze in the face of her oncoming demise. I spat out a curse and bolted into the street. The truck’s brakes screeched, and its tires squealed as they locked against the pavement.

I grabbed the girl around the waist and curled my arms, chest, and shoulders around her so when we tumbled to the ground on the far side of the street, my body absorbed all the punishing impact.

The driver jumped down from the cab, frantic with concern and apologies. His colleague ran around from the other side, pale despite his black skin. I waved my hand. They fell unnaturally silent and still, the darkly appealing smell of their fear dissipating from my charm.

I unfolded myself from around the girl and sat up. She remained on my lap and blinked up at me, huge tears waiting to spill down her face. Her bottom lip quivered. Her body trembled. I inhaled and was relieved the only blood I smelled was my own. My shoulder and side screamed from the road burn but were already trying to heal.

“Are you all right? Were you hurt anywhere?” I asked as gently as I could manage.

In answer, the large tears fell and her lip shook harder, but she still said nothing.

Her closeness and the smell of her tears set my throat to burning. “I’m going to take you over to sit on my porch right there, okay?”

She nodded as I cradled her in my arms and rose easily. Her eyes never left mine, and her shock from the near accident began to fade. I still didn’t smell fear, which meant my proximity, incredibly, didn’t faze her.

As I passed the men, I allowed them to reanimate. “Do you have anything to drink in your truck?” I asked as I remembered something I’d seen Langston do years ago for human witnesses of a shooting.

“Yeah, man.” One ran to the truck and returned with a warm can of soda.

I sat the girl down on the front step of the house and opened the can, which I held out to her. “Here. Drink.” Her shaking hand reached out for the soda and told me to moderate my tone.

I glared at the anxious men, surprisingly furious with them. “Take the materials inside, and place everything on the tarp in the front room.”

The driver nodded, and they both moved to the rear of the truck, clearly relieved to walk away from me. I sat down on the other end of the stoop from the girl, thankful the large porch cast the steps in shade.

She continued to stare at me, then her eyes flickered to the can. “My mom doesn’t let me have pop.”

“Drink, please. It’ll help you feel better.”

Finally, she put the can to her mouth and tilted it. Her nose twitched as the fizz sprayed, and her hand shook still. While she drank and calmed down, I had my first opportunity to observe her in an unhurried manner. She had long straight strawberry blonde hair and bright aquamarine eyes. She was small and beautiful. Her innate goodness was calming, comforting.

“Where are your parents?” I asked quietly, the idea of conversing with her like this strangely…nice.

“Still sleeping.”

I shifted further away on the step. The purity of her scent—like the smell of hyacinths on a spring breeze—was mouthwatering. I appreciated the intrusion of the delivery men’s more corrupted scents as they passed between us with my supplies.

“Does anyone know where you are?”

The abrupt smell of fear surprised me. Given the context, it could only mean she was out without permission.

I changed tack. “What were you doing?” I pointed to the street.

“I was going to go over to the playground for a few minutes until Mom woke up.” She became very interested in the soda can’s design.

“What’s your name?” She looked up at me. Her surprise tingled in my gut. I remembered that guilty-child look. She had expected me to reprimand her.

“Ollie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ollie. I’m Lucien.”

“Hi,” she whispered. She stared at me a beat longer. “I’ve never seen gray eyes like yours before.”

I blanched. No one had ever commented on the color of my eyes, though they were unique. All vampires began their lives with red, blood-filled eyes. But our bodies had means of shielding our identity from humans. It took time to learn, but it was possible to drain the blood from our eyes, leaving them a markedly paler shade of their human color. Brown in life, mine were now a pearly gray.

Just then, a panicked woman’s voice called in the distance. “Ollie? Ollie, where are you?”

The color drained from Ollie’s face. She set the can down and rose. She looked me square in the eyes for several seconds in a way that was completely disarming. “I have to go.” Then she turned and ran around the side of my house, her long blonde hair streaming behind her.

At that moment, the deliverymen stepped up to me with a clipboard. One began going over the invoice, but I cut him off by grabbing the clipboard and signing.

“We got a first aid kit in the truck if you wanna use it, man,” the driver offered.

I knew they had seen my blood-soaked and torn shirt as they walked in and out of the house. The rawness burned, but it would heal. I handed the clipboard back and waved him away, needing them out of my presence. Seconds later, the truck rumbled down the street.

Never had I interacted like that with a child— that is, not in this lifetime, not since Isabetta.

Two reactions coursed through me: the grief and sadness for Isa I expected. But I also felt something I didn’t expect: I felt…good. Holding and talking to her, even for those few minutes and under such distressing circumstances, felt almost…hopeful, in an unexplainable way.

And the way she looked at me, really looked at me. That’s why I’d saved her. It made no sense for me to do so, really. As a general rule, I didn’t get involved with humans.

But if she died, the one human who saw me, who made me feel like I existed in the world, would be gone. My gut tightened. I couldn’t fathom the meaning of my reaction, nor did I fully understand the protective feelings I was developing for the unusual child.

I just knew, if I could help it, I wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to hurt the beautiful little girl with the seeing eyes.

Chapter Three

Apparently, even the damn sun was on the woman’s side. Days and days of brilliant weather had trapped me indoors, kept me from my prize. Daywalking I could do, but not in direct sunlight without some immediate third-degree pain. It hadn’t been my intention to do a full renovation given my purpose, but it provided something to do while forced to cool my heels.

During the nighttime, I camped out near Samantha’s townhouse, unable to claim her within the confines of her dwelling but relieved to find her continued joy. I’d been right: the anticipation of her blood coursing through my veins was nearly intoxicating.

I imagined how I would lure her to my new home, what she would look like standing in my living room, how her curves would feel in my arms, and how the column of her slender throat would taste against my lips. I found myself building a wall around my bloodlust for her—one that needed reinforcement daily.

As the sun set on Friday night, I gathered my tools and moved everything out to the front porch to make room for a select few pieces of furniture arriving the next morning. Once the sun was sufficiently low in the sky, I carried my things out to my black Silverado pickup parked at the curb.

I was almost done loading everything into the bed when I tasted intense sweetness. My eyes threatened to roll up into my head from the sheer pleasure of it. I knew instantaneously she must be close. I inhaled deeply, catching her scent. Footsteps echoed some distance behind me.

Samantha and an older man walked up the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I feared under the cover of darkness I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself from taking her and I’d end up attacking him, too, so I flung the last of my gear into the back. Salivating hard, I rushed around to the driver’s side and reached for the door handle.

Someone ran up behind me. I turned defensively, nearly dropping into a crouch, and was floored to find Ollie darting across the empty street while Samantha gaped.

“Lucien!” Ollie cried as she flung herself around my legs.

I froze. My mind was everywhere at once. The girl. Her heat. Her touch. Her scent—the spring hyacinths again. I held my breath, a last-ditch effort at restraint.

Samantha’s confusion rolled through my body and played out across her face.

The two humans who’d filled my thoughts and senses over the past weeks stood before me…together? The woman I planned to kill. The child I vowed to protect. Together.

Questions and sensations inundated me. Amid it all, I was careful to keep my hands pressed back against the truck. I didn’t want Samantha to be any more alarmed than she already was. And I didn’t want to chance harming Ollie.

Ollie. Olivia. Cazzo! This was the daughter about whom Samantha spoke so lovingly. The blonde hair, the aquamarine eyes. How had I not put them together?

“I never really thanked you,” Ollie gushed in a loud whisper.

“Olivia! What do you think you’re—” Samantha’s heart skipped a beat as she focused on me and recognition dawned. “I…I know you…from the hospital?” She placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder and prodded the girl to release her grip on me and stand back.

Undeterred, Ollie beamed up at me. So striking was the girl’s attention it took a concerted effort to focus on Samantha’s lovely voice.

I chanced a breath. “Yes. Sorry,” I said, not sure exactly what I was apologizing for but feeling it necessary nonetheless. “Lucien Demarco,” I reminded her.

An awkward silence filled the air for a few long moments, and then Samantha asked, “Um, I’m sorry, but how do you know Olivia?” Her fear smelled appealing though the acridity of her anger tasted sour.

“Right. Sorry. I helped Ollie the other morning,” I began. “She…fell down in the street. I was working here,” I said, nodding to the house behind us, “and saw her. I invited her to sit on my porch until she felt better.” As I spoke, I could feel the wheels in Samantha’s brain moving. The flavor of her relief began to replace the scent of her fear.

She looked down at her daughter. “When was this?”

Ollie shuffled her feet, the smile gone from her face.

“Ollie, answer me, honey.”

“On Saturday morning.” Ollie sniffled. “I woke up early and I got bored, so I went outside—”

“You came all the way over here to the street?” Samantha asked, alarmed again.

Ollie was too scared to answer as the tears streamed down her face.

Samantha knelt. “Olivia Sutton! How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot just wander away from the house like that!” Samantha thought for a moment, then a new wave of frustration came from her. “Were you trying to go to the playground? By yourself?”

A fresh round of tears sprung from Ollie’s eyes as she nodded.

Samantha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Promise me you will not do that again, Olivia. You could have been hurt. You could have been…Promise me.”

“I promise, Mommy,” Ollie whispered.

Throughout this exchange, I felt like a caged lion, held in place by the force of the drama unfolding before me—a drama powerful only because of who was starring in it. At the same time, my throat was starting to burn from the prolonged exposure to their scent, their blood, their emotions. I snapped out of these considerations as Samantha stood up and addressed me.

“I’m sorry, Lucien. I’m sorry Ollie bothered you, and I’m sorry I…lost it…a little…here.”

“Not at all,” I replied thickly. “And Ollie was no bother, really. I was going to walk her home when we heard you calling for her. She’s a sweet girl. You’re very lucky,” I said, my voice trailing off toward the end. Those words held more truth than she’d ever know.

“Yes, I am.” Samantha ruffled her daughter’s hair. Ollie’s eyes were drying as she stood shyly against the man. “Oh,” Samantha said, noticing, “this is my father, Joe, by the way.”

The man and I exchanged nods, and Samantha looked back to me.

“So…do you live here? I’ve always wondered about this place. I love old houses.”

We all walked around my truck to the curb. Her movements were easy, graceful.

“I’ve just finished renovating it for the owner and am leasing it. It’s sort of a hobby for me. I love old houses and enjoy bringing them back to life.”

“That’s really great,” she said, looking the house over.

“Would you like to see the inside? You’re more than welcome,” I offered, looking at all of them. My earlier imagining of Samantha in my living room came to mind. I licked my lips but then shook the image away. I diverted my eyes so as to not influence her.

“Well…” Samantha glanced down at her watch. The sun was fully set now. “Maybe another time? It’s Ollie’s bedtime, and we should probably head home.”

“Of course.”

“Good night,” Samantha said, “and thanks again.” Her happiness resurfaced, warm and sweet. “Olivia, say ‘good night’ to Lucien.”

“Good night, Lucien.” She turned and whispered something to her mother, though it didn’t escape my ears.

I found myself stunned, again.

“Uh…I don’t know, honey. You’ll have to ask him,” Samantha said, a mystified undercurrent to her voice.

Ollie looked at me uncertainly for a moment, and then the bright smile returned to her face. “Lucien, can I give you a hug good-bye?” she asked unselfconsciously.

After a few seconds, I closed my gaping mouth and lowered myself to one knee, working hard to remain casual. “Sure, Ollie.” I held my breath and threw walls up around all the reasons this was so wrong.

She ran the four steps between us and flung her arms around my neck.

Oh Dio! Her skin was so soft against me. With surprise, I recognized the warmth that ran up my spine as affection.

“Good-bye, Lucien. Good night,” she sang.

I patted her twice on the back and looked up at Samantha’s dumbfounded expression. She and Joe exchanged a meaningful glance, then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

I shook my head and tried to make her understand I didn’t mind. Not at all. In fact I craved the innocent, affectionate touch more than I realized. More than I should. “Good night, Ollie,” I breathed. “Sweet dreams.”

She smiled, then turned and skipped down the sidewalk with Joe. I stood back up.

“She never does that.” Samantha looked at me. “You should feel really special.”

I flinched at the kind words.

“Well, see you around then,” she said, turning to catch up with her family. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, Sam.” I regretted seeing them leave and immediately missed their company and the pleasure of their emotions. I sucked in a deep breath as the atmosphere around me seemed to change in composition. My head was spinning.

What are the chances? The woman I planned to kill—the innocent—was Ollie’s mother, the very girl whom I had just saved and pledged to protect. I walked to the porch railing and threaded my fingers through it, then leaned forward and banged my head against the thick ornate woodwork. Humans are so fucking messy, Lucien! This is why you should stay away!

But I wasn’t sure I could.

***

My longing for Samantha drew me to her window just after midnight. I was surprised to find a dim light on in her room. She sat in her bed with her back against the headboard and her knees drawn up. She was writing and, even from outside, the warmth and comfort of her love radiated.

She wrote for half an hour, occasionally leaning her head back against the white headboard and putting the pen in the corner of her mouth. She finally closed the book and slipped it into the top drawer of her bedside table. She sat for a moment and then reached over to shut off the light. Her body slid down into the covers and pillows. Soon she was asleep.

I dissected the evening’s events from every conceivable angle and particularly noted the intensity of my bloodlust. That would need to be addressed if I hoped to draw this out.

But what is “this” now?

I kept vigil until the first warm pink touched the edge of the sky. My emotional tank more filled than I could ever remember it being just from hours in her presence, I finally returned home.

The furniture delivery truck arrived at nine o’clock that morning. Several rooms’ worth of furniture took an inordinately long time for two human men to unload and set up. I itched to just do it myself.

Why am I so impatient, anyway? Restlessness unsettled me, filled me with nervous energy. Arranging the furniture the way I wanted it was useless as a distraction.

Downstairs, a knock sounded against the open front door. A moment later, my senses told me who’d arrived. Dio help me, I wanted to see them. I had to see them—it was obvious I was here. But it seemed like such a bad idea considering my desire for Samantha and protectiveness for Ollie. Those two imperatives were in direct conflict.

Knuckles rapped against the door frame again. “Hello? Lucien?”

I debated for one last moment, then attempted to restrain the speed of my movement as I rushed downstairs. Samantha and Ollie filled the doorway, both looking around with wide, curious eyes. Samantha smiled up at me as I came down the last few steps.

I drank her in through all my senses. Saliva filled my mouth, and I forcefully swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” I replied, a hopefully warm smile on my lips. The calmness that now spread through me seemed to explain my earlier anxiety—I’d been anticipating seeing them again.

“Happy house, Lucien,” Ollie said enthusiastically. She held out a foil-covered plate. The space was so thick with her excitement I was swimming in it.

I took the plate from her and met her eyes. “Thank you, Ollie. How thoughtful of you.”

“This looks like a bad time. We can stop back later,” Samantha hedged.

Silencing the nagging voice in my head, I said, “It’s no problem, Sam. The delivery men are just finishing up. I’m glad you came.” And it was true. Her presence centered me. When she wasn’t around, I felt literally depressed. When she was near me, a weight lifted off, like I could stand straighter.

I could only imagine how much more potent that sensation would be if it was running through my veins…I shoved the thought away. Samantha’s relationship with Ollie undid my plans, even though a small part of me remained desperate to have her.

Ollie’s excitement regained my attention. Hands clasped underneath her chin, she danced from side to side. “Aren’t you going to open it?” she finally asked, pointing to the plate.

I laughed. Laughed.

“We’re a little excited about what’s on that plate, if you couldn’t tell,” Samantha joked.

“I would love to open it. Come on, let’s go in the kitchen.”

Her little face lit up further.

We stepped around broken-down boxes and other moving mess in the living room on our way to the kitchen at the rear of the first floor. I set the plate down on the counter.

“Shall I?” I asked Ollie with my fingers poised to lift the foil.

“Yes! Let me help.” She moved her hands to the other side of the plate and began unwrapping. “Ta- da!” she sang as she pulled off the foil with a flourish, revealing a round golden cake drizzled with a thin white icing.

“This looks delicious, Ollie. Thank you.”

She was bouncing again, bursting with anticipation. “Mommy and me made it!” The fervor of her emotions reminded me of the nervous energy that had filled me earlier.

I smiled at her. “You made this?” I asked as she nodded eagerly at me. “You are really something. This is very thoughtful.” I looked at Samantha. “Thank you, Sam. Truly.”

“You’re welcome. Just a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood. It’s so nice to see this place lived in and looking so nice. You’ve really done a wonderful job in here,” she said as she looked around.

“Mo-ommm!” Ollie cried to recapture our attention.

Samantha looked down at her playfully. “Wha-at?”

Ollie turned her attention back to me. “Do you know what it is, Lucien?”

“Um, a cake?” I hadn’t eaten one in one hundred thirteen years, since my last birthday, in fact, but I was fairly certain I recognized a cake when I saw one.

“But what kind of cake is it?” she asked, as if I was missing an obvious point.

My sense of smell was of no help. It just smelled sweet to me. I looked down at the cake again. It was white. So I ventured a guess. “White cake?”

“Noooo!” She giggled at my mistake. “Guess again!”

“Um…”

Samantha looked at me curiously. A mild sensation of amused disbelief rolled off her.

Clearly a normal person would recognize what was on that plate.

So I made a game of it. “Chocolate cake?”

“NOOO!” Ollie laughed hard now. “Lucien!” She giggled impatiently.

“All right. I give. What kind is it?” I asked her.

“It’s angel food cake!”

“Of course. Angel food cake. That’s great, Ollie. Thanks so much, again.”

She deflated at my reaction.

What am I missing? I couldn’t come up with anything, so I deflected. “Well, since I’ll never eat all of this by myself, will you two please have some?”

Ollie looked at Samantha hopefully.

“Okay, a small piece.” Samantha smiled and looked at me. “She’s been busting at the seams all morning to try it.” She set the plastic bag she’d been holding on the counter. “I figured you wouldn’t have your kitchen set up yet, so I brought some paper goods.”

“Thank you, Sam.” I made a mental note to buy kitchen supplies in case they came again.

As I turned to fill the plastic cups with water, Samantha offered to cut the cake. She laid a thick slab of the fluffy-looking confection on a plate and pushed it toward where I had been standing. Then she proceeded to cut two smaller pieces for herself and Ollie.

I turned toward them with the drinks. “Shall we sit?”

Ollie scampered over to the table balancing her plate and fork. She pulled out a chair and climbed up. “I want Lucien to sit next to me,” she said, looking between Samantha and me.

I withheld any reaction to her words, though they lit me up inside, and pulled the chair out for Samantha. When I took the seat next to Ollie, her fork was poised above her cake. She looked at me expectantly, so I picked up my fork.

There was no way I was going to be able to avoid eating.

It had been a long time since I’d needed to ingest human food. Back in my earliest days at my adoptive family’s New York estate, Orchard Hill, my “brothers,” William and Jed, had enjoyed watching me try to learn how to eat food. Knowing my stomach would revolt, they would snicker and howl with laughter when my body violently rebelled. It was exhausting.

And they tested me too—the better I got at keeping the food down, the more exotic the food and the larger the portions they offered. Indeed, more than a few dares and bets circulated amongst the men during my years at Orchard Hill. However repulsive, it was necessary to master the consumption of food. Doing so was a safety measure; we needed to be able to pass as human in all conceivable ways.

But there was a cost to our bodies. The food either had to come back up or be destroyed internally. Our bodies were simply not equipped to process it. Whereas for humans the consumption of food was nourishing, for vampires the consumption of food was draining. Ridding ourselves of the foreign matter necessitated an expenditure of blood and energy.

Ollie was still looking at me expectantly, so I sliced my fork through the spongy cake and scooped a bit into my mouth. “Mmm,” I said as I beat down my gag reflex.

They began eating too.

“Do you really like it, Lucien?”

“Absolutely. It’s delicious.” Another bite slid dryly down my throat. Why am I putting myself through this again?

“We were going to bring chocolate chip cookies,” Samantha chimed in, distracting me. “But Ollie absolutely insisted we make angel food. I had to send my dad out to the market for all the eggs and sugar.” She laughed.

“I told you, Mommy, it had to be angel food,” Ollie said in exasperation.

Eager to get the cake over with, I choked down a large bite while they were looking at their plates. “It really is good, Ollie,” I offered, then pushed the plate away.

“Aren’t you going to finish it?”

“Absolutely. But…I just finished breakfast. So I’ll have some again later.”

For a moment she frowned, but then shrugged and took another bite of her piece.

Just then, the delivery men called from the front hall. “Mr. Demarco? We’re all done.”

“Excuse me, please.” I walked out to the foyer to the man holding the clipboard.

“Do you want to walk through and inspect everything?” he asked.

“No. I’ve worked with your company before. If I see a problem, I’ll call.” I took the clipboard and signed where required. The men stepped out and closed the door behind them. I inhaled a deep breath of air less tinged with Samantha’s and Ollie’s scents. When I returned to the kitchen, Samantha was replacing the foil on the cake.

“Would you like a tour?” I asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Samantha said, smiling.

As I walked them through the house, I delighted in Samantha’s observations, questions, and compliments. I reveled in her seeming ease with me.

Ollie danced around us, trying out the furniture here and hiding behind it there.

I basked in their light. Their happiness was sweet and warm. Parts of me felt tempted to life that had long ago been buried.

As we made our way back through the house, Ollie’s exuberance continued, and she skipped and jumped and sang.

“Sugar,” Samantha said ruefully.

Ollie began down the steps ahead of us, then turned to say something to Samantha. The next thing I knew, she was in a free fall. Before I’d even thought through the consequences, I jumped down eight steps and caught Ollie mid fall.

“Whoa—you okay?” I asked a startled Ollie. She nodded vigorously.

I looked up. Samantha stood, frozen, at the top of the steps. Her mouth gaped. I probed her emotions, but…nothing, no emotions, seemed present. Not good. I met her eyes.

She was glancing back and forth between Ollie and me. Her brain apparently restarted itself then, because the smell of fear and sour taste of panic rolled through me. “How…?”

Ollie started giggling, grabbing both Samantha’s and my attention. I realized I was still holding her and placed her back on her feet. A rectangular piece of soft Styrofoam packing material stuck to the bottom of one of her shoes. I pulled it off and held it up for Samantha to see. “Sorry.”

Ollie made it down the rest of the stairs without incident, I followed after her. Samantha stood still.

Please let this go. Ollie looked at me strangely as I muttered a soft plea in my native tongue. Finally, Samantha came down and joined us.

“Mommy, can we go to the playground?” Ollie asked with her face pressed up to the sidelight to the left of the front door.

“Um…I don’t…know. We’ll see.” Samantha looked back up the stairs with a frown.

“Lucien, can you come play with us?” Ollie asked.

“Ollie, I’m sure Lucien has a lot to do today,” she murmured, still not looking at me. Ollie opened the door and skipped out to the front porch. Samantha seemed torn between a desire to flee and to confront me.

The smell of her fear was becoming problematic. Fear was an especially attractive scent to my kind. With difficulty, I swallowed the bloodlust down. “Sam, I am sorry. I should have been more careful to ensure the floors were—”

Her wide eyes flew up to meet mine, resolved now. “You just saved Ollie. You saved her. You…flew…you flew down the steps and caught her in midair.” The words came more quickly. “You didn’t hesitate—one minute you were beside me and the next…and you were perfectly calm about it. I didn’t even hear your feet…”

“Sam—”

“No! Don’t get me wrong, Lucien. I can’t thank you enough. I appreciate what you did. In those few terrible seconds, I had already played the whole awful scene out in my head. I saw her lying crumpled at the bottom of the steps. But…but…how?”

Anticipating this question, my brain had already begun evaluating possible explanations, discarding some as unworkable and placing out for my consideration a few possibly convincing ones. Hopefully one of these would work, or I was going to have to charm her to see it my way. I didn’t want to have to do that with an audience; I certainly didn’t want to have to charm a child as well. There was no telling what the effects of that would be on one so young.

“It was no big deal. I was only a couple steps away when she started to wobble, so I slid down the banister to her. I used to love sliding down stair railings when I was a boy,” I added with a smile, trying to distract her.

“Wait. What? You weren’t…already on the stairs. You were standing just by me…a little behind me, actually.”

“No, Sam, really. I had just begun down the steps—”

“Mo-omm!” Ollie called from the porch. “Can we go to the playground now?” Her interruption shook Samantha’s determination to have her version of events confirmed. I silently thanked the child for her impatience.

“Coming, Ollie. Don’t go near the street.” She looked back to me. “I’m sorry. Obviously it doesn’t matter. I just got so scared seeing her fall like that.” She took a deep breath and laughed a little. “God, you would think since I’m becoming a nurse, I would be a little more able to deal with stressful situations.”

“Everyone would be scared for their child in that situation, Sam.” We stood there awkwardly for a moment. “Well, I’d say please come back any time, but I suppose after that, you won’t be wanting to visit my old deathtrap again.” There was more disappointment in my voice than I had intended. Or expected.

She laughed. “Oh, stop. Of course we’ll visit again. Thanks for showing us around your place. It looks great.” She stepped out the open door.

Ollie sat on the front steps in nearly the same position as the first day I’d saved her. “Mom, can we go to the playground now?”

“Uh, okay. Just for a little while, though.” Samantha turned to me. “Would you like to take a brief break from house work?”

I stepped out onto the porch with them but noted with disappointment the bright sunshine flooding the grass and sidewalk around the porch. I squinted against the uncomfortable brightness. “I would love to come with you another time, but I should really finish getting settled here today.”

“Please, Lucien?”

I smiled at Ollie, marveling at the warmth of the affection coming from her. “I’m sorry, Ollie. Another time, though.”

The salty taste of disappointment hit me. A passing sense of that came from Ollie, although her excitement about the playground trumped it. My eyes flashed to Samantha—the feeling was hers. While she smiled her goodbyes at me, those smiles never reached her eyes.

She wants me to come with her. My chest tightened and I swallowed hard. Damn, I am getting in too deep.

And worse, I wanted more.

Chapter Four

I cursed the sun as they walked away, then turned and walked back into the house. The place positively vibrated with their scent.

Just then, my cell phone came to life in the pocket of my jeans. I whipped it out, not recognizing the number.

“Yes?”

“Ah, Lucien. How very good to hear your voice.” I froze, recognizing the accented voice immediately, despite the decade since I’d last heard it. My hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.

“Really, Lucien, where are your manners?”

“Monsieur Laumet.” Cazzo!

“Lucien, we have known one another for half a century.” Amusement rang through his words. “Why the formality?”

“Fine, Antoine. I wasn’t sure if we were still on a first-name basis.”

“You’re hurting my feelings, Lucien. Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Antoine, may I ask what you want?” I worked hard to moderate my tone, though the hairs on the back of my neck rose. No good could come from reassociating with Laumet.

“I always did appreciate your directness.” He chuckled. “I was simply pleased to hear from Langston you were alive and well and wanted to check in on you for myself,” he said with an innocence he didn’t possess.

“Well, I appreciate that. I’m good, but of course, I have no illusions you didn’t know perfectly well I was still around.” Laumet had a large vampire guard and a huge staff of human employees, most of whom were not in on his secret life. Still, there were plenty of Laumet-loyal goons running around Detroit keeping an eye on every aspect of the city for him.

“Be that as it may.” He hesitated—his purpose in calling was coming.

I distracted him with more small talk. “Since we’re exchanging pleasantries, Antoine, how have you been?” I paced the length of the first floor.

“Oh, Lucien. Thank you. I thought you would never ask. I am old and underappreciated. The times aren’t what they used to be. All this effort at economic revival and urban redevelopment in my old city complicates my life. But, of course, I am managing to adapt to the changes. Business is growing, and we do our best to identify new opportunities,” he said, as if he was talking merely about overseeing a small family business.

“Hmm” was all I could think to say.

“I want you to come see me, Lucien. I would love the opportunity to catch up with you in person and reminisce about old times.” So this was the real reason for the call, then. He was summoning me to him. Given it was his city in just about every sense of the word, one simply did not refuse such a request.

I sighed. I’d give it one try: “Of course I appreciate the offer. But, begging your indulgence, I remain rather fond of our current arrangement. I—”

“Tomorrow night. Nine p.m. The Boat Club on Belle Isle. I will see you then.” The line went dead.

“Cazzo!” I roared as I threw my phone, lucky it landed against the soft cushion of a distant chair before clattering to the floor.

I spent the rest of Saturday waiting impatiently for the sun to set enough to return to Edmund Place. As soon as I got home, I flew to the basement and wrenched open the refrigerated storage unit, then consumed the remaining pints right out of the plastic.

The blood began to work its magic within my body. I hadn’t fed so frequently in a long time. My senses immediately heightened, and my muscles tingled with an electric energy. The air felt cooler against my now-blazing skin.

Unusually sated and satisfyingly warm, I could think of only one other way to prepare for tomorrow’s reunion: rest. As I willed myself into the trance, lying in the coolness of my drape-darkened bedroom, I thought about my arrival to this city and everything that flowed from it.

Coming to Detroit sixty years ago began the darkest chapter of my existence. Still guilt-ridden from my human family’s horrific deaths and infuriated at my inability to find and exact revenge upon my maker, I had willingly associated myself with the worst of the vampire race. I deserved little better and went out of my way in those years to punish myself. Knowing I would see Laumet again brought the memories of those dark times into sharp relief.

Finally, it was time.

I made my way through downtown to Belle Isle. I hadn’t been on the island in the middle of the city’s river for years. Making no effort to conceal my arrival, I crossed the cracked parking lot to the path that led across a raised footbridge to the abandoned Boat House’s entrance. The canopy and awning over the walkway were long gone, leaving only the metal skeleton that had once held the fabric. I pushed through the front door into a dark vestibule—left dilapidated to discourage curious trespassers, as was the usual practice—and came to a set of heavy double doors.

Two thumps of my fist served as my knock.

After a moment, the door opened. Langston stood before me with an apologetic expression on his face. I walked in and clapped him on the shoulder. I didn’t blame him for this situation—not that I knew if there was a situation yet. I paused while Langston secured the door. Then he led me through a once- grand lobby space into a ballroom.

Laumet always surrounded himself with the most beautiful spaces in Detroit—this Boat House was no exception. Ornately molded wood paneled the walls, and a beautiful balustrade featuring carved sea horses framed a balcony around the top of the room. Heavy blue velvet curtains hung at the windows, effectively shielding the abundant candlelight in the room from outside notice.

As was his style, Laumet sat as if holding court in an oversized chair at the head of the room near the fireplace. His hair was silver, although his former black color still revealed itself in its undertones. His silver eyes were filmy around the edges. He was the oldest vampire I had ever seen in every sense of the term—at least sixty or seventy when transformed nearly three centuries ago. His finely tailored black suit accentuated his dark brilliance and aura of power. The silk was so fine the candlelight danced off it.

I approached but paused just a few feet in front of him. His smile was wide and genuine. Encouraged, I stepped forward and offered my hand. “Good evening, Antoine.”

He shook enthusiastically. “Yes, Lucien, it is. I am so pleased you came to see me tonight.” He held on a moment longer than seemed natural and studied my eyes and face all the while. “You look well.”

“Thank you.” I let pass the fact that he’d given me no choice but to come. Laumet’s good humor surprised me. He had a volatile personality, so I never knew what to expect from him.

That was perhaps because of his line of work. He ran some legitimate businesses, but most of his wealth and power came from his black market operations and illegal entertainment activities. It was dangerous to trust the people who operated in these arenas, so Laumet’s group of confidantes was quite small and for the most part consisted of the people sitting in the room, myself included, despite a number of recent clashes.

“You remember Jacques and Magena, of course.” The pair of them sat on a brocade sofa a few feet from Laumet. Jacques was short, slight, and olive- skinned, with black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail with a leather cord, while Magena was exquisite—dark skinned with waist-length iron- straight black hair and high pronounced cheekbones that set off her sparkling silver eyes.

“Of course.” I nodded to them.

Magena offered a warm smile, her emotions full of affection for me as they had always been. Jacques managed a sort of a grimace then looked away. His continued hostility toward me was no surprise.

“Won’t you please sit, Lucien? Langston, you too.” He motioned to a second brocade sofa opposite from Magena and Jacques. The fire was a little too warm against my blood-heated skin, but I offered no complaint.

Everyone looked uncomfortable to some degree—except Laumet.

“Ah, it’s so nice having all of you together again.” Laumet crossed his legs and smiled at us. Awkwardness hung in the air like a fog.

Finally, Magena said, “So, what have you been up to all these years, Lucien?”

“Truly? Nothing remarkable, Magena. Existing.” Jacques rolled his eyes.

“Do you still work renovating old houses?” she asked.

Her efforts were paying off. The small talk relaxed everyone. “Yes, occasionally. I have restored nearly four dozen houses, many of which I still own. It helps pass the time. And seeing the end result is satisfying. I just finished one this week, in fact.”

She smiled back. “How fascinating. The city should give you a medal—you’re a one-man force for historic preservation.”

I smiled at Magena, grateful as the last of the awkwardness faded. She and I had always had a special relationship, born of our shared misgivings about what we were. “That might be a little more attention than would be in anybody’s best interests. Not to mention the city seems to be more interested in tearing things down than building them back up again.”

“True in the neighborhoods”—Antoine joined in—”but downtown, the city has been attempting a resurrection with new buildings, new sports fields, and waterfront development. It’s been quite a renaissance.”

“And new casinos, too,” I added.

“Indeed. I have been particularly pleased with that development.”

“I assumed as much. And how is that business treating you?”

He chuckled. “If I had known how lucrative casinos could be, I would have built one myself. It is a sad testament to human nature that people without sufficient money to feed their families or pay their obligations will come to a casino and put their whole paycheck on the line.”

“We don’t feel too sad for them, though, do we, Father?” Jacques smirked at me as he addressed the vampire who had been his human father; they had been changed at the same time. “You should add stupidity to your list of death-deserving human failings, Lucien. You would never run out of a fresh supply of blood if you did. We certainly don’t.”

“Very good, Jacques. You managed to make it a whole”—I made a show of looking at my watch— “wow, twenty minutes, before starting in on me.”

Looking down, Magena tried to hide her smile. “Yes, yes,” Antoine interjected, amused. “Just like old times indeed. I do wish my sons could get along better.”

Jacques blanched. Laumet frequently used family metaphors to talk about the vampires who served him, but his designation of me as one of his sons always rankled Jacques. Laumet liked me as well as and treated me nearly the same as one of his real sons. Maybe that was because one of his sons had died, and Jacques was the only one remaining.

Whatever the case, Jacques was clearly shocked to hear Laumet still considered me that way after my long separation. Jacques’s jealousy of me was and had always been palpable. And with that comment, his father had just reignited the smoldering burn of his hatred for me.

As the conversation continued, I kept waiting for something bad to happen, sure Laumet had summoned me for some purpose I wasn’t going to like. However, the night passed in storytelling about our shared pasts. Aside from Jacques’s black emotions, it wasn’t altogether unenjoyable.

With an affectionate chuckle, Magena recalled my confusion regarding Laumet’s possessiveness of Detroit. She’d long ago been the one to explain to me when he said it was his city, he really meant it was his city: in the late seventeenth century, Laumet, who claimed for himself the title Sieur de Cadillac, founded Fort Pontchartrain, the forerunner of the modern city of Detroit.

However, ruthless even as a human, Laumet had earned the ire of the powerful Jesuit priests, who exiled him to face imprisonment in France for illegal trade with the natives. The king soon pardoned him and rewarded his New World service with a governorship in the south of France.

“That was when I met my maker,” Laumet reminisced. “A servant girl had accused the lord of an aristocratic family of witchcraft. Curious, I looked back through the records to discover the family had been accused twice before. Each time the accuser either died or disappeared. It was all very convenient.”

Jacques shifted in his seat as Antoine spoke. His dread of the memory suffocated me. Knowing I would sense his discomfort, he glared at me.

“Henri Malenfant was all that the girl had said, and more. He promised me power and immortality if I could eradicate the evidence that led me to suspect him. How surprised I was to learn what he was.” Antoine paused.

We all knew where his mind went. Jacques’s recall of the pain of their transformation washed through me. The Laumet men had all been perfectly healthy when Henri changed them. Their bodies, their blood, had therefore fought the change, which made their experience sheer agony.

Antoine sighed. “Returning to my old domain made everything worthwhile. Even when things were hard here”—he gazed at Magena with a small smile—”I was satisfied to be back in the wilds of my American empire.”

Magena offered a shy smile in return, although her emotions were less composed. A flash of rage chilled me before she reined herself in, then her eyes flickered to Langston before looking down.

Magena resented her transformation. Mortally wounded during the conflict between the British and Indians under Pontiac’s leadership, Antoine saved and transformed her, wanting her for a mate.

She stayed with him initially out of fear and despair, the spiritual beliefs of her people making her transformation particularly hard to accept. Later she grew to appreciate Laumet’s protectiveness toward her.

But though she held a certain respect for Laumet, she never loved him. She thought herself incapable of it—she saw herself as a monster, as evil incarnate, though in truth she was one of the most gentle of my kind I’d ever known.

Like me, Magena bore a gift she believed a curse. Her telepathy meant she could literally hear the fearful thoughts her presence caused in humans. It made her especially aware of her effect on others. The flip side of her self-hatred was an ever-present resentment of Antoine for putting her in this position in the first place.

This was something he did not know, but I could easily feel. And I had always kept her confidence.

Laumet interlaced his fingers and laid his hands in his lap. “The rest, as they say, is history.” He radiated a smug satisfaction at the recounting of his history—though parts of his story had reawakened the group’s discomfort. Jacques’s phantom pain and Magena’s turmoil settled on my shoulders like a lead weight.

With some effort, Magena lightened the mood. She recalled the city’s golden age when the auto industry brought wealth and society to Detroit. The elite found Antoine and Magena fascinatingly exotic and dangerously mysterious, and they were frequent guests at the city’s best addresses. Antoine had loved the attention.

Langston regaled us with Motown stories. He’d seen Stevie Wonder play in Detroit as a kid. And the other artists he saw or met read like a who’s who of great American musicians. Magena laughed and smiled warmly at Langston’s stories. They had been good friends since Magena and I had helped him through his transition to this life.

Jacques was reluctant to participate. Ever since Antoine told the story of their transformation, he’d stood stone still near the fireplace. When Antoine pushed him, I was not at all surprised at the kinds of stories he chose to tell.

A dark humor came over him. He went into explicit detail regarding the number of humans he’d been able to consume during the city’s two notorious race riots in 1943 and 1967. Remnants of the latter remained visible all over.

“It was bacchanalian. Blood, violence, the freedom to attack—in broad daylight. And the fires, they were everywhere, perfect for disposing of those pesky bodies.” He folded his arms over his narrow chest and fixed a do-something-about-it stare on me. “Two of the best days of my life.”

Magena glared at Jacques. But it was the barely audible growl rumbling in Antoine’s chest that forced him to end his story abruptly.

Still, Jacques was riled up enough to spit out one last taunt: “Why, Lucien, you haven’t regaled us with any stories of your own. Surely you intend to remind us what a hero you are.”

I shot up and stalked toward him.

Jacques’s reference to that story pushed me to my limit. I had saved his and his father’s lives from an assassination attempt by a power-hungry human who had allied with some of Laumet’s vampire enemies. But Jacques’s brother, François, died in the battle, and Jacques blamed me. When Antoine freed me from my obligation of service to him in recognition of my actions, Jacques had become incensed.

Magena jumped up and grabbed my arm, saving me from being stupid. I glared down at him; the angst I’d experienced in recent weeks itched to find release. I would have loved to unleash it on Jacques, who ranked only above my maker as my least favorite creature in the world.

“Enough!” Antoine commanded both of us to settle down, although his order was more aimed at his son than at me.

Jacques’s rage chilled me to the bone, and his humiliation tasted sour. My words came low and fast. “Antoine, I appreciate the pleasure of your company. But I should leave. Now.”

His eyes made a circuit from Jacques to the velvet-covered windows that hid the impending dawn and back to me. “Yes, I believe you are right. It is time for you to be going.” He looked up at me. “It was nice to see you again.”

His sincerity was disarming. I didn’t know what to make of it. Laumet had always valued me for my honesty and frankness; few others were willing to risk his wrath, but when we’d first met I hadn’t cared enough about myself to fear him.

I nodded good-byes to Magena and Langston, then crossed the ballroom. With my hand on the door knob, I hesitated. “Antoine, is there truly no other reason you wanted me here tonight?”

In an instant he was standing beside me, his right hand curled around the back of my neck and his face close to mine. “Do not be concerned. I only wished to see you. Your candor and loyalty were always a comfort to me and not at all easy to come by. I know those days are gone. You earned your independence. But allow an old man to reminisce.”

A touch of warmth revealed his affection for me and made me believe him. I nodded my head, and he squeezed my neck before dropping his hand. In the same instant, he disappeared from my side.

Without looking back, I fled out the door, through the building, and into the night.

Chapter Five

Jacques’s black feelings infected me as I returned to Edmund Place just as the sun fully broke over the city. I cursed myself for letting him get under my skin. He’d always had a knack for exploiting my vulnerabilities. My years apart from him had clearly left me out of practice for dealing with his invective, which pissed me off to no end.

I showered and regretted my earlier consumption of the remainder of the blood. A fresh infusion would have gone a long way toward easing my discomfort. Instead, I sprawled out on my bed in my darkened room, the air cool against my still-wet skin, and forced myself into another long, deep trance.

Thirty-six hours later, I awoke as the sun set on Tuesday night. I had been out a long time, but despite the attempt at rest, recent infusion of blood, and distance from him, Jacques’s twisted mind continued to taint my well-being.

There remained only one thing I hadn’t tried: Samantha. I growled at the thought. Ollie’s near fall on the stairs, Samantha’s observation of my abnormal actions, and my bloodlust were all reasons to stay away from the Suttons. I lulled myself back into a trance.

Samantha’s image moved in and out of my thoughts all night. I finally gave up on rest as a means of distracting myself from my want of her. Three movies, half a book, and a violin concerto later, she remained the center of my focus.

As I threw on clothes, my resolve crumbled. I fled out the door and headed north. The darkening sky allowed me to move swiftly through the warm summer night. Five days had lapsed since I’d last been at the Frederick Street house and, more importantly, since I had last seen—felt—the girls.

I ignored the nagging voice that told me I should be distancing myself, not seeking them out. My eagerness to be in Samantha’s presence built as I walked up Brush Street. I needed her.

I unleashed a tirade of colorful Italian expletives at Jacques. His contagious vitriol raised my bloodlust and forced me to imagine, for just one last moment, Samantha’s blood flowing into my mouth and down my throat. The most thrilling part of that vision was not the warmth, nor the quenching, nor the sweet flavor; it was the pain-relieving ecstasy her emotions would bring to my body.

I stopped in my tracks. But then she would be gone. And what would happen to Ollie?

Cazzo! I shuddered this whole train of thought away. You. Will. Not.

Faintly, I tasted the sweetness of Samantha’s happiness. I shook my head to break the daydream, but I wasn’t imagining the sensation after all.

Inhaling deeply, I caught her scent—she was in the park across the street. Now that I focused, I could hear and feel them both. While I debated, my feet made the decision, and I crossed Frederick and followed the diagonal sidewalk that led to the playground.

Samantha and Ollie’s presence pushed the last of Jacques’s poison from my mind, and my shoulders relaxed. Guilt over using them attempted to worm its way into me, but the relief of their healing influence was stronger.

Maybe I’d been thinking about this all wrong…

Ollie saw me first. “Lucien!” She threw herself around my legs.

Having advance warning this time, I was prepared for her contact and could manage a more normal reaction than I had when she’d surprised me at my truck that night. “Hello, Ollie.”

She squeezed harder.

“Hey. There you are.” Samantha followed Ollie across the playground and stopped several feet in front of me. She looked so lovely with her blonde hair down over a form-fitting white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts. Her blue-green eyes sparkled at me.

“Hello, Sam.” I nearly sighed. “How are you?”

“We’re good.”

Ollie stepped back but was holding onto my right hand. The contact was an amazingly satisfying sensation. She tugged once as Samantha and I talked. “Lucien, do you want to play?”

Play with me, Papa!

I winced. “Uh…” The memory of Isabetta’s voice caught me off guard, rattled me.

Samantha looked at me with an amused grin. Ollie tried again. “I know! You can push me on the swings!”

I tugged my hair back off my face. “Um, sure.” Ollie ran over to the swing set and pulled herself up onto the plastic seat. As I pushed her, Samantha came over and leaned against the closest metal support pole. Her obvious pleasure in watching me with her daughter helped soften my feeling of betraying my own.

Ollie laughed. Between fits of giggles, she sputtered, “Wow, Lucien! You push higher than Mommy by a lot!”

I tore my eyes away from Samantha and gaped. At the top of the high arc, the chain slackened for a few seconds before jerking Ollie back in the other direction. I let her go for a few swings without pushing and allowed her to return to a more reasonable height. “Sorry,” I said.

Samantha laughed. “Don’t worry about it. She loves it. Nothing scares her.”

I already knew that was true.

Samantha made small talk with Ollie for a few minutes before her daughter announced she was done swinging. She hopped down and ran to the sliding board. I became aware of eyes on me. Samantha was watching me watch her daughter. I looked to the ground.

“You’re her new favorite person. She talks about you nonstop.”

My eyes widened as I looked up at her. I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came out. My brain froze with unexplained emotion.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

I met her stare and laughed despite myself. To laugh, to smile—both so foreign—Jesus, being near her made me dizzy with life. I swallowed. “No, no. Don’t apologize. I, uh, I really like Ollie, too. She’s a great kid.”

Samantha smiled. “Yeah.” She held my gaze for a moment, and her heart rate jumped. A slight flush colored her face. It was stunning. “So…” She stepped away from the bar against which she had been leaning and moved toward a bench on the side of the playground.

The next thing I knew, she pitched forward. I caught her with one hand around her waist and another around her arm. I overcompensated slightly, distracted by the feel of her warm silkiness against my skin, and pulled so her back momentarily pressed against my front.

A torrent of competing emotions erupted. The taste of embarrassment. The smell of fear. The heat of lust. I couldn’t sort out which were mine and which were hers.

She chuckled nervously. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think so. Let’s just sit for a minute.”

I dropped my hands and motioned for her to continue over to the bench. I stepped over the small hole in the blacktop that had caught her foot and stayed next to her in case she was unsteady.

She sat on the edge of the bench and rotated her ankle. “Eh, I’ll live.”

We smiled, then sat awkwardly for a minute. Samantha’s heart rate remained elevated.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Hey, Lucien? Are you feeling all right?”

I frowned. “Me? Yes. Why?”

She reached her hand over to my face, pausing to silently ask permission before continuing.

I nodded, still not understanding. Then I registered her worry.

She pressed the palm of her hand to my forehead and then slid it down to my cheek. I wanted to lean into her touch. “Lucien, you’re burning up. I can’t believe you’re sitting here so easily with a temperature this high.”

I flinched and pulled back.

She dropped her hand. “Sorry to go into nurse mode on you, it’s
just—”

“No, don’t apologize. I’m fine, really. I…tend to run a little warm. You shouldn’t worry about me.” My inexperience around humans had finally proved a liability. I should’ve realized my recent meals would elevate my body temperature and been more careful.

“Lucien, you don’t feel just a ‘little warm.’ “

I stood up and stepped away. “Why don’t I walk you two home?”

She sighed, seeing through my effort at distraction, but agreed. She rose and tested her ankle, taking a couple of tentative steps and favoring the uninjured side.

I steeled myself. Her injury made her vulnerable. Her vulnerability made her even more appealing. I cursed my instincts for evaluating her this way.

“Ollie, it’s time to go, honey.”

“Can I have five more minutes, Mommy?” She looked up at us expectantly as she came over.

“No, honey. Let’s go. It’s late. Besides, Lucien offered to walk back with us.”

“Oh! Okay!” Ollie skipped and sang in front of us as we walked across the park to the street.

“I knew that would be the selling point,” Samantha said as she elbowed me softly and smiled.

Out of the park, we ambled along the bush-lined sidewalk. It was dark along this stretch of Frederick. The monster within me reared up again and begged to be sated by Samantha’s blood. Luckily, Samantha didn’t notice my struggle.

“Unbelievable.”

“What?” I tasted the tartness of her annoyance, but had been so caught up in my own thoughts I wasn’t sure what caused her mood shift.

“I’ve called about replacing that street light”— she pointed to a dark pole about ten yards in front of us—”four times in the last three weeks. This street seems so dark without it. I mean, this neighborhood is a lot better than some, but still…”

“I’ll call too. Maybe if more than one person complains, it’ll get fixed.” The exchange proved an effective distraction from my bloodlust. Plus I would do anything to make her happy. What a remarkable thought.

“Hey. Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” She smiled. Her heart rate picked up again.

As I met her eyes, she leaned in to me. My mouth watered. My desires warred. I looked away and took a deep breath, shoving down the urge to kiss her. What am I doing?

At my house, a piece of paper stuck out from the jamb of my front door. “Oh, that’s from us. We came by to visit you on Sunday afternoon.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have missed you.”

“Me, too,” Samantha said as she peeked up at me. Her heart rate accelerated yet again and, as if her happiness by itself wasn’t attractive enough, she began projecting the warmth of affection and the heat of desire for me. It was intoxicating.

We passed my house and crossed the grass field toward the back of Samantha’s. I asked her a few questions about her work, eager to hear her voice and heighten her feelings of happiness. My interest pleased her. She was proud of becoming a nurse.

We stepped up to the front porch of their townhouse. Ollie had exhausted much of her energy and yawned. Samantha put a hand on Ollie’s shoulders and hugged her in, then smiled at me. “Thanks for walking us home, Lucien. I’m glad we ran into you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you.”

She hesitated for a moment. “I hope so.” The blush was slow in coming, but I could feel the heat of it from where I stood.

I smiled back and nodded. “Good night, Ollie. Dream good dreams.”

The words came out of my mouth effortlessly, and I sucked in a breath in surprise. I hadn’t uttered them in well over a century. Dream good dreams—my bedtime wish for Isabetta every night of the forty-one months of her short life.

“G’night,” Ollie mumbled. Then she turned and grabbed the storm door handle, and they both walked through. Samantha waved over her shoulder before shutting the door.

I walked away smiling. As I left the radius of the porch light and stepped into the dark shadows on the side of her house, a startling thought hit me. I have feelings for her. For them.

No, not possible. Can’t be. My guilt had eaten my capacity for love a long time ago.

Disconcerted, I crossed the field to my new house and decided to stay there for a while. I often familiarized myself with my new properties by residing in them for stretches, particularly after completing a renovation. I jogged up the porch steps and fished my key out of my jeans pocket.

The papers Samantha had left were wedged into the jamb. I grasped them as I pushed through the door and flicked on the light. I walked into the living room and sank into the leather couch. My boots fell to the floor with a couple of thuds, then I propped my feet up on the coffee table.

With pleasure, I noted I’d retained some of Samantha’s happiness despite my distance from her, similar to the way I’d held on to Jacques’s darkness earlier. I shifted and my arm brushed the papers lying next to me on the couch. Samantha’s and Ollie’s scents hung on the pages as I unfolded them and found Samantha’s handwriting.

Hi, Lucien—Just stopped by to say hello. Hope you’re getting settled in. Ollie wanted to drop this off for your fridge. Let us know if you need anything.

Sam & Ollie (Sunday @3 p.m.)

I shuffled the note behind the second page, a child’s drawing of a man, sort of. From the man’s back two white triangles protruded. There was also a yellow circle over the man’s head. Ah, an angel. I smiled, then leaned forward and laid the papers on the coffee table.

I frowned. Written in the bottom corner of the drawing were three words: “Lucien, by Ollie.” I stared at the drawing. Ollie’s words confounded me, but after a minute I realized she simply forgot to write the word “for” in front of the other three.

I rose and paced the first floor. I’d always appreciated the serenity of the night. But my restlessness was unsettling. I fought the urge to go to Samantha’s tree. More temptation was the last thing I needed.

Instead, I ran through the moonless night to Edmund Place, lucky the darkness concealed my unnatural pace. I built a fire, crashed on the couch, and spent the night drifting in and out of a trance. Just before daybreak, crashing thunder convinced me to give up on trying to get any meaningful rest. I showered, changed, and retrieved a few belongings to take to the new house.

It was both selfish and masochistic to spend any more time there, but the idea of not going, of not seeing them…So I went.

And the restlessness maddeningly returned. But I couldn’t make any sense of my emotions. There was no one around, so they were clearly mine.

A knock at the front door interrupted my thoughts. I sensed immediately who stood on the other side. Don’t answer. I nodded, agreeing with myself.

But then she knocked again and called my name. When I still didn’t answer, she chanted, “Please be home, please be home, please be home.”

Extending my empathic abilities to seek her out, the most comforting affectionate warmth embraced me. Shaking my head at my weakness, I worked at a smile and opened the door. “Hi, Ollie.”

“Hi, Lucien! How are you?” she asked with a big grin as she twirled a clear umbrella with sea creatures on it.

“I’m good.”

She laid the umbrella on the porch, then walked in and flopped down on the couch like she owned the place.

I watched her in amazement. “Um, does anyone know where you are?” I closed the door and leaned against the arch separating the foyer from the living room.

“Yep. I asked Mommy last night if I could visit you today, and she said yes. As long as I came straight here and told Grampa and didn’t interrupt anything important you were doing.”

I marveled at Samantha’s trust in me, especially as it was so ill placed.

“I told Grampa, and he just said I needed to be home for lunch at twelve o’clock.” She looked down at the plastic pink watch on her wrist. “It’s only five after eleven o’clock now. See?” She held her arm up to me. “Were you doing anything important?”

I laughed and shook my head. “No, definitely not.” As I spoke, I ignored that the restlessness was dissipating in Ollie’s presence.

“Good.” She leaned forward and grabbed her drawing. “Did you like my picture?” She held it on her lap and smiled up at me expectantly.

“Yes. Very much. Thank you.”

“Can we hang this on your refrigerator?” She stood up in anticipation.

“Uh, sure. Let’s see what I can find to hang it.” I pushed myself off the wall and headed to the kitchen.

Ollie followed. “We use magnets at home. Or tape. Do you have any tape?”

“Good idea.” I opened the utility closet in the back hallway next to the kitchen and found some remaining painting supplies, including a roll of blue tape. I ripped off a piece, and we walked to the fridge.

“Here,” she said. “You hold the paper still, and I’ll put the tape on.” She pulled the tape off my fingers and applied it to the corners of the paper.

I watched her while she worked and sensed nothing but the warmth of affection from her. Which wasn’t nothing, at all.

“That makes it much homier, Ollie. Maybe you can draw me something else to fill up the rest of this empty space.” She beamed at my invitation.

I scratched my head. She simply reached a part of me I didn’t even know still existed.

Ollie moved curiously around my kitchen. After a few minutes, her eyes settled on the black case on the kitchen table. She walked over to it and ran her index finger down the marred surface. “Is this a guitar?”

I walked over to the other side of the table. “A violin. Would you like to see it?”

“Yeah.” She took a step back but leaned her head forward excitedly.

I spun the case around and unclasped the latches. “You can hold it if you want. Just sit down.” I pushed the chair out for her, and she scooted herself up. I laid the violin in her arms, and she cradled it uncertainly like a baby. I smiled. “Do you want me to show you how to hold it?”

She nodded eagerly.

I knelt down next to her and double checked my control. Though she smelled and felt good, my protectiveness of her had overridden my bloodlust, for which I was incredibly grateful—I would never be able to forgive myself if I stole the lifeblood from a child, particularly this one.

I positioned the violin on her collarbone and showed her where to place her hand and chin. Then I handed her the bow and invited her to move it across the strings. The screeching noise made her grimace and me laugh. I offered her more guidance, and she attempted to play again.

Then she stopped and held the instrument out to me. “Do you play?”

I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “Yes. Do you want to hear something?” The adoration in her lovely blue-green eyes melted me. I just couldn’t fathom it.

She wanted me to play for her. So I played. She started clapping immediately. “That’s ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’!”

Encouraged by her requests for encores after each song, I played for her for almost a half hour before we ran out of time.

“Thanks, Lucien. You’re good at the violin.”

“Thanks,” I said as I secured the instrument in its case. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

“Okay.”

We walked out of the house as she chattered. The rain had stopped. A muggy haze hung over the midday. I was just thinking how much I appreciated the overcast day when Ollie did the most shocking thing—for me at least.

She took my hand.

I looked down. Her hand was engulfed by mine and so filled with life. She was oblivious to the significance of her actions. To her, the idea of holding my hand—a grown-up’s hand—was commonplace. To me, it offered a sense of connection I’d never had. I reveled in her touch and memorized everything about the moment.

Ollie ran inside her house with a wave. I stood on the sidewalk, dumbfounded. She had seen me, met my eyes, volunteered interaction, spoken to me, touched me, embraced me. It was wondrous, but…completely fucking unprecedented.

Wasn’t it? Lost in thought, I meandered back over to my place, wondering how to determine if Ollie’s reaction was typical of children in general. The sound of cheering pulled me out of my head.

The park. Other kids would be at the park. I passed my house and walked with purpose.

As I approached, a group of boys of all ages played touch football. They skidded on the wet grass and laughed and jeered at one another. None were as young as Ollie, but they were still kids. I grabbed a nearby bench at the side of the makeshift field and watched.

Twenty minutes lapsed without a single apparent notice. When an errant pass sent a boy tumbling within feet of me, my stomach tingled with his surprise at my being there. When another overshot sent the ball end over end near my bench, I retrieved it and threw it to the boy who had missed the pass. I smelled his fear even as he thanked me.

Maybe it was me being a big white guy and him being a black teenager, but I didn’t think so. I left them to their game and followed the sidewalk to the central playground.

A boy and a girl nearer to Ollie’s age alternated sending action figures and matchbox cars down the wet slide so they landed in a puddle at the bottom with a splash. They didn’t look up or acknowledge me, but their heart rates increased. The longer I stood there watching them, the more inappropriate my observations felt, so I left.

Still, I’d gathered enough evidence. It wasn’t just that I’d avoided children for the past century. Nor did all children react with as much acceptance.

Ollie was special.

I hadn’t really needed an experiment to prove that. It simply confirmed what I already knew. But could I really keep that specialness in my life? My heart railed against the resounding NO my conscience offered up. There is one way to lessen the risk…

The thought energized me, and I left the park on a mission.

Chapter Six

A little before six o’clock, I shelved the procured flasks in the cabinet next to the kitchen sink. I felt the girls’ presence before they even knocked on the door.

Samantha and Ollie stood on the front porch and invited me to walk over to the playground with them again. More hopeful now that this…friendship with them could work, I was only too happy to agree.

Ollie entertained herself on the playground while Samantha and I sat on a bench talking. I focused the conversation on her and was so engrossed in hearing her thoughts vocalized and feeling her happiness a whole hour passed without notice.

Finally, Ollie danced in front of us. “Can we go home now, Mommy? The ’squitos are eating me.”

“Okay, honey. Let’s go.”

Back at their house, we stood on the front porch making small talk. Samantha looked up at me. “Would you like to come in?”

My mind erupted with want and regret. I managed to nod and followed Samantha and Ollie into their house, awed to actually be inside.

By issuing the invitation, Samantha had unwittingly lost her last line of defense. My control and the contents of those flasks had just become even more important. Samantha’s father walked into the room, and we exchanged hellos. He remained wary of me, his reaction the more typical.

Ollie asked to watch a television show before bedtime. Joe took Ollie’s hand. “I’ll watch with you, Ollie. Come on.” He led them to a room on the other side of the kitchen and looked back at Samantha. “I’ll keep an eye on her if you want to go out for a while or something.”

“That’s great, Dad. Thanks.” She walked over and kissed Ollie on the head. “Be good for Grampa, ’kay?”

“Okay, Mommy. Bye, Lucien,” she called, already getting herself settled in front of the television as Joe worked the remote.

Samantha looked at me expectantly.

While I wanted to remain in her presence, I wasn’t convinced I could trust myself alone with her. So when it came, Samantha’s innocent question disarmed me. “Do you want to get some ice cream?”

My only response was a laugh.

“What? I’m dying for some ice cream. I was going to get some at lunch today and decided against it. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” She smiled a little self-consciously.

I couldn’t contain my continued mirth. “Sure. Ice cream it is. Where do you want to go?”

She walked toward me and our eyes met, drawing me to her until I had to look away. “How about the Ben and Jerry’s downtown? I love their vanilla chocolate chunk.”

I nodded and we walked outside. “May I drive? My car’s just over on the street.”

“Okay.” As we approached the classic Z28—my first car—she whistled appreciatively. “Nice car. Wow. It’s in really great condition.”

“Thanks. I don’t drive it often, but was just in the mood today.” I held the door for her, and she got in. I took a deep breath before opening the driver’s door and sliding in. We arrived at the newly rebuilt area around the ice cream shop in less than fifteen minutes, which was good, as the interior of the car was so thick with her sweet scent I was salivating.

True to her word, Samantha got a big cone of vanilla ice cream with huge chocolate chunks protruding everywhere. I avoided getting one for myself, much to her chagrin.

We walked the avenue for a few minutes and before long found ourselves in Cadillac Square, a large oval plaza in the middle of downtown. Samantha pulled herself on top of a table and rested her feet on the attached metal bench below.

I sat next to her and watched her lips and throat work while she ate. The tightness in my jeans finally forced me to look away.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try some? It’s really good.”

I glanced back to her and found her smiling. “No. Thanks, though.” I tried like hell not to focus on her long pink tongue.

“Oh, come on. Are you really going to make me eat alone?” She held the ice cream closer to my face.

I smiled in defeat. It appeared I was going to have to eat some ice cream. When I still didn’t take her up on her offer, she tilted the cone toward me and touched it to my nose.

I flinched. I didn’t know what facial expression I wore, but it set her off laughing with abandon. She laughed so hard she almost dropped the cone. It was irresistible. I had to join her.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Here…” She held up a napkin and wiped the cold cream off my face. The smell of her radial artery set my mouth to watering, and I longed to lean forward and lap at the slender length of her exposed wrist.

I smiled and looked at her intently. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Samantha.”

She shivered. “Oh really? How’s that?” The flirtation in her voice was unmistakable. And enthralling.

Before she even saw me do it, I scooped some of the offending cream on my finger and wiped it messily across her lips and chin. She screamed and laughed. I swallowed hard at the soft feel of her lips.

She turned to face me on the table. When our laughter settled, I sat holding my cream-covered finger up in front of her. She used the soiled napkin from my face to clean off her own. Then she saw the ice cream still on my hand.

“Sorry, that was my only napkin.” I grimaced at the ice cream, and Samantha huffed. “Who doesn’t like ice cream? Do you want me to get rid of that for you?” She met my eyes and arched one eyebrow.

The mild scent of her adrenaline intrigued me. “Please,” I said quietly, observing her with interest.

She grabbed my hand by the wrist and pulled it down to her face.

I gaped at what she intended to do but was so captivated, my finger was in her mouth before I’d grappled with whether or not to allow her to do it. My brain exploded with the sensation.

Ah, Cristo. So warm. So wet.

Her pulse beat through her tongue. I fought not to gasp out loud. My eyes stung as blood threatened to rush in, the normal reaction to feeding and feeling threatened or aroused. It took all my concentration to will the blood away.

“There,” she whispered as her lips slid off the tip of my wet finger. Her heart thundered in her chest. The blossoming scent of her arousal was mouthwatering. “All better.”

The heat of her lust traveled down my abdomen, and my own rose up to meet it. She released my hand and hopped down off the table, then walked over to a trash can and discarded what she hadn’t finished. I tracked every sway of her hips and movement of her lithe frame, the predator in me now wanting something entirely different from her.

She returned and stood in front of me as I still sat on the table. “So, um, tell me about you, Lucien.” She laced her fingers together behind her back and looked up at me.

“What do you want to know?” My voice was low, strained by the thrill of her actions.

“Well, what do you do?”

“I’m a real estate investor, both commercial and residential.”

“Wow. Are you from Detroit originally?”

“I was born in New York, but I’ve lived here most of my life.”

“Is your family here?”

I swallowed my discomfort. “No. I don’t have much family. What I do have is all in New York.” I kept my answers short, purposely vague. Her questions helped me refocus and calm down.

“Ollie told me you play the violin. I hope she didn’t bother you by coming over today, by the way.” Samantha moved a full step closer to me as we spoke.

“No, she didn’t bother me at all. We had fun. I gave her a quick violin lesson, and then she twisted my arm and got me to play for her.”

She smiled and more affectionate warmth flooded me. “She told me all the songs you played. I would love to hear you play some time.”

“I would love to play for you. Any time.”

She stepped forward again and stood just at my knees.

I watched her movements with wonder and need. The atmosphere between us thickened and sparked. Samantha looked up at me shyly, but with clear purpose.

“Lucien?”

“Hmm?” I gripped the edge of the table lest I reach out and pull her flush against my body.

She leaned in further and placed her fingertips on my knees. Electrical impulses ripped up my thighs and settled into the thick organ between my legs.

“Kiss me?”

My breath caught in my throat. My original plan for her made it blasphemous for me to consider accepting her affection. But I wanted it desperately. Wanted her.

We leaned toward one another. I met her lips tenderly, not wanting to take more risk than I already was. But then she took another step forward and fit herself tight between my legs. She moved her hands to my shoulders. Her heart hammered between our chests.

I needed to be careful, but I had to hold her. I released the table’s edge and wound my hands around her, tangling one in the soft, fine hair behind her head and snaking the other around her narrow waist. Her life thrummed in my arms. I had gone so long without affectionate touch that this felt beyond miraculous. It was simply irresistible.

I was so hungry for her, but not for her blood. I deepened the kiss and stroked my tongue with need and want against hers. Exploring her mouth with abandon, I groaned at the sweetness of her taste and thrilled at being inside of her.

Oh, dolcezza. The taste of her joy, her vivacious personality, the way she loved Ollie, her acceptance of me—everything about her bespoke her sweetness. Her heat seared me. I pulled her in tighter and relished the throb of her pulse against my skin.

She moaned. Her hands found my hair, stroking, pulling, fisting. Had my eyes been open they would have rolled back into my head. Hot feelings of ecstasy roared out of her and into me, and I groaned as I struggled to keep my fangs from stretching out. I pursued her touch, her kiss, again and again. She returned what I gave her with equal fervor.

Minutes passed before she finally pulled away. I released her reluctantly and smiled when she bit her lower lip and grinned up at me. I tasted her happiness and her exhilaration, but some of what I was feeling was my own. And that was a miracle.

She leaned in to kiss me again, this time just on the corner of my mouth. But having had a taste, I needed another—I turned my head to capture her lips again. She moaned into my mouth and pulled my hair, causing a groan to rumble low in my throat. A smile played on her lips.

I pulled back to look into her eyes. “What?”

She shook her head and laughed softly. “I don’t want to,” she murmured in a seductive voice as she stroked her fingers through my hair, “but I should probably head home. I might be able to catch Ollie to say good night.”

“Okay.” I impressed myself with the fake nonchalance in my tone; I was nearly out of my mind with delight and lust.

She took a step back, and I slid off the table and stood in front of her. I towered over her, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. I couldn’t resist. I cradled her face in my hands and greedily lowered my lips to hers one last time.

Her feminine curves melted against me as we kissed, then she finally stepped back and turned around. Our arms brushed as we walked back to the car. She intertwined her fingers with mine and smiled up at me.

Too fast, we were back to her house. As I walked Samantha to the door, I truly regretted the end of our evening.

She reached up on tiptoes to kiss me again and stepped away far before I was ready to release her. We said good night, and she slipped inside. Dio, I wasn’t ready to part from her.

The positive energy coursing through my body freed me from my usual melancholy. I felt better—content, whole, happy—at that moment than probably at any time since I’d been changed. So I went around the back of the townhouse and jumped up onto the tree branch where I had on previous occasions pondered Samantha as she slept.

A little over an hour later, she came into her room. I looked away as she changed her clothes, protectiveness now flooding me where Samantha was concerned. She crawled onto her bed and pulled open the drawer to her nightstand, then yanked out a book and a pen and flipped the book open in one fluid motion.

She wrote furiously. I occasionally caught a smile or thoughtful look, but most interesting were the feelings radiating from her. Happiness was the baseline emotion, but added to that were feelings of nearly uncontainable excitement and desire. I wished I could see the words flowing from her pen.

Finally, Samantha closed the book and hugged it to her chest. She shut her eyes and rested her chin on the book’s edge. Then she stretched to the side and slid the book and the pen back into the nightstand drawer and switched off her lamp.

She lay still for a moment. Then she caught me completely off guard: just as I sensed an intensified wave of excitement, she started kicking her feet and smacking her hands against her bed, her face alight with a brilliant smile. Her absolute delight was contagious.

Without thinking, I laughed out loud.

She bolted upright, her gaze directed at her window. Uh oh.

I flew from the tree and across the grassy field to the front corner of my house in a flash. As I peeked around the corner, she pulled her curtains apart and surveyed the area outside her window. She disappeared after a moment, her curtains closing behind her.

I chided myself for my stupidity with a smile still plastered on my face. If it hadn’t been so dangerous, it would have been funny.

Back in my own house, this newfound happiness demanded expression. The violin case was still on the kitchen table where I’d left it after Ollie’s morning visit. I undid the clasps and pulled out the instrument, then settled myself in the same chair I’d used earlier. I set the bow on the strings, closed my eyes, and allowed my mood to dictate the song.

The upbeat sound of Brahms’s Violin Concerto in D Major filled the house. As the closing chords of that concerto rang out over twenty minutes later, I moved right into Stravinsky’s Concerto in D Major. I allowed the instrument to take me from one high-spirited piece to another and reveled in the feeling and sound of the music.

Looking up, I was surprised by the LED display on the oven: 1:32 a.m. I could not recall the last time I’d played so long, so intently, or with so much joy. I placed the violin back in its case and stood for a long time at the table with my hands flat on its surface.

Then I paced, walking the length of the first floor several times. Finally I stopped in front of a side window in the living room. I ran my hands through my hair and interlaced them on top of my head.

My eyes focused; I was standing in front of the only first-floor window that allowed a view—partial though it was—of Samantha’s house.

Samantha.

God dammit, I want her. Now. I want them. Could I be falling…? My brow furrowed. I shook off the errant thought. I’m not that reckless or delusional. Am I?

No. That is simply the influence of her emotions talking. I nodded in agreement, then flopped down onto the couch and clicked on the TV. The black-and-white images of the old movie did little to pull my mind away from the momentous events of the day.

***

At three o’clock the next afternoon, there was a soft but insistent knock on my front door. Alarming emotions vibrated from the other side.

When I opened the door, a tear-streaked Ollie flew into my arms. My protective instinct engaged immediately. I stifled a growl, surveying the streetscape for potential threats.

I crouched down to her level. “What’s wrong?” My voice was raw. She sobbed against me and curled her little hands around my neck. I picked her up and kicked the door shut, then carried her into the living room and sat us down on the couch. “It’s okay, Ollie, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Her fear filled my nose. I vowed in my mother tongue to avenge her if she’d been harmed. Finally she responded. “Mommy’s gonna…be…be…maaad at me.” She cried harder.

“Why do you think that? What happened?” I sat her up and brushed her tears off with my thumbs. A fleeting image of Isa sitting crying at the bottom of a set of stairs with a skinned knee ran through my mind. I breathed deeply and willed the comparison away before I gently moved Ollie from my lap and sat her on the couch. “Here. Take a minute to stop crying. I’ll get some tissues and a glass of water.”

She nodded and her breath hitched as she tried to breathe deeply.

In the kitchen, I grabbed an empty cup from a new set I’d purchased and one of the two flasks I’d had filled. I poured some of the clear liquid into Ollie’s glass, then filled it with tap water. Drink in hand, I ripped a paper towel off the roll and returned to the couch. “Here, Ollie.”

She took the glass and a long drink, swallowing around the hiccups she’d given herself. She looked at the paper towel, then shrugged and wiped her nose.

“Okay, now, what happened?”

She placed the empty glass on the table and fiddled with the paper in her hands. “I was playing dress-up in Mommy’s bathroom. And I…I…”

“It’s okay. I promise.”

“I was trying on her jewelry. And I dropped a ring my daddy gave her in the sink. And…and…it…” The tears started again. “It went down and now it’s gone.” She looked pitifully up at me, her breath still hitching.

I closed my eyes and heaved a deep breath. She hadn’t been hurt. “Okay. It’s okay. I bet we can still get it, Ollie. I have tools that can help me take the pipe apart. We can look for it, okay?”

“Really?” The relief poured out of her and compounded my own.

“Yes. Really. Okay? But you have to try to stop crying.”

“Okay.”

I patted her knee, then moved to the utility closet in the back hall and grabbed several tools. On my way past the kitchen, I noticed the time: 3:35 p.m.

“Does your mom know where you are?” Samantha was usually home from work by now. I shouldn’t have known that, but I did.

Ollie shook her head.

“Come on, then. We don’t want her to worry.”

I walked Ollie across the grassy field, her little hand gripped tightly around mine once again. Sure enough, Samantha flew out the front door just as we rounded the corner of the townhouse. She was still in her scrubs.

“Olivia Sutton! Where have you been? Grampa didn’t know where you were. You just left the house without saying anything! Again! How many times have we talked about this?”

Just then Samantha saw the tools in my hand and cocked an eyebrow.

“It seems we had an accident, Sam.” I glanced down meaningfully at the back of Ollie’s head. “But I think I can fix it.”

“Uh, okay. What happened, Ollie?” She knelt down in front of her daughter. “Come on and tell me. It’ll make you feel better.”

The words rushed out of her. “I was playing dress-up with your jewelry and dropped Daddy’s ring down the sink.” She looked up at her mother’s eyes from under wet eyelashes.

“You know I don’t mind you looking at my things. But only when I’m here, and only when you’ve asked permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Okay. Go on in, then.” Samantha smiled at me. “You really don’t have to do this, Lucien.”

“I don’t mind, unless you’d rather I not.” I sounded nonchalant but really wanted to take care of this for them.

“No, no, of course. Come on.”

We paused in the living room while Samantha recounted the story to Joe, who stifled a smile while looking sternly at Ollie. I asked her to grab a bowl before she showed me upstairs.

As we approached her bedroom door, she turned to me. “Um, sorry. Would you mind waiting a minute?” Embarrassment radiated off her.

“Sure. No problem.” Samantha scurried into her room. I heard her throwing clothing and pushing drawers shut and smiled to myself.

I wandered down the hall and stopped in front of what was clearly Ollie’s room. A princess border ran around the purple walls of the small room along with dozens of princess wall stickers. Baskets of stuffed animals and shelves of books crowded the space. It was perfectly charming. But what most caught my attention were the dozen or so pictures taped to the wall above her bed—some hand drawn, some cut from books or magazines. Angels.

Samantha’s hand rattled the doorknob. I flew back to the side of her door.

“Sorry. Okay. It’s safe now.” She grimaced at me, still embarrassed. “Bathroom’s over here.”

It was odd being in this room and looking out the window at the tree, but I pushed that thought away and followed Samantha into the bathroom. I knelt down and opened the vanity cabinet, then placed the tools and the bowl on the floor next to me. “Do you have a towel I can use?”

She turned and pulled an old brown towel out of the narrow closet in the corner. “Here you go.”

I moved a couple of bottles of various toiletries out of the way to make room for the bowl. Within minutes, I fished the diamond ring out of the pipe’s contents that had spilled down into it. I handed it to Samantha, whose embarrassment I tasted again. I reassembled everything, then dumped the wet contents into the sink and watched as I did so to see if any water would drip from the pipes below. When everything remained dry, I closed the vanity and stood up, then collected my tools and placed them on the countertop. I washed my hands and dried them on the still-clean towel.

“Thank you, Lucien.”

“No problem.”

We stood awkwardly for a moment. She was between me and the door to the bathroom. She realized this and rushed backward to move and in the process tripped over a scatter rug not fully flat on the linoleum.

I reached out and caught her, and she threw her arms around my neck to keep from falling. When I righted her, she didn’t drop her arms.

Hunger lit her eyes at the same time her lust blazed through me. She wanted me. It was all the invitation I needed.

I pushed her back against the bathroom wall and lowered my mouth to hers. I cupped her face in my hands. She threaded her fingers into my hair, grasping at long thick locks of it as she attempted to pull me closer. She opened to me, a small moan escaping her throat as our tongues touched. I explored the warmth of her mouth, tasting her sweetness, always her sweetness.

The kiss became urgent and needful, full of stroking tongues and sucking lips and hungry moans. The most intense feeling of possessiveness gripped me. I wanted to claim her, mark her, have her.

She ran her hands over my chest, forcing a hiss from me as she unknowingly brushed over a sensitive patch of skin. My insides went molten, making it nearly impossible to pull away. But this was neither the time nor the place. I slowed our kisses, pressing a final one to her forehead before leaning back.

Breathing hard, we smiled at each other. Then our eyes descended to the ring she held in her fingers between us.

“Oh.” The embarrassment again. “Since you had to fish this out of the muck, you deserve to know what it is.” She held the engagement ring up for me to see more clearly.

“I don’t deserve anything, Sam. You don’t have to tell me.” I took a small step back.

She frowned. “Well, I want to.” She looked up at me and I nodded.

“Olivia’s father, Jensen, was my college boyfriend. I thought he was great. He gave me this and called it a promise ring. I expected we would get engaged when we both graduated. But then at the beginning of my junior year, I got pregnant. And Jensen couldn’t deal with it. He wanted me to have an abortion, but I didn’t want to. Olivia was born the week before he graduated. He was headed off to law school in the fall, and he broke up with me. I dropped out of school to raise Olivia, which is why I’m just now finishing up.” She glanced at me through her lashes, judging my reaction to her story. “Ollie knows her father gave me this ring and absolutely adores it. When she’s older, I’ll give it to her.”

An unreasonable fury at this man I didn’t know who hadn’t been in Samantha’s life for years, apparently, seized me, but I moderated my tone. “I’m sorry he treated you that way.”

Her eyes flashed to mine. “Yeah. But I’m not sorry I kept Ollie. As hard as it’s been sometimes, she was entirely worth it.”

I smiled. “I have no doubt about that.”

“So, are you completely freaked out yet?” She held her smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

I frowned. “By what?”

“We’ve known each other for, like, three weeks, and I’m revealing all my deep, dark secrets.” She made a joke of it, but her feelings told me she was serious.

I shook my head and laughed out loud. She smiled uncertainly. “Samantha, your secrets are neither deep nor dark. Trust me. So, no, I’m not freaked out.”

She grinned self-consciously. “Really? Um, okay. Good.” She looked down for a moment and fiddled with the ring before shoving it in the pocket of her scrubs. “Lucien, can I tell you something else?”

“Of course.” Her feelings gave away the direction this conversation was about to take.

“Okay, so, I didn’t exactly picture this conversation happening in my bathroom, but, um, I just wanted to say I really like you.” She leaned back against the wall and looked up at me appraisingly.

I cautiously opened a part of myself I had long kept buried and took a deep breath and a leap of faith. “I like you, too, Samantha.” She smiled hopefully. So did I.

We’d barely voiced our declarations before Ollie pushed through the door behind us. I stepped back several paces before she got fully in the room.

“Crisis averted,” Samantha said as she pulled the ring out for Ollie to see.

“Yay!” She looked at me. “Thank you, Lucien! You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome, Ollie. Any time.” I squeezed her shoulder.

“Now remember”—Samantha recaptured Ollie’s attention—”you need to ask first.”

“Okay. I will.”

“And no more running out of the house without permission. I’m getting tired of having that conversation, Olivia.”

“Okay, Mommy.” We all stepped out of the bathroom and headed downstairs together.

“Well, I should be going.”

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Just spaghetti. Nothing fancy. But you’re more than welcome.” Samantha’s desire radiated. “It’s the least I could do to repay you for your plumbing expertise.”

I smiled and hated the thought of disappointing her. “Thank you. But I have some errands I need to run yet this afternoon.”

Her smiled faltered. “Oh, okay.”

“I’m free later though,” I said, pleased to see her grin return.

“Sure.”

I stepped toward the door and called back, “Bye, Ollie.”

“Bye,” she replied distractedly as she twirled in circles next to her mother, all traces of her former fear gone and replaced with a playful happiness.

Samantha stepped out on the front porch with me. Peeking back over her shoulder to check Ollie hadn’t followed us, she reached up quickly and kissed me on the mouth.

I smiled at her. “See you later,” I said as I resisted pulling her into my arms.

She nodded, then went back inside.

I could still taste her on my lips.

Chapter Seven

I loved the smell of the girls on me, but it was so distracting I could barely think, so I showered and changed. But then I was without something to do again. Somehow I’d gone from an eternity of keeping myself company to going stir-crazy after just an hour of being apart from them.

Still warm inside from their affection, I ducked out and bought some groceries, just in case. Then, because my violin had always served as my most effective form of distraction, I ran through the same repertoire of songs as the night before.

Before long, the light in the room faded, and I found myself playing in the near dark. I was so focused on the music, the knock on my door caught me by surprise. I put the instrument down on the kitchen table and walked with a smile to the door, then flicked on the foyer light as I opened it.

Samantha stood in the doorway looking as beautiful as I’d ever seen her. A seductively natural ponytail turned her hair into a golden stream. Long wisps hung down along her face. The deep V-neck of her ivory satin blouse exposed a wide expanse of flawless skin. Two loops of a long beaded necklace surrounded her neck, suggesting a path for my lips, and a longer one dangled down the front of her blouse.

“Wow.”

She grinned crookedly and leaned against the door jamb. “So, I realize I’m being presumptuous here, but I was hoping you would want to take me out.”

I motioned for her to come in and shut the door behind her. “It would be my pleasure. Did you have anything in mind?”

“Actually, yes. One of my friends at work raves about this jazz bar up by Eight Mile.”

I smiled. I knew the one she was talking about and had gone there with Langston a number of times years ago. “That sounds great.” I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt. “I should put on something a little nicer. Do you mind waiting?” I motioned to the couch. Then, noticing the only light was in the foyer, I walked into the living room and turned on a lamp.

Samantha followed me. “Not at all. Go ahead.”

I ran upstairs to the master bedroom. I didn’t really have any dress clothes here, but I did have a pair of black jeans and my brown leather coat. It would do. Most of my belongings remained at Edmund Place.

I hurried back downstairs but didn’t find Samantha in the living room, so I continued into the now-lit kitchen. She stood fingering the body of the violin. I watched her for several minutes and thought I could look at her forever. I shook my head at myself.

“Oh, God! You scared me!” She clasped her hands to her chest. Her heart rate escalated wildly. Her surprise tingled in my gut.

“Sorry.”

“I just didn’t hear you.” She laughed, then looked back down at the violin again. She reached out one hand to touch it. “This is beautiful, Lucien. It looks very old.”

“Thank you. It is. It’s been in my family for generations. My grandfather gave it to me when I was a teenager.”

“Were you playing when I came to the door?” She peeked up at me through the fallen wisps of her hair.

I nodded.

“In the dark?”

I smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes I lose track of what’s going on around me when I’m playing.”

She traced the strings absentmindedly. “The music of the night.”

“What?”

“Oh, for some reason your playing in the dark reminded me of that song from Phantom of the Opera. Do you know it?”

I took a step forward, and she took a step back. I picked up the violin and the bow and, standing before her, positioned the instrument, closed my eyes, and played. The sweet melody rang out in the room until she gasped.

When I hit the high note midway through the song, I smelled the salt. I opened my eyes to see two tears had snuck out of the corners of hers.

I’d never thought about it, but the lyrics of the song were applicable to our situation. I played it with reinvigorated enthusiasm, willing her to hear the words—words I couldn’t say about things I had no business wanting. When I hit the high note at the end, she lost her fight to cry quietly and let out a small whimper.

I lowered the instrument, completely taken with her reaction.

“Oh God, Lucien. That was incredible.” She fanned herself with her hands and took a deep breath, then laughed. She wiped at her tears with the back of her hands. “That is my favorite musical. I’ve been to see it three times. I cry every time. That was the most beautiful version of that song I’ve ever heard.”

I set the violin down and turned to her. Cupping a hand around each side of her face, I brushed away the last of her tears with my thumbs.

Then I lowered my face to hers and slowly kissed the salt off her skin across both cheekbones. She brought her hands up and grabbed my biceps. Her heart raced against my chest. I walked her back into the island and lifted her up onto the cool hard surface.

I worked my lips down to hers as she trembled against me. Her hands slid up around my neck, and she pulled me further into her. The kiss was slow and sweet and filled with longing.

Could this really be happening? And what is “this”? I pushed the inner turmoil away. Just be, just feel, Lucien. For once. So I did. I wrapped a hand behind her head and pulled her into me. I licked at her lips, and she opened. We moaned into each other’s mouths as our tongues traded caresses.

“Lucien.”

The sound of my name falling from her lips unhinged me.

I needed more.

I ran open-mouthed kisses across her jaw and down her neck, breathing in her feminine scent and tasting her sweetness. She threw her head back and threaded her fingers into my hair. I hardened and, all at once, the smell of her throat and the intensity of her heat were too much. I pulled back, panting, while I still held her face in my hands.

She smiled.

“Shall we go?” I rubbed my thumb over her lower lip.

“We should.” She gripped my arms as I helped her down from the counter.

I took her hand in one of mine and led her out of the house to my car. I tugged at my hair as I brushed it back off my face and struggled to find the will to use caution, have patience.

In less than half an hour, we pulled up in front of the club. The large white neon sign of Baker’s Keyboard Lounge illuminated the street in front of the building.

An older man in a sharp gold suit coat and black tie showed us to a table in the second row. Samantha smiled excitedly and pointed to the famous keyboard design of the curved bar and the framed photographs on the surrounding walls of all the jazz greats who’d played here over the years. The waitress came up to our table, and we each ordered a glass of red wine.

The jazz quartet had a lean, exhilarating sound. Several songs and another glass of wine for Sam later, the saxman exchanged his tenor for a soprano and launched into a tender, lyrical piece.

Samantha leaned against me. I wrapped my arm around her, relishing her warmth as she stayed in that position through the rest of the set. Everywhere we touched, the soft rush of blood through her veins caressed me. I found it a comforting sensation.

When the set ended, Samantha excused herself. I rose when she returned, earning a kiss on the side of the mouth. Again, I had to resist turning it into more.

“That was wonderful. This place is great. Thank you so much for bringing me. I never have the chance to do something like this.”

I tucked a strand of gold behind one ear. “The pleasure was mine, Sam. Truly.” I ushered her to the door and out into the night.

I offered to drive her right to her front door, but she insisted we park on the street by my house. Smiling at her feistiness, I came around and opened her door. In one fluid move, she stepped out of the car and curled her arms around my neck.

The kiss started soft but became urgent.

Wrapping my arms around her body, the heat of her lust hit me again. I pulled her tight to me. When my erection came to life, I couldn’t resist pressing into her hips. Her soft moans turned into a groan that thrilled me. I slid my hand up to the back of her head and tugged gently on her ponytail, tilting her head back until her neck opened. I kissed and licked across her jawline to her ear, then ran my tongue down the side of her neck.

Don’t fucking mess this up, Lucien! I clamped down any hint of bloodlust and kept my eyes drained and fangs retracted as I worked over her carotid artery. Her sweet essence tantalized, tormented. I shuddered.

She moaned and fisted her hands in my hair. I loved the way she pulled at it. I groaned and skimmed my lips back up the elegant column of her throat, the tingling in my canines growing fierce, before finding her mouth again and again. I throbbed from the pressure our embrace created. She tilted her hips into mine, and I grasped her bottom and pressed her into me harder. She whimpered. I grunted. Our mouths and bodies hungered and sought out the pleasure of this connection.

Between kisses, she rasped, “I want to stay, but I have to go.”

I pulled her more tightly to me. “Don’t go.”

“God, Lucien,” she murmured around the edge of a kiss.

The sound of my name out of her mouth in this moment was fascinating, particularly joined as it was by the rich smell of her arousal.

Mine. I groaned at the thought and the feeling.

Needing this so damn bad, I pulled her harder against me and settled us back against the car. Her body fell between my legs, and I ground my length against her stomach. My desire for her went from “I should stop this” to nuclear in seconds.

Oblivious to my ever-present overthinking, Samantha smiled against my mouth, then panted, “I don’t want to. But I have to go. I have to get up for work in five and a half hours.”

“Hmm” was all I managed as I continued to kiss and caress her.

She chuckled, and I pulled back, still concentrating to keep my eyes clear and my teeth human. I stared at her for a long moment and brushed my thumb against her cheek. La perfezione. She is perfection. “Let’s get you home then.” I held my arm out to her, and she wrapped hers through it. “Before I forget…” I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a plastic square.

“Oh, Lucien. This is the quartet we just heard?” I nodded, smiling.

“That’s fantastic! Thank you so much!” She kissed me on the cheek as we headed across the field. In too-few minutes, she closed her door behind her. I returned home, amazed by the current of joy and need and tension still running through my body.

Without turning on any lights, I went right upstairs. I stripped and stepped into the shower without waiting for the water to warm.

My body was on fire with her need and mine. The spray of the shower jets against my skin intensified my arousal. I reached down and grasped the heavy weight of my hard length, then closed my eyes as I stroked and ran a series of memories by my mind’s eye: Samantha’s lips wrapped around my finger, the smell of her arousal as she pressed herself between my legs, the taste of her mouth, the feel of my tongue penetrating her pink lips, the sound of her moans and whimpers. I was fucking aching for her. I gripped myself tighter and thrust harder. As I got closer, I braced myself against the white tile and twisted my grip around my sensitive head at the top of each stroke. I remembered the sound of Samantha groaning my name in pleasure, and that was all it took.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

My release erupted against the tiles in a torrent, faintly tinged with pink from the blood that invaded all my bodily fluids. I panted as I recovered from the intensity of the first orgasm I’d had in a very long time, then I cleaned myself and got out. A pair of gray boxers was all I bothered with before I climbed into bed.

I trained my attention on each movement I made and nothing else. Given the events of the previous minutes, it took a surprising amount of concentration to harness my brain that way. Which was the point.

Is this really happening? I groaned as my thoughts seeped through anyway. A million answers to that question paraded through my mind. Minutes passed, or hours. Finally, I sat upright in bed and combed my hands through my hair.

Yeah. It’s happening. “It” being the fact I was in love. With a human. Who I had been planning to kill.

The shock of the admission drove me out of bed. I threw on clothes in a rush, ran down the stairs, flew out the door, and jumped into my car.

I drove the rest of the night.

On the highway, I blasted music on successive rock stations to drown out my thoughts. Four hundred miles and five hours later, I sped the Camaro up the gravel drive and parked, then got out and quietly shut the door.

Orchard Hill stood in front of me.

Chapter Eight

Orchard Hill was a thousand-acre estate in North Ithaca, New York, my vampire family’s home for the past 216 years.

The main house was white, a sprawling two-story with blue shutters and a red door. Newer wings flanked an older center block dating to the eighteenth century. Low limestone walls marked off paths and gardens, and a large pond sat behind the house. A gravel lane circled in front, surrounding an ancient cherry tree—one of many old trees embracing the house. I had always found the structure and the setting surprisingly charming.

Griffin was the first one out the door, surely alerted by the motion detectors at the beginning of the long drive. He was tall and lean and had close- cropped jet black hair. His deep-set silver eyes rested over defined cheekbones and under a pronounced brow and strong forehead. He was the oldest of our group and our leader, having changed everyone among us except me and William’s wife, Anna. Griffin exuded power and authority, but could be extremely compassionate, which was what I saw in his eyes as I stood in the dark outside his house.

“Lucien? What’s wrong?” He walked over to where I was leaning on the car.

I folded my arms and tilted my head back to look up at the predawn sky. It was going to be sunny. I shook my head once. It was enough for him.

The others assembled at the front door. Griffin raised his hand to them just as someone gathered a breath to shout a greeting. He had the strongest charming power any of us had ever seen—they all froze. It was a sure mark of Griffin’s concern he was using his ability on them. Then he lowered his hand. They got the message and went back inside.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, because if I did, I would have to say something. But I didn’t know what to say. That was it. “Do you mind if, for right now, I don’t say?”

“Come on.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me along. “Everyone will be happy to see you.”

I nodded and followed.

Rebecca was waiting in the foyer with a big grin. She was the youngest of the group, barely seventeen when she’d been changed. Her immaturity most expressed itself by actually voicing those things no one else would. She didn’t seem to have an internal filter, but it wasn’t a character flaw.

I melted under her gaze. Though I’d never shared this observation with any of them, her brown hair and pretty girlish features reminded me of Isabetta, or at least what I imagined she would’ve looked like if the events of that horrible May night had never happened.

“You came, Lucien!” She threw her arms around my neck.

Her delight invigorated me, and I laughed. “Yes, I did. Hello, Rebecca.”

She released me, a huge smile still on her face. Her husband, Jedediah, stuck out his hand. Jed was average in height, with unkempt brown hair and gray eyes. He’d always been like a brother to me and never hesitated to set me straight when needed, which was often. “Did you come to see me, too?”

I took his hand and smirked. “Hell, no.” He squeezed my hand hard. I shoved him away playfully, then looked around. “Where’s everybody else?”

Griffin shut the door behind us. “Hen just went out back in her garden. William and Anna are at their cabin. And Catherine went out last night and hasn’t yet returned.”

Given my strange state of mind, I was happy William wasn’t around. Our relationship had always been rocky and competitive. I wasn’t up to his verbal sparring at that moment.

Rebecca threaded her arm through mine and walked me over to the sofa, then pulled me down next to her. She looked at me expectantly. “The last time we saw each other you promised to play for me. So…did you bring your violin?”

I laughed again and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Lucien! Fine.” She flew out of the room and returned several minutes later with a wrapped package. “I was saving this for Christmas. But since some people are difficult…”

She set the package down on my lap and motioned for me to open it. Jed and Griffin settled themselves down in the surrounding chairs and smiled openly at Rebecca being Rebecca.

I tore the paper off the long rectangular box and lifted its lid. Inside was a pristine black violin case. My eyebrows shot up. “Rebecca.”

She grabbed the case and shoved the box and paper to the floor next to me. Then she laid the case on my lap. “Open it!”

I undid the clasps and tilted the lid back. Inside was a shiny black violin, a sleek and darkly beautiful Luis and Clark. I lifted it, sliding the case to the sofa next to me. It weighed less than my Ceruti.

Rebecca pulled a bow out from behind her back and handed it to me. “Try it out, Lucien. The sound is supposed to be particularly resonating.”

I looked at her as I lifted the instrument to my shoulder. I launched into one of the Bach pieces I’d played the other night and was stunned by the sound. After a minute, I lowered the instrument to my lap. “It’s incredible. Thank you. But, why—”

“It’s made by hand of carbon fiber, which is supposed to be very durable. I, uh, peeked at your other violin while we were at your house last time.” She was mildly embarrassed, but her feelings were more triumphant than anything. At nearly two hundred years old, the Ceruti showed its age. “I thought you might like a new one to play sometimes.”

I loved that she knew nothing could ever actually replace the Ceruti. I set the Luis and Clark in its case. “Wow, Rebecca. Thank you so much.” I hugged her into my chest.

She leaned back and stroked her fingers along my cheek bone. Her eyes were full of sisterly love for me. “If I had known this was all it would take to make you happy, Lucien, I would have gotten you a new violin years ago.” She smiled. “Will you play us a concert later?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, then. My work is done here. Come on, Jed.” She flitted over to her mate’s side and took his hand. He half smiled, half smirked at me and followed her upstairs.

I looked at Griffin. “I’d like to go say hello to Henrietta.”

“Of course. She’s going to be thrilled to see you.”

I walked through the living room into the newer part of the house. Through the french glass doors at the back of the room, I spied Henrietta as she knelt in front of some rose bushes and clipped long stems for her basket. She had long black-brown hair and sparkling silver eyes. She and Griffin looked like the couple they were, matching in beauty, stature, and demeanor. I pushed through the door.

She glanced up and smiled. “Lucien.” Even if I couldn’t have felt it, she communicated so much love through just that one word.

“Hello, Henrietta.” I threaded my way through the garden toward her. She stood and brushed her hands off on her jeans. The combination of her long dark hair and short-sleeved red shirt was striking. “Your garden looks wonderful. You really have the touch.”

“Thank you,” she said as she reached her arms out to give me a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again.” Her healer’s touch soothed me immediately, as it always did. It also made her able to sense my inner turmoil. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you mind if I don’t say just yet?”

“Okay, of course.” She hugged me tighter and held on longer than normal for a regular hug. She knew I needed her touch. Even after she pulled back, she continued to hold my right hand casually. “What brings you to see us?” She added quickly, “Not that you need any special reason…”

I chuckled. “I just needed to get away for a few days. To think. You know.”

She nodded, then looked up. “Hey. Do you want to take a quick run over to the cemetery before the sun rises? We could take some of these cuttings.”

“That’s a nice idea. Thanks.” I knew some part of my trip here would entail a visit to the family cemetery. I needed to talk to Lena, although I didn’t want company when I did it. Henrietta bent down and grabbed a thick bouquet of roses of all colors into her hands, and we took off.

Before long, we walked through the iron gate of the cemetery. Most of the remains dated to 1792, the year an Indian attack devastated this part of New York. Griffin saved a number of the victims by changing them and forming his—my—family. Though my human family had died far away in New York City, Catherine had tried to ease me by bringing their remains to rest with everyone else’s families. That act was one of the many things that bound the two of us together so closely.

Unsurprisingly, bouquets of white roses already decorated each of the plots. I had arrived at Orchard Hill days after my change in 1895 and stayed for forty-three years before circumstances necessitated my departure. My last request to Rebecca had been to look after my family’s graves.

Henrietta handed me the freshly cut stems. I selected a handful of roses for each of them, then knelt and leaned them against the headstones. I sat back on my heels. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you and Rebecca have done this all these years.”

She sat down in the grass next to me and crossed her legs in front of her. “You’re welcome, Lucien. But you should know the others do it, too. It’s not just me and Rebecca.” My eyes widened in response. “We all miss you, Lucien. Bringing the flowers out to your family feels like a way of being closer to you. We all want that. So everyone has helped.”

The warmth of her affection was obvious; she was not trying to make me feel guilty, but I still looked down at the ground. She took my hand again. The sense of peace was immediate. I smiled up at her.

“Hey, guess what I’ve been doing?” she prompted.

“What’s that?” I shifted my position to face her, smiling at her excitement.

“I’ve been volunteering at the Ithaca Free Clinic. For about eight months now. I decided to finally put the medical degree to some use.” She beamed. She’d finished her medical degree more than twenty years before but always feared the idea of practicing, feared that if she spent time in the presence of humans, someone might find her out.

“That’s incredible, Henrietta. Congratulations.”

“It’s only two days a week, but it’s been really great. And it’s easier to pass than I thought.”

I was so comfortable with her I almost blurted out she and Samantha would have a lot to talk about. The thought stuck in my throat like a swallowed canary. She noticed and smiled patiently. We talked for a few minutes more and then returned to the house before we pushed our luck with the sun. Minutes later, the five of us sprawled out on the couches and chairs in front of the flat screen in the great room.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Rebecca declared as she walked over to a built-in cabinet and popped open the door. “Thoughts?” She scanned the DVD cases. Everyone called out suggestions as the front door opened and closed.

We looked up to see Catherine standing at the top of the great-room steps. She was a beautiful creature, her long brown hair sleek and thick and her ice blue eyes a dazzling contrast. Her trim body and unusual height made her appear statuesque, as did her flawless porcelain skin. She was seductive in a pair of skinny jeans tucked into ankle boots and a mostly unbuttoned button-down blue blouse with short fluttery sleeves.

When she saw me, she paled and gaped. Her emotions were all over the place and washed through me: bewilderment, surprise, happiness, sadness, relief. The sensory overload threatened dizziness.

She felt what I was feeling. Of course she did.

She was an empath just as I was, only much stronger. Her power worked over greater distances, especially with those with whom she had had certain…connections.

“You’re in l—” She registered my head shake and cut herself off.

The others looked back and forth between us. Our shared gift was part of what had drawn us so close together for so many years. It allowed us to carry out nearly wordless conversations.

I was torn. Part of me wanted to go off and talk to her privately and felt I owed it to her given our history, and part wanted to stay right where I was in the midst of the group so I didn’t have to talk at all.

In the end, I just wasn’t ready to have this conversation. With anybody.

She stared at me for a minute and registered my reluctance, then took a seat on the chair across from me. She kicked off her boots and wrapped her legs up next to her.

In the meantime, Rebecca and Jed decided on some stupid humor movie about actors who thought they were filming a war movie but didn’t realize the director had been killed and they really were in hostile territory. It was over the top and hilarious. I laughed freely, which elicited several relieved and curious glances from around the room. My laughter wasn’t a sound they heard often. Catherine didn’t laugh once.

I kept my eyes on the television, but my brain was expansive enough to register she never stopped watching me. Her patience wavered.

When the movie ended, it finally ran out. “So, do you want to do this here in front of everyone or elsewhere with just me?”

Everyone gaped and their surprise tingled in the pit of my stomach.

“Come on, Lucien. You clearly came here to talk to us about this. You knew I would know.” Catherine’s voice sounded more calm and patient than her emotions felt.

I ran my fingers through my hair and rested my hands on top of my head. The room was silent. “Yes.” I looked at Catherine and knew she would know which of her questions I was answering. A long moment passed.

“Yes, what?” Rebecca, Catherine’s sister in life and death, glanced back and forth between us, frustrated at our ability to communicate this way.

Henrietta gasped and threw her hands up in front of her mouth. Her eyes widened, but filled with love and happiness. She’d figured it out.

Rebecca looked at Henrietta. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

Taking a deep breath, I pictured Samantha and Ollie. “I…I have met someone.”

“You’re in love!” Rebecca bounced on her knees on the couch. Jed hugged her into him.

I nodded and failed to hold back a grin. The atmosphere vibrated with their excitement for me. Griffin smiled with satisfaction, while Henrietta and Rebecca radiated absolute delight. They knew I’d almost never allowed myself happiness before for fear it would represent a betrayal. My gaze drifted over to Catherine.

Her concern had been replaced almost entirely with her acceptance and happiness for me. Although she was still confused. “Why do you feel so tortured about this?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Rebecca mouthing Lena’s name to Catherine. I smirked. “Uh, no, Rebecca. Well, yes, but no.”

Catherine’s voice was nearly a whisper. “Oh, my God, Lucien. You are completely in love with this woman. Is she part of Laumet’s coven?”

Suddenly, the sheer absurdity of my situation overwhelmed me. I laughed. Hard. I wrapped my arms around my waist and slumped over on the couch. Everyone looked at me like I was a complete lunatic, which of course I was, but I couldn’t help myself.

I was having a hard time summoning the courage to admit she was human, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine a conversation wherein I admitted to her I was a vampire. Maybe this was one of those “if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it” things. That made me laugh harder. Altogether, I was nearly one hundred forty years old. Yet I felt like a teenager about to reveal to my parents I was dating someone from the wrong side of the tracks.

“Dude. You are fucked.” Rebecca swatted Jed hard on the arm. “What? He is. Look at him. He finally went off the deep end. It’s not like we weren’t all wondering when it would happen.”

“Jed!” Rebecca smacked him again.

I pushed myself up. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d laughed that hard. It was physical proof of what I now knew I was feeling.

I took a deep breath and looked at Catherine. There was nothing but acceptance there. In that moment, I was so grateful for the reconciliation we had achieved twenty years before that enabled us to go from being exes to best friends once again.

Catherine smiled, then whispered, “Whoever she is, Lucien, I am so happy for you. I love her, because she has made you feel this way, because she has made you come alive after all these years.”

I crossed the room to her, and she met me halfway. I embraced her and murmured low enough for her and her alone to hear, “Of all people, I so needed to hear that from you. Thank you, Catherine.”

When we stepped apart, I led her back to the couch and pulled her down next to me. We continued to hold hands as I scanned the group.

“Sorry. I realize I’m a bit of a basket case—”

“A bit?”

I threw a pillow at Jed as I smiled. “Trust me, brother. I am intimately familiar with my own insanity.” I looked down at my hand intertwined with Catherine’s. “Okay. Here goes. Please try to keep all editorial comments to yourselves until I get this out.” I glanced at Rebecca who feigned offense.

“I am in love with a woman named Samantha Sutton. She is human. And she is the mother of a five-year-old girl named Olivia, although she prefers Ollie. And if that isn’t awkward enough, I started out stalking this woman with the intent to kill her. I ran into her at the hospital where she works—she’s a nurse.” I looked at Henrietta and could imagine how they would get along. “Her feelings were so joyous and brought me such pleasure, euphoria even.” I turned to Catherine then. “It was so intense.”

Catherine nodded and squeezed my hand.

“I couldn’t resist. I wanted her…that. I wanted more. I’m mortified to admit I planned to take her. But then I ran into her one day, and she talked to me. I told myself it was just another way to experience her as I planned her demise, but with each meeting, I got to know her. I convinced myself what I was feeling for her weren’t my feelings at all, but was the strength of her emotions within me. And maybe that was true. I don’t know. But then it hit me. I want her. But not in me. With me.” I looked down. “For as long as she’ll have me.”

Feeling exposed, I clamped my mouth shut and waited for their reactions.

The room was tense and still, but then all hell broke loose. Everyone started talking at once.

Catherine’s raised voice claimed the floor. “My original reaction stands. I am happy for you. I get it’s complicated. But you deserve to be happy, Lucien. And if she is what makes you happy, then you should pursue her. Carefully.”

Jed scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say, Catherine. You sleep with human men all the time. But having sex and having a relationship with them are two different things.”

When Henrietta’s quiet voice interrupted, everyone stilled. “Have you met the child?” Henrietta’s young son died in the Indian attack, so I knew she would react to this part of the situation.

“Yes.”

She let my answer hang there for a minute. “And?”

“I actually met her first. I didn’t realize she was Samantha’s daughter. I like her. And she really seems to like me. She looks at me, and meets my eyes. God, she hugs me. She held my hand the other day—”

Henrietta tried to suppress a gasp. “You love the child.”

I had been so focused on Samantha, I hadn’t thought as much about my feelings for Ollie.

Catherine put her arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay to say yes, Lucien. It’s not a betrayal.”

She was right. That was my fear, the source of my hesitation. I wasn’t convinced. I offered a small nod to Catherine, and then looked at Henrietta and did it again.

“Forgive me for asking. Please. But are you in control of yourself enough to know you pose no threat to the girl?” Her question was not out of line. While some consumed the blood of children because of its purity and raw power, it was a line most vampires didn’t cross.

“Don’t apologize, Henrietta. But she doesn’t tempt my bloodlust. I’ve been around her, even alone, numerous times. I would never hurt her. I’m in control—”

“Lucien, how will you…what will you…ugh. Okay, they’re going to notice you don’t age or eat or anything.” Rebecca’s eyes were sympathetic.

“I know.” I sighed as I tugged my hair out of my face. “I don’t know.” Thinking again of Henrietta’s question, I met her eyes. “The way Ollie looks at me. She has completely accepted me. I can’t begin to understand it. Samantha says she talks about me all the time—”

“You don’t just love her…you feel fatherly toward her.” Henrietta placed her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Lucien.”

I swallowed thickly and looked down, realizing the truth in Henrietta’s words.

“Uh, sorry,” Jed interrupted, “I don’t mean to be overly negative. But Lucien can’t just start playing family with these people. They’ll figure it out. Or something will happen.” Jed looked at me. “Lucien, I get that the possibility of a family is appealing, but…” The rest of his words faded away.

The possibility of a family. I had never thought of it like that. The possibility of a family. I let myself imagine having somewhere good to belong, having people who loved me. The possibility of a family. To have people who counted on me, people I could take care of. A sense of purpose. The possibility of a family.

Then the ancient guilt hit.

“You have to stop that!” Catherine glanced around. “He’s worrying he’s betraying Lena and Isabetta.”

I winced as she said their names.

“Lucien, you have punished yourself for more than a century. Enough is enough.”

“Catherine’s right.” Henrietta squeezed my arm.

Jed huffed. “Okay. I agree on this point. You’ve definitely taken the self-hatred thing too far. It’s time to let that go. And letting go doesn’t mean you’re forgetting or betraying them.”

Just then, Griffin’s quiet voice interrupted. He hadn’t yet spoken a word. “Are you sure you can resist them?”

I sighed. “Yes.” His face remained impassive. “I’m not saying the bloodlust isn’t there. But I know now I could never kill Sam. She is what is making me feel good. Being with her. Would taking her blood feel good? Undoubtedly. But then she would be gone. So, yes. I’m sure.”

He nodded. “But, if her emotions feel that good to you, how can you be sure you’re in love with her and aren’t just…sedated by her? Isn’t it possible what you’re feeling is the relief of being freed from your grief?”

“I know…I know because of how I feel right now. She’s not here. But I feel good. She’s not here. But I feel love. She’s not here. And she’s all I can think about.” I looked at him. Hard. “Griffin, I feel good.”

Griffin rubbed his hands against his dark jeans. “There are a lot of reasons not to do this.”

My shoulders dropped at his words. Of course, he was right. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.

“But you deserve some love and happiness. Plus, who knows what this could end up being? Maybe, just maybe it could be something. That makes it worth exploring. Slowly and cautiously.”

I sat up a little straighter, hoping for his approval even though I didn’t need it.

“But promise you will leave her if you cannot resist her blood. You don’t want to lose her to that. And we don’t want to lose you.”

“Not necessary. But I promise nonetheless.”

Griffin extended his hand and gripped mine, helping me to my feet. Then his face broke into a big grin. “I’m happy you’re happy, Lucien. It’s about time.” He pulled me in to him, and we clapped one another on the back. Everyone else rose and started talking and laughing. The tension in the room melted away.

Catherine came up behind me and gripped both of my shoulders. “So…did you dress in the dark or is wearing your shirt inside out the new fashion?”

I met her laughing eyes and looked down. It was not only inside out, but backward.

I glared at everyone. “I sat in front of you for hours looking like this. Somebody couldn’t have said something?”

I’m not sure they even heard me over their loud guffaws. I pulled the green tee off, flipped it around, and slipped it back over my head. They all laughed harder. Rebecca had thin pale red tears running down her face. Dio, I was a mess, but I joined them. It felt too good not to.

My family celebrated the rest of the day. Jed and I obsessed over a guitar-playing video game I had never played before but turned out to be good at. Jed said my violin playing gave me an unfair advantage. But then Rebecca beat him too—he kept his mouth shut after that. Jed’s mention of my playing reminded Rebecca of my earlier promise to break in my new violin, which I kept. It really was a striking instrument.

Later, Rebecca managed to convince everyone to sit down to a game of Trivial Pursuit, but we tied since we had all lived through the periods covered by the game’s questions and had generally infallible memories.

As the night fell, the couples retired to their own activities. I sat on the couch and gazed into the dying fire. The elegant architecture Griffin had designed and built took on an ethereal quality as the light danced around the circular space of the great room.

“You wanna do something?” Catherine was the only one who remained with me.

“No. Not really.”

“Are you going for a walk?”

“Yeah.” I looked at her.

She gazed at me kindly. “Do you want company?”

“I don’t think so.”

She nodded, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Night, Lucien.” She pushed herself up and walked toward the hall steps.

“Good night, Catherine.”

I gathered my shoes and stepped out the back door. The night air was cool, unusually so for July. I took a cleansing breath and walked off into the woods. I sat in the grass in front of Lena’s grave all night, talking to her and Isabetta and telling them stories. I apologized for…everything and begged their forgiveness—and their permission.

When the first light filtered down through the trees, I knew someone would come check on me. But I was shocked by who it was.

“You mind?” William hovered over me. He was tall and well-muscled; his twenty-one-year-old face was boyish, but he had a man’s demeanor and self-assurance. His dark blond hair hung behind his head in a ponytail.

“No.” I looked forward again and my eyes traced the engraved letters on Lena’s headstone.

CHERISHED WIFE, LOVING MOTHER

William didn’t say anything as he sat. The palpable awkwardness came from decades of animosity, jealousy, and competition over my past relationship with Catherine, whom he had loved before his wife Anna came into his life. He studied the headstone of his human wife Maggie, who had died in the Indian attack.

Finally, he huffed out a breath. “We have a lot in common, Lucien.” He turned back to me, his ice blue eyes piercing and, at that moment, full of wisdom.

I couldn’t read him; he had perfected blocking Catherine and me after centuries of living with her. I pulled my knees up and rested my arms on top of them, then waited.

“I have been angry for most of the more than two hundred years I have been on this earth. When I was alive, I was angry my father didn’t have enough land to provide for all his sons, angry I was forced out into this wilderness. When I held Maggie as she died, I begged her to stay with me, angry even as she took her last breaths. I felt relieved as my own injuries began to pull me under. When I regained consciousness after being changed, I was out of my mind that I had been denied my death and my reunion with Maggie. But then there was Catherine. She helped ease the pain. But she never loved me, not really. I know she cares about me. But when she couldn’t return my love, when she sought out others, I was bitter. Then you came…Her feelings for you hurt so bad—”

He paused and his expression made me keep my mouth shut.

“My jealousy led me to one of the greatest mistakes of my life.” Our gazes met. I remembered the despair in William’s eyes the day we realized he’d created his own neophytes, of whom one died in transition and the other later became his wife. “But Lucien, sometimes horrible mistakes can lead you right where you needed to be, can bring a kind of clarity to your life. I was wrong to take Anna’s humanity, and I try to make up for it every single day. Somehow, though, she has managed to not only forgive me, but to love me, despite the man I’ve been. She healed me.”

He paused thoughtfully.

“Sometimes something good can come from something bad.”

He pulled a leather-covered flask from his coat pocket and turned it around in his hands several times. His voice was low and soft. “We both lost our wives in horrific ways. We’ve both been miserable as a result. We’ve both been embraced by this family despite our issues and despite being royal pains in the ass. We have both loved Catherine.” He looked at me meaningfully. “And we have both been given second chances.”

The others had filled him in.

“So”—he popped the funnel top off the flask and held it up—”let’s drink to all we have lost.” He tilted his head back as he drank, then passed the flask to me.

I hesitated and looked at him, then put the flask to my lips and took a swig. Deer blood. I handed it back to him.

“But let’s also drink to all we could have.” This time he took a longer draw from the flask before passing it to me.

I looked back to Lena’s headstone.

“Would she want you to be happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then be happy.”

I tilted the flask to my lips and drained it, then handed it back to him. “You know, that might be the most you’ve said to me at one time in over a hundred years.”

He smirked. “Shut up, smart-ass.”

I laughed, releasing the tension I’d built up overnight as I sat and debated myself. I must have looked ridiculous, because he joined me.

“Come on. The women are all wringing their hands about what you’re doing out here all this time.” He stood up. “You know, because you’re so fragile.”

I sprang up next to him. “Yeah. And you’re an angry fuck.” He threw a punch, but I was too fast for him, as I had always been. I laughed at him from where I stood outside the limestone wall of the cemetery.

He smiled with resignation and walked over to me.

“Thank you, William. What you said means a lot. And it helped.”

“Aw, man, we’re not braiding each other’s hair now. Come on.”

After we returned to the house, I remembered Samantha had days off on Monday and Tuesday. I decided to stay through the weekend and return to the city on Sunday night. It was nice being here with my family again.

But I worried Samantha might wonder what happened to me. I called a Detroit florist and ordered a big bouquet of flowers—sunflowers seemed most fitting—and dictated a note telling her I had to leave town unexpectedly to see my family but wanted to spend Monday with her if she was free.

Thunderstorms darkened the summer sky all Sunday afternoon. Griffin built another fire in the great room. I sprawled out on the rug in front of it, enjoying my family’s company for a few last minutes before I had to leave. I gazed into the flickering flames and allowed myself to relax.

Griffin was right; it was too soon to pack too many expectations into this. Yet the possibilities now seemed endless, promising. The possibility of being loved. The possibility of giving love. Even if it was fleeting, it could be worth it.

William’s words came back to me. Second chance.

My thinking suddenly crystalized. I loved Samantha and Olivia Sutton. I needed them in my life. I had to try to be good enough for them and make this work. For the first time in more than a century, I allowed myself to have someone to love, something to hope for. I could swear, in the hollow of my chest, my heart started beating again.

Lying there on the great-room floor at Orchard Hill, I came back to life.

Chapter Nine

With a thrilling new resolve, I raced back to Detroit late Sunday night, eager to arrive with enough time to prepare for my day with Samantha. I had a surprise to plan and could barely contain myself until I could get in front of a computer to make the arrangements. Had the idea come to me before I left Orchard Hill, I could have taken care of it there. But it was only in the steady lull of driving my mind relaxed enough to generate the idea. By then I was too far from Ithaca to turn around.

I was so grateful to my family for their support. Even Jed had been willing to offer a “good luck” as we all said our good-byes.

This departure from Orchard Hill was different for me from every other. This time, I knew I would return again. At long last, I could let go of the belief that any happiness I experienced betrayed Lena’s and Isabetta’s lives and deaths. I knew I could, and would, allow myself the comfort of my family’s company.

More importantly, this time I left in one piece, not as the shattered man I’d been so much of my existence. I’d let Samantha and Ollie past my mind and into my heart, and they were already healing me.

I hadn’t been to the Edmund Place house in a while. It felt still, empty. First thing, I parked myself in front of the computer and waited impatiently as it booted up. When the Internet was new, I found it a novelty and lost countless hours surfing it. Not that the time mattered to me. In truth, the Internet was a real boon—there was always something to read, watch, or listen to. And it had allowed me to expand my horizons in the world of music exponentially. I downloaded so much music, my album and CD collections hardly grew at all anymore.

Finally, my fingers moved over the keyboard. I found what I was looking for, made the arrangements, and pulled out the credit card of William Griffin to complete the transaction. Having just seen William and Griffin, a smile crossed my face. Multiple identities were necessary when you outlived the lifespan of a normal human.

Lucien Demarco officially existed, but as Lucien Demarco IV. My contacts in this city had long ago helped me create and paper an array of aliases. The multiple properties I owned provided residences for each of them.

Satisfied, I leaned back in the reclining desk chair and ran my hands through my hair, then rested them locked together on top of my head. All of a sudden, I sat forward and worked my fingers over the keyboard again. I typed Samantha’s name into the search engine.

The hits were endless, and I realized I didn’t know Samantha’s middle name or initial to help winnow it down. I clicked on one promising link that led to a Detroit News story listing a Samantha Sutton as the contact for the annual Christmas toy drive at the Detroit Medical Center. Thoughtful and generous too. I’m not surprised.

Other links were less helpful. I clicked through several pages and was almost ready to quit when another link caught my eye. This one also led to a newspaper website, this time to the Ann Arbor News. A kindly woman’s face resembling Samantha’s appeared in a photograph at the top of the page.

EVELYN MARIE SUTTON, Ann Arbor, MI

Died July 17, 2006, in Ann Arbor. She was born May 1, 1960, the daughter of James and Olivia Edwards. She was a lifelong resident of Ann Arbor and attended Ann Arbor Public Schools and University of Michigan, graduating in 1981. Evelyn was an avid Michigan football fan and rarely missed attending a home game. She was a social studies teacher in the Ann Arbor Public School System for twenty-one years. Evelyn was also an active member of the Junior League of Ann Arbor. Her parents and one sister predeceased her. She is survived by her daughter, Samantha J. Sutton, and her granddaughter, Olivia E. Sutton. Memorial services will be held…

I reclined in my chair. How hard it must have been to lose such an important relationship. I wanted to wrap my arms around Samantha, to shield her from the pain—pain I was relieved to remember she hadn’t seemed to feel in the time since I’d known her. I was also surprised to see no mention of Joe and wondered if they’d been separated.

Reading the obituary made me realize just how little I knew about Samantha. I hoped she would give me the opportunity to correct that.

One final question had me at the keyboard again. A quick check on the weather reconfirmed the cloudy forecast. Full of anticipation, I closed out of the browser, shut down the computer, and went upstairs.

The hot water of the shower felt good against my cooling skin. I was walking a fine line: I’d decided not to hunt in New York, because I didn’t want my skin overheated from the fresh infusion of blood when I saw Samantha. But I also had to keep myself sated enough to ensure I had no difficulties holding the bloodlust at bay.

I made a cursory effort at towel drying, but was still wet enough when I pulled the gray Henley over my head that damp spots formed across my back and chest. I didn’t care. I threw on a pair of khaki pants, shoved my feet in my leather boots, and pulled a comb through my hair. I grabbed a couple pieces of fresh clothing to take over to the Frederick house, then headed out to the car.

I took the Z, because Samantha liked it.

As I moved through the new house putting things away, it felt the most like a home of any place I had renovated over the years. I didn’t have to think on that much to understand why.

By eight o’clock I was fidgety. It was too early to call on Samantha. But there was something I could do to pass the time. I pulled the phone book from a kitchen drawer and flipped open to the blue municipal government listings. A receptionist at the Department of Public Works answered, and I reported the busted street light Samantha had pointed out the previous week. Samantha was right, this section of the city was safer than some, but not so safe that dark streets were wise. I knew from personal experience just how unsafe the city was.

For forty years, I’d worked in Laumet’s world and admittedly contributed to some of the danger in the city. And in the twenty years since I’d earned my freedom, circumstances reminded me Laumet continued to operate in much the same way he always had. While Laumet, true to his word, had left me to my own life, on two instances he felt compelled to interfere. Both were of my own making, as it turned out.

I should have put more thought into it, really. Laumet employed bad people to do bad things. And as a general rule, if I hunted humans, I hunted the bad ones usually while they planned or committed bad acts. I could perceive many things about my victims, but their relationships were not always among them.

Twice, just two years after I’d separated from Laumet and about seven years after that, I killed bad ones who turned out to be loyal, and important, to Laumet. He was less than pleased.

The first time wasn’t as problematic. I’d killed and drained a man burglarizing a nearby house. I’d recognized his scent from a few other robberies, one of which included a murder, and was only too happy to be rid of him as his activities brought the attention of the police to my neighborhood. The vampire guard searched for the man when he didn’t show up for work and found my scent at the scene. Laumet summoned me back to his old headquarters at Lee Plaza for a dressing down and easily justified my pardon given our history and the extracurricular nature of the man’s activities.

The second time was more difficult for Laumet to tolerate and still save face. While scoping out possible historic houses to consider for my next project, a massive wave of fear, despair, rage, and lust slammed into me. I wrenched the car over in front of a dilapidated house in a bad block and tracked the emotions to the back yard. Three men pinned a young dark-skinned woman to a cushioned lounge chair on a covered patio. I snapped the neck of the rapist and savored the fear flooding from the other two who knew it was wrong but stood by. I incapacitated them in ways that wouldn’t reveal anything unusual about who had participated in the attack.

I carefully charmed the distraught woman to calm her, then I replaced the story of my role with a fiction about a rival gang that showed up, interrupted the assault, and fought the perpetrators before fleeing. I found a towel and covered the woman’s body, then dialed 911. Given the scenario, I couldn’t feed on the men as I originally intended, so I fled as the sirens approached.

It turned out those three men were at the top of the organizational hierarchy of a gang closely allied with Laumet. Their deaths created a temporary power vacuum that disrupted business deals, resulted in further bloodshed, and required Laumet to renegotiate the terms of their business agreement, this time somewhat less advantageously.

As happened the first time, the vampire guard identified my scent at the scene, so Laumet summoned me back to Lee Plaza. Jacques was livid and wanted my head—literally. This particular set of business deals apparently fell under his purview. He was incensed at my interference in his affairs.

This one was trickier for Laumet to navigate. His solution was ultimately to offer a stern warning: If I interfered in his business again, I would pay for it with my freedom, life, or both.

He regretted the need for such a dire threat, but it enabled him to continue to protect me and save face. Reading his emotions, I knew his outburst was more for Jacques and his underlings than for me. I wasn’t concerned.

Standing at my kitchen counter with the phone still in my hand, I nodded. I knew precisely how dangerous this city was. I would do anything to protect Samantha from all that, even if I had to climb that pole and change the damn bulb myself. I shoved the phone book back in the drawer and replaced the phone on its cradle.

A moldy smell caught my attention, and I frowned. I tracked the odor to my pantry and grimaced when I found a loaf of bread with significant green growth around the edges. Huh. That made me wonder about the food in the refrigerator and I opened the door and stared in, though I had no idea what I was looking for. How long does human food stay good anyway?

I pulled out the unopened carton of milk and turned it around. The date stamped into the top indicated it had three days left, so I put it back. I shrugged at the rest of it and chucked the spoiled bread into the trash. If I was going to continue to spend time with Samantha and Ollie, I’d have to figure this food thing out eventually.

Soon it was no longer too early to go visit Samantha. I smiled triumphantly at the overcast sky as I ran down my front steps. I tasted her sweetness as I turned the corner of my house into the grassy field that led to Samantha’s townhouse. When I looked up, she was crossing the field toward me.

Samantha smiled when she saw me. The warmth of her affection lit me up inside. The sweet taste of her happiness wrapping around me, I picked up my pace, eager to have her in my arms again. When we met in the middle, I threw my arms around her and lifted her up.

She laughed and embraced my shoulders. “Hi.”

“Oh, dolcezza.” I reveled as always in her sweetness and continued to hold her tight against me, all the while pressing small kisses against the scar at her right temple.

She laughed. “Are you going to put me down?” She smiled against the side of my neck.

“I haven’t decided yet.” I enjoyed the feel of her feminine curves pressed against me for one more moment. “Do you have a preference?”

“Um, maybe put me down.”

I loosened my hold and placed her back on her feet, although she kept her hands on my shoulders and her body close to mine. Her smile was so genuine and affectionate I didn’t need to be an empath to read her feelings. “I couldn’t do this when you were holding me so tight.” She reached up on her tiptoes and brought her lips to mine. She cupped the side of my face as we kissed. I tightened my arms around her back and waist.

I kept my eyes open; I wanted to watch her give herself to me this way. Between soft kisses, I whispered, “Open your eyes, Samantha.” Her desire smoldered. She moaned as our eyes met, and we continued to kiss. I caught her chin with my fingers and planted a last kiss on her lips. “I missed you,” I murmured as I let my eyes roam over her. She looked lovely dressed simply in a teal blouse, khaki shorts, and flat sandals.

She smiled. “I missed you too.”

“Shall we go get Ollie?”

“No need.” She smiled mischievously. “Dad decided he wanted some quality time with her so they’re going to the zoo today. They just left.” She looked down again, then back up at me. “Thank you, though, for thinking of her, for wanting to include her.”

I took her hand and raised it to my mouth, kissing the back of it gently. “How could I not? She is part of your life. I would always include her. Although I am, of course, thrilled to get to spend the day alone with you.”

“Me, too.” She bit her bottom lip. “Oh, and thank you, by the way, for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.” Her smile brightened further. “Is there anything in particular you would like to do today, Sam?” I tucked a strand of honey behind her ear.

“No, not really. I just hoped maybe we could just do something low-key, just to hang out, be together.”

“My thoughts exactly.” I squeezed her hand and led her in the direction of my car. “What would you say to being tourists in Detroit today?”

She laughed and nodded. “I’m game.”

“Come on then. I have some ideas.”

A short drive later, I pulled up next to the Detroit Institute of Arts. “There is a great show on right now,” I explained. “Paintings of the modern masters. I thought you might enjoy it. We can walk around here before lunch.” Art museums had long been a favorite pastime of mine. Catherine and I once spent years traveling and always made time to visit museums.

“You know, in two years of living here I’ve never been. It sounds great.”

We entered the exhibit, which began with a section on landscape painting. Samantha studied each work. She seemed taken with the pieces by Monet and Van Gogh. As we moved through the sections featuring Picasso and the Cubists, she felt my eyes on her. The gallery was relatively empty, but she still whispered as she leaned over to me. “I think you’re supposed to be looking at the paintings.”

“I am. I’m just looking at them through your eyes.”

She flushed brilliantly and rolled her eyes, though she smiled as she turned away to look at another painting. Of course, she couldn’t know I could feel how she responded to the works of art on an emotional level. She stopped in front of Modigliani’s Portrait of a Woman. Her emotions clouded.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I asked as I came up behind her.

“She looks so sad. Her eyes are striking.”

I kissed her temple and after a few moments we continued along. She was remarkably intense in her study of the images, like she was soaking them in. I asked her to tell me what she thought of each painting that caught her attention, interested in any insight into how her mind worked. Finally, we came to the end of the exhibit.

“That was great. I haven’t taken the time to just wander through an exhibit in so long. I used to do some painting in college, but I haven’t in a long time. So, this was a nice idea.” She looked up at me just as her stomach growled. She chuckled. “Sorry. I skipped breakfast this morning helping Dad get Ollie ready for the zoo.”

“Well, then, let’s head toward lunch.” I took her hand and led her through the large lobby. “I’m glad you enjoyed the exhibit. And I would love to hear more about this painting you used to do.”

“Okay.” She smiled and nodded as we walked outside. “Where to next?”

“You’ll see,” I said as I helped her into the car. Within a few minutes, we pulled into a parking garage at the waterfront.

She looked at me curiously as we crossed the street to the sidewalk along the river. Then she glanced ahead of us and guessed our destination. “We’re going on the riverboat?” She looked incredulous.

“Yes. Is that all right?”

“No.” She snorted.

I stopped.

She took an additional step before she noticed. “Kidding! It’s great! I’ve always wanted to do this, but my dad thinks it’s too cheesy.” She pulled my hand. I shook my head, smiling, and started walking again.

We had to wait briefly until the huge white boat boarded. Within a few minutes, we came aboard. Samantha headed right for the staircase. “Let’s go up to the top so we can get a good view.”

“You lead. I’ll follow.”

She climbed all the way to the top deck, delighted to find a large outdoor viewing area. She moved toward the stern of the ship where rows of benches filled the deck. She picked a seat nearest the railing, and I sat down beside her. “Too bad it’s not a sunny day, although then it would probably be pretty hot.” She turned in her bench, looking over every part of the ship we could see from our vantage point.

“It would be impossible to perfect this day,” I said as I stroked her cheek and brushed a tendril of long hair behind her shoulder.

She placed her hand over mine and leaned her face into it. “I’m enjoying myself, Lucien. Thank you for spending the day with me.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. The pleasure is mine, Sam.”

“So, I suppose your work allows you a flexible schedule?”

“Yes. One of the benefits of self-employment.”

“Oh. You own your own business?”

“I do.”

“Wow. I mean, you just seem so young for that. It’s really impressive.”

I smiled. Young was not something I’d felt in a very long time. “I’m not so young.”

“Twenty…?”

“Seven.”

“And when do you turn twenty-eight?”

I smiled but was getting less comfortable with the topic. “November second.”

“Ooh, a Scorpio.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. She laughed.

“My mother liked astrology. She always read our horoscopes in the morning.” A faint blush colored her skin. “She was a big fan of fortune cookies, too.” I chuckled. She smacked my arm with the back of her hand. “Don’t laugh. Your sign says a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” My tone was all teasing, but I loved her a little bit more for helping distract me from the memory of the last time I’d celebrated my birthday as a human.

“Absolutely.” She feigned a pout.

“And what does my sign reveal about me?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” she mused. “Scorpios are old souls, very sensitive, intense, and a little dramatic. They have difficulty finding happiness and are very loyal.”

I stared and didn’t know how to respond. So I turned it around on her. “And what does your sign say about you?”

She smiled. “Well, my birthday is April 14. That makes me an Aries. We are supposed to be outgoing and adventurous, but we’re sometimes impulsive. We are also very trusting, resilient, and tend to believe the world’s a magical place.” She looked up at me as she bit down on her bottom lip. She was smiling, but her feelings revealed her uncertainty over how I would react to her interest in astrology.

“Well”—I picked up her hand and pulled it to my mouth to press a reassuring kiss to her knuckles— “with you the world is a magical place, Samantha, so I am now a believer.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Shut up.”

I laughed and, when she tucked her hair behind her ear, my eyes landed on the scar that ran from the edge of her eyelid, through her eyebrow, and into her temple. I wanted to know every last thing about her. “How did you get this?” I asked quietly as I traced the line of it with my finger.

“Oh.” She reached her right hand up, and her fingers joined mine in touching it. She grinned sheepishly. “It’s stupid, really. When I was eight, I tripped over some toys on the living room floor and fell headfirst into the corner of the coffee table. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood.”

I winced—at the idea of her being hurt, at the thought of her blood. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. And it left me with this lovely scar,” she said as she fingered the leftover crease. Then she dropped her hands back in her lap.

I grabbed her chin lightly in my hand and tilted her head to look up to me. “I find absolutely everything about you to be lovely, Sam.” The blush that blossomed over her cheeks mirrored the embarrassment and affection that washed over me. I leaned forward and pressed my lips first against the scar, and then her mouth. I sat back and rubbed my thumb over her cheek before dropping my hand. “So, how much more schooling do you have left?”

“I’ll be done at the end of the fall semester. When I got pregnant with Ollie, I had four semesters left to complete. I’m so ready to finally get my degree and get a job. It feels like I’ve been in school forever.”

I was curious about what I knew to be her relatively recent move to Detroit, but didn’t want to reveal I’d found information about her online. “I imagine school and a child weren’t an easy balance.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Her hesitation prickled my gut, and then flared into a short but intense torrent of pain.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Yes. Sorry. It’s just…I don’t usually talk about this stuff, but for some reason I always seem to spill everything to you.” She smiled at me sideways, pulled her leg up on the bench as she faced me, and fingered the strap of her sandal. I didn’t push. Finally, she took a deep breath. “It wasn’t just that I had a child that made it hard. It’s that…well, what really made it hard to get the motivation to go back to school was my mom died in the middle of it all.”

I took her left hand in both of mine. “I’m sorry. Were you close?”

She smiled. “Yeah. My mom and I did everything together when I was growing up. We used to go to football games every weekend in the fall—I grew up in Ann Arbor, and my mom was a huge Michigan fan. She came to all of my high school events and meets. We got especially close after my dad left. Then it was just the two of us. When Ollie came, she was so excited to be a grandmother. She was so good with Ollie. I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t been there to help me after Jensen left and Ollie was born. Ollie had just turned three not long before she died. Car accident.”

An announcement by the captain over the loudspeaker interrupted our conversation. She met my eyes and forced a bright expression.

I squeezed her hand. “So then you moved here?”

She nodded. “After Ollie was born, my dad really started making an effort to get more involved in my life. He had tried when I was younger, but he was still working then—he was a professor at Wayne State. So he was busy, and I was busy, and after a while we were only seeing each other once every three or six months, despite the fact we lived relatively close. When Mom died, he asked me to come to Detroit with him. At first I didn’t want to leave Ann Arbor, but I was all alone there. And I wanted Ollie to have what little family she had around her. So I moved here almost two years ago. But I couldn’t go back to school that fall after everything that happened, so I took that semester off and then my dad encouraged me to start back the next spring.”

The ship’s engines came to life and the deck vibrated. Moments later the horn blasted and the ship got underway. The captain made another announcement.

“I’m sorry, Lucien. I don’t mean to be so depressing. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s a part of you, and I’m interested in getting to know all of you, not just the happy parts.” I was reassured by the sincerity of my words. It was no longer just her emotions attracting me. “But, by all means, what would you like to talk about?”

“How about your family?”

I choked out a laugh.

“What?”

“That story is just as depressing.”

“Oh. You don’t have to tell me.”

I pulled her hand up to my mouth and kissed it. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

She leaned into me involuntarily as my eyes held hers. A breeze picked up as the ship hit its stride. Samantha blinked and slipped her hand away to gather the hair blowing around her face. “Hold on a minute.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bright pink band. Deftly, she worked her hands behind her head to create a thick braid of golden hair, then looped the band around the end to hold it in place. “Now I’m glad Ollie refused to let me do her hair this morning. Sorry.” She turned her head so I could see the back. “Does this look okay?”

“More than okay. It looks very nice.” Lena’s practice of braiding her chestnut hair for bed flashed through my mind, although the memory didn’t bring the crushing grief it once had. Just a pang that left me glad Samantha’s hair was blonde.

“Thanks. And, yes, I would like to hear about your family.”

“Okay.” I hadn’t told this story in decades. Forcing the words out of my mouth was difficult. But I wanted Samantha to know me. I wanted to share myself with her, however much I could. But now that I was in the moment, I found I wasn’t sure how to begin.

Samantha took my left hand in both of hers, just as I’d done for her earlier.

I looked down at her small warm hands around my big hand, and then glanced up at her eyes, which were brimming with understanding and encouragement. “Okay, well…my…I…” I shook my head. She squeezed my hand and let me take my time. “Sam, I was married when I was very young, and we had a daughter.”

A whirlwind of emotions erupted from her, although her expression remained unchanged, frozen by the revelation.

I took a deep breath and let it out with the painful words. “They were murdered.”

“Oh God, Lucien. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes immediately watered. I tasted the salt of her sympathy as a tear spilled down her cheek on one side. I reached up with my free hand and wiped it away. As I rubbed the moisture between my fingers, it occurred to me Samantha’s was the first and only human tear ever shed for my family. I had cried—so many times—but I was incapable of such clean, pure tears. I closed my fist tightly around it.

“Thank you.” There was simply no other way to communicate how much the grief she was feeling for them, for me, meant.

“Lucien, I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about this—”

“No, I want to tell you.” I looked up at her. She nodded as she took a deep breath. “My wife’s name was Lena. We were childhood sweethearts. We grew up on neighboring farms. I think our families always knew we would get married, so they weren’t surprised when we did. Isabetta was born less than a year later. She was three when she died.” As much as I appreciated Samantha’s tears, they were hard to watch. “Please don’t cry, dolcezza,” I whispered. I leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth.

She kissed me back and clutched at my face. The urgency of it communicated the sympathy and understanding I could feel within her. She pulled back and wiped her face with both hands. “Did they catch who did it?”

I checked myself before answering, making sure all hints of my rage on this point were well secured. “No.” I shook my head. “Afterward, I moved from New York City where we had lived to Upstate New York, where my brothers live.” After brainstorming with Griffin and Jed, this was the story we decided was best. “And then I moved here a while ago.” I was trying to stay as close to the truth as possible. If she would allow it, I would keep specifics like dates vague.

“Well, that explains why you’re so good with Ollie. It didn’t occur to me you had a daughter. But seeing you with Ollie, it makes perfect sense.”

I was stunned by the easiness of her compliment. I opened my mouth to respond, but wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, I found my voice. “That’s very kind of you to say, Sam. Thank you.”

“No, I mean it. You’re a complete natural with her. You know she couldn’t adore you more. And what’s so amazing is, after my mother died, Ollie kinda shut down for a while. I was really worried about her and even took her to see a child psychologist. Between her absent father and the loss of her grandmother, she had real abandonment issues. She’s doing so much better now, but before we met you, I hadn’t seen her so alive, so lively since my mom was with us. Just how she hugs you…she just doesn’t do that with people.”

Just then, the loudspeaker came to life again and announced lunch was about to be served in the dining room.

“Ah,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. “Now, back to taking care of that stomach.”

She smiled as we stood. Then she threw her arms around my neck and squeezed. She planted a few soft kisses under my ear. I shivered as I pulled her tight against me, feeling the lushness of her feminine curves against my body.

“I’m sorry you’ve been hurt,” she whispered, her voice a salve to my wounds.

I nodded my head against hers. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt,” I said softly with my lips against her ear. It was her turn to shiver.

She pulled her head back and found my mouth with hers. I moved my hand up her back and cupped it against her head, feeling the braid there. The words I couldn’t say poured out through my lips and hands. I wanted her to feel my veneration.

After a while I realized we were the only ones still out on the deck. “Come on. Let’s eat,” I said, wanting to take care of her every need, even if it would cause me discomfort to dine with her. She nodded and, hand in hand, we crossed the deck in the direction of the dining room.

I was amazed at how right the whole day felt and how good it was to confide in her. And everything I perceived from Samantha told me she felt the same way.

Chapter Ten

Samantha and I spent every free moment of the following month together, sometimes alone, often with Ollie. Few days were as jam-packed with activities as our date day had been. But the hours spent at the playground, watching movies, playing games with Ollie, taking walks, or just talking—the small moments that for most people made up the unnoticed fabric of life—meant so very much to me.

My love for Samantha deepened. We connected in ways I hadn’t experienced in over a century. She let me comfort her on the second anniversary of her mother’s death, and she climbed up on my lap and held me tight when I’d admitted I couldn’t have any more children.

I just hadn’t found a way to explain why that was. And this mother of all omissions was eating me alive from the inside.

Finally, the first weekend of August arrived and I could reveal the surprise—our first overnight trip—I’d planned that July morning when I’d returned from New York. I had made two special arrangements for the trip during the weeks beforehand. First, I surprised Samantha with an iPod and assigned her with loading it with enough music to last on a “very long” car trip. The only guidance I offered was I wanted the music to include her favorites and help reveal to me who she was. She balked at first at such an expensive present, but to her chagrin, I kissed her into accepting.

The second special arrangement I made was more of a long-delayed gift to myself: I bought a new car. The occasion of our trip justified the purchase as far as I was concerned. Samantha came along to help me pick it up. Since I’d known for years what I’d want if I allowed myself this indulgence, I’d already preordered the vehicle to my exact specifications. The black metallic Maserati GranTurismo S was a dream come true.

Samantha thought I was crazy, but since she got to ride in it, she decided it was a good kind of crazy.

By six in the morning on the day of the trip, I was already packed and ready to go, which was a problem since we weren’t leaving until eight or nine. I tried but failed to be patient: I was too distracted to play and couldn’t concentrate enough to read or watch TV. Finally I grabbed my phone and started typing: “Are you up?”

Several minutes passed without a response. Samantha was either still asleep or in the shower. I growled my impatience. My phone beeped.

Yes! What are you doing?

“Trying to restrain myself from coming over there and grabbing you so we can leave now.”

Restraint is overrated.

Moments later, I stood outside her bedroom window with several small stones I’d found on the curb in front of my house. I tossed the first one up. It clicked against the glass. I tossed three more before Samantha’s face appeared at the window.

She lifted the sash with a wide grin. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Her wet hair clung to her face and shoulders. I swallowed hard at the picture of her glistening skin. Her scent was sweet and clean. Her love warmed me.

“Me either. But I want to have breakfast with Ollie, and she won’t wake up for another half hour at least. So you have to be patient a little while longer.”

“I thought restraint was overrated.”

She smiled and bit her bottom lip. “It is. But, in this situation, it’s necessary. Now, go away so I can finish getting ready so we can leave right after breakfast.” She blew me a kiss and pushed the sash back down.

“Sam!” I said loud enough for her to hear but hopefully not loud enough to disturb her neighbors.

“What?” she whispered loudly as she pushed it back up a little.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now go home so I can get dressed!” She lowered the sash, then flattened her palm against the window in a gesture that bid me both good-bye and stay close.

I crossed the field with a stupid grin on my face.

I recalled the first time we’d exchanged those words. Maybe two weeks after our date day, Ollie fell asleep in the oversized chair in my living room while we all watched a movie together. Amazingly she stayed asleep when I lifted her into my arms, so I carried her back over to their house and put her in bed. Samantha stood in the doorway as I arranged the covers around Ollie, kissed her forehead, and offered my now regular words: “Dream sweet dreams, Ollie.”

I stepped out of Ollie’s room into the hallway as Samantha closed the door, then she took my hand and led me into her bedroom. She pulled us down to sit on her bed and looked serious. I smelled the scent of her anxiety.

“I just wanted to say something. I only say it now because I have Ollie to think about, too. And I know she feels the same. And I—”

I placed my fingers over her lips. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

She blushed as she looked up at me. “I…Lucien, I’m falling in love with you.”

I groaned in delight and pulled her into me as I kissed her. “That’s good,” I murmured around her lips, “because I fell weeks ago.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she pulled back to look at me. “I love you, Lucien.”

The warm satisfaction of her words filled me up. “I love you, Samantha.” The freedom of giving voice to those feelings was like a weight off my shoulders.

“Will you stay? I’d just like to wake up with you by my side.”

“I’d like nothing more.”

So I’d stayed that night, and many after. But we’d agreed to take our physical relationship slow. Both of us had been seriously hurt by previous relationships, and Samantha had a child’s welfare to think about, so slow seemed in everyone’s best interest.

But there was no way I could keep my hands to myself entirely. Dio, I loved the feel of her. Her breasts were warm and heavy in my palms. She made the most seductive sounds in response to my caresses. And her taste—salty and sweet at the same time. I’d explored quite a few of her erogenous zones with my mouth—her neck, wrists, and the back of her knees were particularly sensitive. Being with her was a salve and a torment all at once.

By far, though, the most incredible thing was seeing her come, and knowing I’d caused it. The first time it happened, she was actually asleep. She’d moaned and writhed, making it apparent she was having an erotic dream. She was fascinating and glorious in her arousal. I’d tried to wake her, but she was so deep into it. I’d kept my hands to myself but finally succumbed to the heat of her lust and whispered soft encouragements that soon coaxed her to orgasm. I was utterly captivated by the magnificence of her euphoria.

After that I needed more, needed to touch her in that most feminine place. I craved the feeling of her slick skin against my fingers, and finally I had the opportunity to discover the possessive satisfaction of using my hands to pleasure her. And, Dio, how I relished the scent of her arousal on me.

As good as these moments were, it was so fucking hard to be with her and restrain my vampiric instincts. My nature had caught me off guard the first time she’d brought us to orgasm together. She had straddled my clothed lap and ground herself against me. I hid my identity that time by clamping my lips shut when my fangs elongated and biting through the inside of my bottom lip. She gasped when she saw the blood, but it was easy to explain away, plus it healed quickly.

Worse, I didn’t even need to climax to find myself struggling for control. The first time she took my shirt off, she saw the Blood Mark on my chest and gasped. Every vampire emerged from their change with a tattoo-like mark made of blood pooled under the skin on their left breast. Deep crimson in color, Blood Marks were unalterable designs that reflected a vampire’s lineage. Mine was a pair of mirror image S-like symbols, the first facing forward and the second facing backward, centered over a truncated cross.

I didn’t know who or what it represented, but I’d always interpreted the S’s as representing myself before and after my transformation: the forward- facing S was my human self and faced the right way, while the backward S was my abnormal vampire self. I’d never seen another mark like mine, though I’d searched for it. It was one of the few clues I’d had in my failed search for my maker.

Samantha was captivated by the mark that first time she saw it and said she found tattoos sexy. I was so overcome with the immediate lust of her response I didn’t realize what a perfect opportunity the moment might have represented to reveal myself to her until it was gone.

Because of the amount of blood pooled so close to the surface, the skin around the mark was extremely sensitive, and I sucked in a breath and flinched when she stroked her fingers over it. Then she ran kisses down my neck and over my collarbone and brushed it with her soft lips. The sensation of her tongue tracing my Blood Mark elicited a nearly primal reaction. She moaned and cried out as I flipped her over on the bed and channeled my blazing hunger into a series of orgasms for her. She was so far gone she hadn’t seen me rip into my free wrist to avoid sinking my fangs into her.

So, our physical relationship progressed, but it progressed slowly, out of caution and necessity.

Of course, there was another argument for “slow” I hadn’t shared with her: I wasn’t sure I could make love to her without her being able to make a fully informed decision about me, which meant knowing who—what—I was.

So that night we first shared our words of love, I just spent the night. And I spent many nights thereafter, but we hadn’t taken it much further than the use of our hands despite our bodies’ aching readiness to do so.

The buzzing of my cell phone pulled me from my daydreams and reminded me of my impatience to get our trip underway.

Done packing.

I grumbled a sigh. Every few minutes, I’d get another one- or two-word text message from her.

Ollie up.

Fixing breakfast. Eating.

Then at 8:10 a.m.: WAITING FOR YOU! I had the Maserati in front of her house in less than a minute. She emerged laughing. Ollie trailed behind, still in her pajamas.

“Good morning,” Samantha said with a kiss as she handed me her overnight and garment bags. “How’d you make it over here so fast? Were you sitting in the car waiting?”

I laughed. “Something like that. And, yes, it is a very good morning.” I walked back to the car and put the bags in the waiting trunk.

“Hi, Lucien!” Ollie stood on the curb and gingerly laid one finger on the car’s pristine fender.

“Good morning, Ollie. How did you sleep?”

“Really good.” She opened her arms to give me a hug as I walked around from the back of the car.

I knelt down and embraced her. “What did you dream about?”

“Santa.”

I laughed and she joined me. “Well, that’s good, I suppose. Be good for Joe, okay? We’ll be back tomorrow.” I kissed her on the forehead.

“Okay. Bye.”

Samantha walked over to Ollie and picked her up. “Bye, big girl. I love you. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy. Love you.” Samantha put her back down.

I walked over to Joe who stood on the front porch. “Thanks again for this.”

“You’re welcome. Have fun now.” Joe was a man of few words, and he still had reservations about me. But he loved Samantha and Ollie and wanted them above all else to be happy, which was enough for me to respect him. Ollie asked Joe if they could play a game. “Duty calls,” he said, as he turned to go back in the house with Ollie.

Within fifteen minutes, we were cruising west on Interstate 96. Samantha plugged in the iPod and adjusted the volume low so we could talk. She looked out the windows for a few minutes and hummed along with a ballad. Finally, she rolled her head against the seat back toward me. “So, do I get to know where we’re going yet?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on! I’m dying over here!”

I smiled at her outburst. “On the contrary, you look quite healthy to me, dolcezza.”

She swatted my arm with the back of her hand but smiled at my now-common nickname for her. Sweetness. I grabbed her hand before she could pull it away and kissed her, then I rested our hands on the console between us and continued to hold onto her.

We alternated between long periods of comfortable silence and animated conversations about everything under the sun. She recounted stories from her childhood and funny things Ollie had said or done. She asked me to tell her more about Isabetta. I told her stories about my family in New York, and we talked about the possibility of going to visit them sometime.

Every once in a while she would pause the iPod and offer an explanatory introduction to a particular song. Some made her think of important times in her life, others made her think of me, and yet others made her think of us together. With each explanation, the space I had for her in my heart grew.

Occasionally, one of her song choices would so resonate with me it was overwhelming. When my favorite Beatles song filled the car, I surprised Samantha by getting off at a rest area on the side of the highway. I pulled abruptly into the first available parking space and released my seat belt.

Samantha looked alarmed. “Are you ok—”

My mouth cut her off as I landed a rough kiss on her lips. I pushed her back into the seat with the weight of my upper body and stroked her hair and face with my hand as I worked my lips over her mouth, jaw, and neck.

“Lucien?” Her heart hammered in her chest, and amusement and lust radiated off her in equal amounts.

“Hmm?” Her face drew into a smile, so I pulled back.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Kissing you.” I nuzzled my lips against her ear.

She smirked. “Yes, I got…that much. But was there something in particular that elicited such an urgent need to pull off the road and do that now?”

“Do I need a reason?” I licked the shell of her ear.

She shuddered. “No…but…”

“Besides, I always have an urgent need to kiss you.” She laughed and I sat back, my heart full with the rewarding sense of how well she seemed to understand me. “‘In My Life’ is one of my all-time favorites.” I shrugged. “I’m touched it made you think of me.”

She beamed and leaned across the console to kiss me. “A lot of people have come before for both of us, but, for me, it finally feels okay. Because I do love you more.”

With both hands buried in her hair, I pulled her lips to mine. “God, I love you,” I murmured before the words were lost to the kiss.

Other songs elicited a more contemplative reaction, although I was a little surprised to hear “Somewhere to Belong” blare from her speakers. She leaned forward and turned the volume down.

“Linkin Park?”

She twisted her lips and shrugged as a mild wave of embarrassment washed through me. “You don’t like them?”

“Actually, I really do.” I had no problem identifying with the anger and angst and yearning in their songs, this one in particular.

“I might’ve listened to this song on replay quite a few times after I lost my mom.”

“Yeah.” I squeezed her hand where I was holding it between us and sighed. Samantha knew more about loss than I wished she did. “Sam,” I said many miles and songs later, “no one has looked at me the way you do in so long. And you’ve helped me start to believe I deserve to be looked at that way again.”

“Of course you do, Lucien. Why would you think you don’t?”

“I…I just haven’t always been as good as I am with you. I haven’t always been the best…person. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I would give almost anything to take back.” I’d expressed sentiments like this to her before.

“We all have, Lucien. We all have.” She released her seat belt and reached her body over to press a kiss to my cheek as she spoke.

I didn’t sense the least bit of suspicion within her at my words, which was remarkable. I could tell from her pulse and heart rate her body occasionally reacted instinctively to me, more like other humans. But more often than not she reacted to me as if I were a man, which is what she did at that moment.

And it meant everything.

***

Hours into our trip we were north of Chicago—which she thought for certain was our destination—and the expansiveness of Lake Michigan stretched out like a dark mirror on her side of the car. She’d shifted in her seat so her legs were partly underneath her, and she leaned toward me. As a sultry love song began, she brought my hand up to her mouth and kissed each finger individually.

My head felt like the world was spinning. “Dolcezza, if you don’t stop doing that, we’re not going to reach our destination.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” She slipped the tip of my middle finger into her mouth.

My chest rumbled softly.

“Did you just growl?”

When I trained my eyes on her, her heart rate picked up noticeably. I would’ve bet the hair on the back of her neck raised too. “If you don’t stop, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

She shivered, then looked me square in the face and did it again. Purposely. And this time she leaned her head forward to take my whole finger into her mouth.

Madre de Dio. Heat roared through me as her lips wrapped around my knuckle. I closed my eyes at the sensation of it and concentrated hard on keeping my fangs retracted.

“Eyes on the road, Lucien,” she whispered as she ran her tongue up the length of my finger.

Taking a deep breath that did little to calm me, I turned my head back to the road and shifted in my seat. She smiled triumphantly as she rested her face against my hand. She left me speechless and wondering what her expectations were for our weekend.

What I wanted and what I thought I deserved were two different things given my continued deception. While my mind shouted restraint, my body had been demanding more for weeks.

Finally, signs for Milwaukee appeared along the highway. “Okay,” Samantha said with a pointed look, “so, unless we’re going to Canada, which is pretty much the only thing north of here, I’m going to guess we’re doing something in Milwaukee.”

I smiled at her frustration, which was easy because her emotions were otherwise warmed with love for me. “Well, since you have done such a superb job of providing music for our trip, I guess I can finally reveal to you that, yes, Milwaukee is our destination.” I exited the highway and followed surface streets to our hotel. The valet looked like he’d won the lottery when I reluctantly handed him the keys to the Maserati and a hundred dollar bill to ensure the car was cared for.

I then ushered Samantha into the warm, sophisticated lobby of the InterContinental Milwaukee. After checking in, we took the elevator to our fifth-floor suite. We stepped inside, and I pressed the five button as the doors closed behind me.

Samantha’s slow seduction in the car still vibrating within me, I caught her off guard as I pinned her to the doors in a tight embrace. She laughed, then moaned when I ground myself against her.

“Sorry,” I whispered fiercely. “But that was too long to go without holding you. I hope you don’t mind.”

She wound her arms around me and mumbled a response as she kissed me eagerly.

“Nothing in the world feels better than your body against mine,” I murmured between kisses.

A soft ding encouraged me to release her so we didn’t fall out the doors when they opened. Samantha stepped out first, then we walked down the hall hand in hand in search of our room.

I inserted the card key into the slot on the door and pushed it open for Samantha. Like the lobby, the room was well appointed, decorated with modern lines and warm earth tones.

Samantha set her purse on a table and pulled out her phone. “I’m just going to check in at home.”

“Of course.”

Minutes later, while Samantha was still talking to Ollie, a knock at the door signaled the bellhop’s arrival with our bags. He placed them in the adjoining bedroom then departed. Samantha snapped her phone shut. “How are they doing?”

“Everything’s good. Dad sounded tired. I think Ollie is wearing him out. But they both said they were having a good time.” She pursed her lips.

“What is it?” I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her forehead.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing, really, I’ve just never been away from Ollie overnight before.” She smiled thoughtfully.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. It’s just weird.”

“Hmm. It’s okay for you to do things for yourself.”

“I know. Thanks.” She offered a quick kiss then pulled away. “Excuse me for a minute.”

I let her go and watched her walk across the suite to the bathroom. I went into the bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and stretched out on the bed.

Samantha emerged from the bathroom and joined me. “Much better.” She smiled as she crawled up into the crook of my arm and laid her head on my shoulder, just as I’d hoped she would. She stretched her arm across my stomach, and I wrapped my arm around her head and stroked at her hair. It was soft and fine. “So what is the plan?” she asked quietly.

“We’re having dinner at six. Did you finally decide on a dress, by the way?” I’d told her only that she should bring a nice dress for an evening out on the town.

“No,” she chuckled. “I still couldn’t decide so I brought them both. You can help me decide.”

“If you wish, I’d be happy to.” She yawned and I kissed her forehead. “Would you like to rest for a while? It’s only four now. You could sleep for an hour and have plenty of time to dress.”

“I don’t know why I’m so tired. You did all the driving…but, yeah, maybe I’ll close my eyes for a few minutes, so I’ll have plenty of energy for tonight.” She tilted her face up and planted a moist kiss on my neck.

I hugged my arm around her shoulders and pressed her into me. With my other hand, I interlocked my fingers with the hand she’d draped across my chest. “Sleep, dolcezza.”

Soon her respirations were slow and deep. Her heart thumped softly against me. It was an absolute miracle she was here, with me, like this.

I needed rest as well. I hadn’t gotten as much lately, because I was with Samantha so frequently. I usually didn’t permit myself to become entranced when I shared her bed, both because I enjoyed watching and feeling her while she slept and also because I feared what I looked like or did while I slept.

At that moment, however, with Samantha asleep on me, I couldn’t relax because I was thinking. I was thinking relationships were built on trust. And I had yet to be completely truthful with Samantha. I had tried to bring up the Conversation several times. Mostly I couldn’t force myself to say the words. Other times, Samantha would cut me off with reassurances.

I spent the hour Samantha slept internally debating the pros and cons of telling her during our trip. My hesitancy irritated me because it was evidence of cowardice. Surely Samantha deserved better than that.

Annoyed at myself, I slipped out from underneath her and went to shower. The hot water was particularly noticeable against my skin, which had cooled from a long stretch without feeding. I planned to feed as soon as we returned from the trip.

Thankfully, the bloodlust was no longer much of a problem, although I thirsted more when I let myself go for longer periods as I had been doing. But abstaining made me feel weaker and, for some reason, that didn’t seem like such a good idea. I needed to be strong for my girls.

My girls.

I swallowed the guilt that came with that phrase, a phrase I had once used frequently. But Samantha and Ollie were not replacements; they were simply evidence that life goes on. And damn if it hadn’t taken me too many lifetimes to figure that one out.

I stepped out of the shower and dried off, then flushed the toilet for the show of it. When soft knocks landed on the bathroom door, I secured the towel around my waist and opened it.

Samantha leaned on the jamb, her eyes widening as they locked on my bare torso. She reached up and caught a droplet of water running from my hair down my shoulder. Then she placed her hands on my chest, and the fingers on her right hand caught another stray droplet. When she brushed my Blood Mark, I sucked in a breath. Her lips fell open as she watched a third droplet slide around the base of my neck to my chest.

She leaned forward and kissed my skin over the stray droplet and let her tongue just meet my flesh as she drank the water into her mouth. I closed my eyes at the sensation. Her drinking off me was too fucking close to the fantasy of her drinking from me, and all at once the blood turned molten in my veins.

Oblivious to the seismic activity building under my skin, she continued to kiss across my chest. I wrapped an arm around her waist, the heat of her lust searing me. I burned from the inside and the out.

Ah, Cristo. I wanted her so damn bad.

Between kisses, she taunted, “So, I was just wondering if I could get you to growl again.”

I gripped her more firmly against me, wanted her to feel exactly what she was doing to me. I ground the thick column between my legs into the soft flesh of her belly. She moaned appreciatively. Her heart thundered between our chests. And then she was successful in her quest.

She bit me.

She flicked her tongue out against my nipple and sucked it into her mouth. Then her teeth closed around the taut peak in a series of playful nips. And I growled.

She couldn’t know the significance of her actions—for vampires, biting was very much a part of sex. And she also couldn’t know how wild her bites made me feel.

Instinctively, I grabbed her roughly with both arms and spun her around so her back pressed against the wall next to the bathroom door. She gasped, but I distracted her with my mouth on her lips, jaw, ear, neck. I pinned her hands next to her on the wall. Her chest heaved against me. The scent of her arousal was thick and sweet in the air, making me want her worse than I already did.

She rubbed her thighs together as I ran wet open-mouthed kisses down into the V-neck of her shirt. I rolled my hips into her. She moaned. My teeth tingled, and I had just enough awareness to keep my fangs retracted. But I wanted to sink myself into her—my fangs and my sex—more than I’d wanted almost anything ever before.

“Lucien.”

My name on her lips was an incredible invitation, so filled with need and longing. “God, I want to touch you.”

“Please.”

I released her arms, and my hands flew to her body. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt, then pulled it over her head and threw it to the floor. My hands met the swells of her breasts, and I groaned. I pushed a satiny cup out of the way, freeing a breast to my exploration. She arched into me. I caught her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. She whimpered as I teased her peaked flesh, then I replaced my fingers with my mouth, loving the way she tasted and freeing my hands to undo her shorts.

“Oh, please.”

“Anything, Sam,” I rasped as my hand slid under the silkiness of her panties. Fucking hell. She was hot and wet and slick and needful. I stroked my fingers against her sensitive flesh. She grasped my arms and sagged a little against the wall.

“Oh, my God. Please don’t stop.”

“Not until you’re screaming my name, dolcezza.”

She moaned and rocked her hips harder and faster against my fingers, which alternated between long probing strokes through her wet folds and intense circular pressure against the nerves at the top of her sex. We settled into a rhythm and, though my erection was straining against the flimsy fabric of the towel, she so enthralled my senses I could almost ignore it.

When her breaths came in short gasps against my chest, I intensified my efforts. The nails on her right hand dug into my biceps, and I growled as the pain and her orgasm hit at the same time.

“God, Lucien!”

I kept my fingers moving until she was entirely played out and groaned as the heat and intensity of her ecstatic pleasure flooded my senses. Then I pulled my hand free and clutched her to me, relishing the feel of her against me and the sound of my name falling from her satisfied lips.

A moment later, I grunted as her hand found my erection and squeezed. I stilled her and she questioned me, but I cut her off, my voice low and rough. “Dinner is in”—I glanced over my shoulder to the bedside table—”forty-five minutes, my love. You need to get dressed.” I stepped back from her and smiled as she held her position against the wall.

Her breathing was labored. Her face and neck were flushed, clothing disheveled. Her gaze dropped below my waist. “Dinner feels…optional right now, to me.”

I had to avert my eyes. If she continued to look at me that way, we would indeed miss dinner. And tempting as that was, I didn’t want her to miss what I had planned. I grabbed her shoulders and turned her body in the direction of the open bathroom door. “Get thee into the bathroom.” I swatted her rear as she started moving.

“Hey! That doesn’t help the situation here,” she called over her shoulder as she grabbed her garment bag.

I shook my head in silent agreement and laughed as she closed the door, then sucked my wet fingers into my mouth with a satisfied groan as soon as it clicked shut. I closed my eyes at the exquisite flavor of her and exhaled a huge breath as I ran my hands through my hair.

Cazzo! Cazzo! Cazzo!

I palmed my erection and willed it to sleep, then with effort focused my mind on the task at hand: getting dressed. I towel dried my hair, then unzipped my garment bag. Within minutes, I was dressed in a beautifully tailored black suit over a white shirt and a silver tie.

After a while, the bathroom door cracked open. “Okay. Here’s the first dress. Are you ready?”

I walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. “Absolutely. Let’s see it.” My breath caught in my throat when she stepped out.

The teal dress was knee length with a flowing layered skirt and a tight V-neck bodice fitted over the waist and hips. Sparkling rhinestones adorned the neckline and wide straps. She’d styled her long hair in loose curls that hung down the middle of her back, which the low cut of the dress left bare.

I stood up. “I can’t imagine how the other dress could begin to compete. You look exquisite.” I kissed the back of her hand, then stepped back to admire her again, this time noticing how long and lean her legs looked in her silver heels.

“So you like it?”

“You look mouthwatering in that dress, Samantha.” It was so true.

“You look pretty good yourself,” she offered as she ran her hands across my shoulders and smoothed my tie.

“Shall we go?” I asked, trying to ignore my body’s dire need of her.

She nodded and grabbed her purse, and I led her down through the hotel to the first surprise I’d planned for a woman in over a century.

***

Downstairs in the hotel’s trendy four-star restaurant, the maître d’ led us to a secluded table. I held Samantha’s chair for her. She noticed the small blue box perched on the table at her place and looked up at me astonished. “Is this from you?” She picked the blue box up and turned it in her hands.

I shrugged innocently as I sat. “I don’t know. I suppose you should open it.”

She smirked at my words but pulled the ribbon off the Tiffany box and set it aside. She lifted the lid. “Oh, Lucien! It’s gorgeous. This is too much.” She delicately ran her fingers over the aquamarines and diamonds of the drop pendant necklace.

“Nothing is too much for you, dolcezza. May I put it on?”

“Please.” She looked up at me. I was touched to see her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

I rose from my seat and came around behind her. She handed the necklace up to me. I secured the clasp behind her neck, then knelt down, admiring how it looked against her skin. “It’s lovely.”

I kissed her cheek and returned to my seat. “I’ve been looking for something resembling the brilliance and beauty of your eyes. I’ve just never seen anything quite like them. That necklace comes close, but your eyes remain the more remarkable by comparison.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She fingered the stones against her chest. “It’s so beautiful. This whole weekend. This is so magical being here, with you.” She reached across the table and took my hand. “Lucien, I love you so much.”

“That, my love, is the most magical thing of all.”

The way she felt about me, the way she looked, was indeed wondrous. It made it easy to tolerate the hardships the weekend imposed on me, the biggest of which was how much human food I was going to have to ingest. But there was no way to avoid it and, at any rate, she was so happy there was no way I was going to behave in any manner that might diminish her enjoyment. So I ate.

After dinner, I led her out through the hotel lobby to the street. “Wow, look at that building.” Across the street sat, unbeknownst to her, our destination, the Marcus Center for the Performing Arts, which a changing light show illuminated at night. Currently the building glowed blue and purple.

I offered her my arm, and she hooked hers through it. We crossed the street and the plaza next to the Marcus Center. When we entered the lobby, a poster on the wall revealed what we were doing.

“Oh, my God!” She looked at me wide-eyed.

I grinned at her pleasure, at having pulled off the surprise. “You said it was your favorite.”

“You brought me to see Phantom?”

“I did.”

She threw her arms around my neck, oblivious to the stares of passersby. It was clear from the emotions of some of the passing men they were less interested in her public display of affection than in her body. I scowled in response and put my arm protectively around her waist, then led her to the large elegant hall where the musical would be performed. We found our seats toward the front of the orchestra section, just right of center. Samantha sat down and grabbed my hand, which she brought to her mouth and kissed repeatedly.

“I am so excited!” She pressed the back of my hand to her cheek. Her brow furrowed. “You’re so cold, Lucien.”

I gently pulled my hand away and handed her a program. “It’s nothing. I’ve just been nervous about pulling all of this off without you finding out.” We smiled, and she began paging through the program.

The result of having consumed multiple human meals had caught up to me. I probably appeared more pale than usual as well, although, if so, the dim lighting in the theater masked my pallor.

Moments later, the house lights dimmed. Samantha became engrossed in the show. Seeing it again in person, I sympathized with the Phantom’s loneliness, understood the rash methods he used to woo Christine. Samantha focused so intently on the show, she didn’t seem to feel my eyes on her. Her reactions and emotions were much more engaging than the show itself, which was among my favorites.

During several of the songs she especially loved, she moved her lips to the music and sang silently. Somehow, though she knew it would happen, she still startled when the chandelier fell. Her whole reaction to the musical was endearing. When the house lights came up after it was over, she wiped the tears from her eyes with both hands.

“Oh, that was wonderful. I love that musical so much.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I would do anything to make you as happy as you look right now.” I kissed her on the cheek as we moved through the crowded theater. I concentrated hard on Samantha, my current state of undernourishment making it particularly difficult to rein in all of my instincts. I stopped breathing, which eased the situation until I locked eyes with a woman standing just ahead of me. Her heart rate spiked, and she blushed as her own instincts reacted. My hunger roared. I glanced away and forced myself to ignore the sound of her pulsing blood, then ushered Samantha through the straightest path I could discern to an exit. Once we were outside the theater, I sucked in a deep breath.

“Are you okay, Lucien? You look a little pale.”

I blinked away the threatening rush of blood behind my eyes before I looked at her. “I’m much better than okay, dolcezza. I’m with you. I’m wonderful.” She smiled. “Would you like to take a walk? There is supposed to be a path along the river over that way.” The fresh air was helping.

“That sounds nice.” She leaned into me and shivered a little.

I stepped away from her, needing the moment to collect myself, and then shrugged out of my suit coat. “Here.” It was miles too big, but she made it look sexy nonetheless.

She pulled the fabric of the collar up to her nose and breathed deeply. The look on her face was complete satisfaction. I smiled to myself at such a small but meaningful gesture. Sometimes it was so hard to believe she loved me. But I knew she did.

I could see it. I could feel it. It was an inexorable truth. These thoughts alleviated the worst of the bloodlust.

We reached the river walk where a few other couples strolled as well. “So, tell me, what do you think of the Phantom?”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve always felt bad for him,” she began. “He’s clearly lonely. But he’s also so desperate and angry he makes his situation worse.”

“How so?”

“Well, despite the way he acts, Christine cares for him, at least on some level. Perhaps if he had been nicer and less manipulative, she could have both loved him and accepted him.”

“Do you really think she could have found a way to love a monster?”

“He made himself into a monster. And he assumed she couldn’t handle what he was, so he lied and hid himself. She might not have seen him as a monster if he’d been honest with her about his condition. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too idealistic.” She smiled.

“What about you? If it turned out I was a monster, could you accept me?”

She stopped and looked up at me. “Hmm. What kind of a monster would you be?”

“Would it matter?” Something in my eyes must have alerted something in her body, because her heart rate ticked up measurably and she shivered.

She tugged the lapels of my coat closed around her. “If you’re a monster, Lucien, than so am I. In which case, we would still belong together.”

“Samantha—”

Her phone buzzed in her purse. I bit back a curse in Italian at the interruption of the perfect segue into what I so very badly needed to tell her.

“That’s odd. It’s so late.” She fished around in the small silver bag and pulled her phone out.

“Hello?”

The blood drained from her face. “What happened? Okay…Okay…” A tear ran from her left eye as she listened. “I’ll be home as soon as I can get there. Thanks.”

My hearing had allowed me in on both sides of the conversation, but I still had to ask for appearance’s sake. “What’s wrong?”

“Dad…he collapsed. They don’t know what happened yet. Ollie got up to go to the bathroom and found him on the hall floor. She ran next door to Mrs. Johnson, who called 911.” Her face paled and her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry…”

“I’m so sorry. Everything will be all right. Come on.” I turned us back in the direction of the hotel, my arm around her shoulders. “We’ll leave immediately. I’ll get us back as quickly as humanly possible.” If I could get her to fall asleep, it could be even faster.

Within thirty minutes we had returned, changed, packed, and were speeding out of Milwaukee.

Chapter Eleven

Joe never regained consciousness after the stroke.

He lived for seven days on life support. On the morning of the seventh day, Samantha requested the life support be removed. Joe had made it clear he didn’t want to be kept alive by machines if something ever happened to him.

During his week in the hospital, I cared for Ollie so Samantha could concentrate on her father. Ollie was not doing well. Not only was she traumatized by finding Joe unconscious, but she was deathly afraid Samantha would leave her next. Every time Samantha left the house to go to the hospital, Ollie cried for her to stay. Samantha’s heart broke over and over again as Ollie’s old insecurities resurfaced.

The second day was so bad I resorted to charming her after Samantha left. I calmed her, and moments later she fell asleep in my arms from the stress. I held her on the couch like that for three hours before she woke up. When she did, she looked me square in the eyes and said, “At least I know you’ll never leave me.”

I had no idea what made her say that, but was desperate to reassure her. “I’ll always be here for you, Ollie.”

When I accompanied Samantha to the hospital on the third day, her neighbor, Mrs. Johnson, watched Ollie. Though she babysat for Samantha frequently, she was elderly and couldn’t really manage a distraught child, so I had to use my power over Ollie then, as well. It was just hard for her to watch both of us depart at once, but her body was so worn out it was easy to will her to sleep.

I really needed to go to the hospital, though. Since we’d returned from Milwaukee, I hadn’t had time to feed. It was critical I do so, given the heightened emotional states of my girls, not to mention, I was too pale, too cold, and too far out on the edge of my control.

When we arrived at the hospital, I offered to get Samantha some breakfast from the cafeteria. She went up to Joe’s room while I met Langston at his office. I’d called him while Samantha slept on the drive home from Milwaukee so he could prepare for me to stop by sometime during the week; he had five pints waiting. I handed him an envelope as I entered his room. He stood watch outside the door while I drank. I disposed of everything in a bag he’d provided. “I’m done, Langston.”

He easily heard my voice through the door and walked in and sat behind his desk. “You still look a little like hell, Lucien.”

“Thanks. Appreciate that.”

“What’s the deal?”

As much time as I was spending at the hospital, he would figure it out soon enough, so I told him about Samantha. I could feel his surprise and even a little disapproval, but I respected him for simply saying, “Good for you, man.” He had always been a good friend.

I left shortly after that and picked up a bagel and coffee from the cafeteria. Samantha was so absorbed with her father she barely registered when I returned. The only good thing about her distraction was she didn’t register my temperature change. I kissed the top of her head.

She flicked her eyes to me and attempted a smile. Her emotions were a salty-sour mixture of sadness, guilt, despair, and hope. But she had too much medical knowledge to put much faith in the latter.

The next day Samantha asked me to stay with Ollie, who was still asleep when Samantha left. It felt odd being in their house without Samantha around. I wandered into her room where I had been “sleeping” lately, and lay down on her side of the bed. I buried my face in her pillow and breathed in her scent, then shifted and looked around the room, memorizing every detail of the place where Samantha was most herself.

Finally, my eyes settled on the slightly open drawer of the nightstand table next to me. Without thinking, I pulled the drawer open and saw Samantha’s well-used journal inside. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

Samantha had been so distant the last couple of days, which I completely understood, but I found myself longing for just a hint of her old happiness and suspected some might lie within those pages. I picked the book up and turned randomly to a page in the middle.

Samantha filled her journal with thoughts about raising a child as a single parent, her relationship with her father, and her achievements and friendships in her nursing program. I flipped forward several more pages and stopped when my name jumped off the page.

I met a guy at the hospital tonight named Lucien, I think. I say “I think” because when he shook my hand my brain seemed to stop working. I’m not sure if I heard him right. He was so gorgeous. I mean, just unreal. He was tall and had the best hair—brown and a little long and wavy. I felt like I could get lost in his eyes. They were the most interesting shade of gray. I made a complete idiot of myself in front of him, although he didn’t seem to notice. I really hope I get the chance to run into him again.

A few pages later, my name appeared again.

How weird is this? That guy Lucien I met outside the hospital now rents a house right near mine. When I saw him I couldn’t believe it. And then Ollie seemed to know him. Turns out she snuck out of the house last weekend and fell down. He helped her. AND she hugged him. I almost fell over when she did that. She looked so little in his arms, and he completely gave her what she needed. It was so sweet. I can’t remember the last time Ollie reacted that way to someone. That must be a good sign about this guy. Ollie has always been a good judge of people.

I knew I shouldn’t read her journal, but I was hooked. Just a few more pages, I told myself. Then I would never do this again.

Ollie and I went over to visit Lucien at his house this morning. Ollie insisted we make him an angel food cake of all things. I had to send Dad to the store for all the eggs. Lucien seemed surprised but pleased that we came. He gave us a tour of his house. I had always wondered what that old place looked like on the inside—he renovated it and it was beautiful. And he did all the work. He is obviously very talented. God, he is so handsome. He seems rugged and refined all at once. He’s so tall and his hair looks so soft. I just want to run my hands through it and brush it behind his ears. And he has an incredible body. Can I just say? The width of his shoulders! Oh. My. God. But he’s so gentle and kind too. I wonder what Mr. Cute-Sexy-and-Talented would think of being with a twenty-six-year-old mother of a five-year-old…Sigh. Just what every guy wants. Oh, and the weirdest thing happened, Ollie tripped down the steps and somehow he caught her. I swear it seems impossible that he did, but he did. Maybe he’s like Clark Kent. That’s too funny.

…Aaaahhh! I asked Lucien to kiss me tonight and he did and IT WAS INCREDIBLE! Okay, back up. He took me for an ice cream cone, and the next thing I know I put ice cream on his face. I have no idea what possessed me. But then he did it to me. For some strange reason he wouldn’t eat the ice cream off his finger so I did it for him. I thought his eyes were going to bug out of his head. And I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest. What a pair we would have been. But then I asked him to kiss me— and I swear it was the best first kiss ever in the history of the universe. And the way he wrapped himself around me! I made an excuse of wanting to say good night to Ollie so he would take me home, because I so would have ripped his clothes off right then and there. There’s something quiet and brooding about him that is so sexy. Ugh!

…Today I told Lucien about Jensen and my decision to have Ollie. He didn’t freak out! God, he seems to like Ollie as much as she likes him. She talks about Lucien all the time. It’s very sweet, but it also makes me worry a little. She’s getting all attached to this man, and I have no idea what he even is to me yet, except he did say he likes me too! He took me on a date tonight to this great jazz place. An actual date! God, it felt so good. But before that he played his violin for me. I thought I would melt. It might have been the most beautiful, passionate thing I’ve ever heard. He was so sexy and intense when he was playing. He is really different from other men. I can’t figure out what it is. The way he listens to me— he’s always so attentive and intense. Whatever it is, I really like it. But I have to be careful. I think I could really fall for this guy if I let myself. God, I don’t feel lonely for the first time in, well, five years. Lucien. When he looks at me he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the whole world.

I closed the book.

I wanted to keep reading. Hearing her thoughts about me was just so damn gratifying, but it was also so wrong. The last thing Samantha needed to worry about was me invading her privacy while she was at the hospital with her dying father. Vowing I’d never open it again, I slid the journal back into the drawer and pushed it shut. I’m sorry, Samantha.

The next couple of days were sunny, so I stayed with Ollie during the day and visited Samantha at the hospital in the evenings to bring her home. She was grateful for my attention to Ollie, who was quiet most of the week and seemed to be watching me a lot.

By Saturday morning, Samantha had made her peace. She knew enough to know Joe wasn’t waking up from what had happened. She requested they remove the life support and spent the day glued to his side, sure he would pass at any moment. He surprised everyone by hanging on.

Then, midmorning on Sunday, Joe Sutton took his last breath while Samantha sat by his side holding his hand. I was in the hospital cafeteria getting Samantha a coffee and a muffin. She had hardly eaten in the week since we’d returned from Milwaukee, and I was determined to help her keep up her strength. I knew the moment it happened, because a wave of pain so crushing swept through me I dropped the coffee on the floor where I waited to pay for it.

I fled out of the cafeteria and through the hospital, needing to get to Samantha as fast as I could. A nurse at the ICU desk gave me a look signaling what’d happened. I nodded, then pushed through the door to Joe’s room.

Samantha sat next to his bed. Her face was stoic as she looked at her father and clutched his hand. I paused at the foot of his bed, not wanting to intrude on her moment with him. Slowly, she turned toward me. Her face crumpled in a wave of grief. I ran around to the side of the bed, knelt down next to her chair, and wrapped myself around her. She let go of Joe’s hand and slumped into my arms.

I drew her weight down into my lap. She sobbed against my chest until she was hoarse and clenched her fist in my shirt. The intensity of her pain felt dangerously familiar; it mirrored the nearly paralyzing grief I’d felt at various times during my life. It was hard to take, but I had to. She deserved my support. I would be strong for her.

Some amount of time later, two nurses came in the room to disconnect the equipment. One peered around the end of the bed to where we sat on the floor.

I nodded to her as I lifted Samantha into my arms and walked us over to the armchair in the corner. I sat and settled Samantha on my lap, then brushed her hair back from her face. Between her tears and the sweat she’d worked up from how hard she’d cried, her face and hair were damp.

She looked at me and smiled weakly, communicating with one glance all the gratitude and love she felt but couldn’t bring herself to voice in that moment. I kissed her forehead. She pulled the edge of her T-shirt up and wiped her face, then nodded to the nurse.

“Would you like to have a minute with him first?” the nurse asked.

Samantha pushed herself off my lap and approached Joe’s bed. I stood up but stayed back. Samantha leaned over and kissed Joe’s cheek. “I love you, Dad. Thank you for taking us in. I hope you know how much I always appreciated that and how much I love you. Say hi to Mom for me.” After a long moment, she stepped back and nodded.

The nurses disengaged the brake on the bed and wheeled it from the room. When they were gone, Samantha gazed around the nearly empty space. Then she turned and looked at me. “It’s just me now.” Her voice broke. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’m completely alone.”

I flew to her, her sadness thick and salty in my mouth. “I know what that feels like, Sam. But I promise you two things. First, you are strong enough to bear this. I know it doesn’t feel like it. But you are. And, second, you are not alone. I will be here for you as long as you’ll let me.”

She threw her arms around my neck and cried quietly, her breath catching every few moments as she tried to rein in her grief. She held on as if her life depended on it. And, to her, in that moment, it did. She sagged against me, drained from her outpourings of grief.

“Ssh, dolcezza. I’ve got you. It’ll be all right.” I folded my arms around her body and pulled her in, wanting her to feel me there, to have something solid, unmoving, unchanging, to hold onto. I knew what it felt like to lose your whole family at such a young age.

She released her grip and stepped back. “I have to tell Ollie. Will you come with me?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

She nodded as equal measures of gratitude and worry rolled off her amidst the sadness. “Let’s go home, then,” she whispered as she took a deep breath and tried to put on a brave face.

On the drive home, Samantha’s fear about the conversation with Ollie escalated. Sensing she needed a minute to collect herself when we parked, I offered, “Why don’t you go in the house. I’ll get Ollie from Mrs. Johnson’s and bring her over.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Her voice was flat and a little hoarse. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it, then let go and walked toward her door.

I waited a few minutes to make sure Samantha had the time she needed, then knocked on Mrs. Johnson’s door. Ollie came flying out. I thanked Mrs. Johnson as I picked up Ollie, who wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck.

“Hi, Lucien.”

“Hi.”

“What’s up?” She studied me.

It wasn’t my place to tell her anything, so I simply kissed her cheek as I walked her back to her house. Samantha was sitting on the couch and held her arms open to Ollie, who ran over and climbed on her lap. I sat next to them.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, baby. How are you?”

“Okay. How is Grampa?” she asked quietly.

Samantha took a deep breath. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, sweetie. Do you know how I said Grampa was really sick and might not wake up?” Ollie nodded and twisted a finger in her long hair. “Well, Grampa’s not with us anymore now.”

“Grampa died?” she whispered.

“Yes, Grampa died.” Samantha was making a heroic effort to restrain her own grief.

“Did it hurt?”

“No, baby. It didn’t hurt at all. Grampa didn’t feel anything. I promise.”

A tear stole out of the corner of Ollie’s eye. “I miss him.”

“I do, too, Ollie. Oh, baby,” Samantha cooed as Ollie’s face crumpled and her little shoulders shook. Samantha hugged her small frame in against her chest and stroked at her daughter’s long hair. After a few minutes, Ollie quieted and Samantha alternated soothing words with soft kisses to her forehead. “It’s okay to talk about missing him. Okay? You can talk to me about Grampa any time. Okay?”

Ollie nodded her head underneath Samantha’s chin. When her breathing finally evened out, she slid across the couch onto my lap. “Can we live with Lucien now?”

I was amazed by both her actions and her words. That she’d think to be with me in this moment of need absolutely melted me.

Samantha managed, “No, Ollie. This is our house. We live here.”

Ollie was about to protest when I had an idea. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out my key chain, then worked a silver key off the ring. “How about this? I’m going to give you two a key to my house. And your mommy gave me a key to your house. So now we can come see each other at our houses any time we want. Okay?”

Ollie hugged the key against her chest. “Okay.” Samantha looked at me and smiled weakly.

Waves of gratitude rolled off both of them and warmed me with a sense of belonging. It had been a long time since I’d felt as needed as I did in that moment.

Over the next several days, Samantha mostly operated on autopilot. I helped her make arrangements for Joe’s funeral, which was on Wednesday. Joe hadn’t belonged to a church, so Samantha chose a nearby funeral parlor. Dozens of her friends and colleagues showed up for the memorial service, along with a few of Joe’s colleagues from his Wayne State days.

Samantha’s eyes were unfocused throughout most of the service, Suddenly, she started writing on the back of the service program, then held it up for me: I’m not sure I can make it through this without you. Will you please help me?

I leaned my forehead against hers. Samantha had gotten me through my grief, there was no question I’d do the same for her. “Yes, Sam. Anything you need, I will be here for you.”

She nodded, then rested her body against mine as she turned her attention back to the front. After the service, we followed the hearse to the cemetery, where there was another brief service. One of Samantha’s nurse friends took Ollie back home, where she and some of the other nurses organized food for those who wanted to pay their respects. Within three hours, the house was quiet again. Just the three of us remained.

That night after Samantha put Ollie to sleep, she came in and sat on her bed with me. She looked drained. “I need your advice about something.”

“What is it?” I grabbed her hand and brought it to my lips.

“School starts in a week…” Her eyes got glassy.

“You’re wondering if you should return to school?” I rubbed soothing circles over her knuckles with my thumb.

She nodded. Her self-doubt and disappointment tasted bitter.

“I think you should.” She looked up, ready to challenge, but I pressed on. “I think Joe would want you to. Remember how he encouraged you to go back after your mom died? He wouldn’t want you to give this up, especially when you’re so close to being done. And Ollie starts kindergarten in two weeks. If she sees you go back to school, I think it will make it easier for her to do it too. And maybe most important of all, you deserve to finish this. It might even help you to have something else to think about. With Ollie at school, you don’t want to just sit around here all day thinking. Trust me. Idle time is not your friend in these situations.”

How well I knew.

She took my advice and returned to complete her last semester of nursing school, and Ollie began kindergarten. They were putting on brave fronts, but their sadness and fear were palpable. Samantha’s grief hardly abated as the summer turned into fall. For weeks, she fell asleep crying in my arms. I was desperate to help them, but wasn’t sure what more I could do.

The interesting thing was I no longer craved Samantha’s happiness for my own sake. I loved her so deeply, I cherished the experience of all of her emotions. I simply wanted to help her heal.

Halloween passed, then my birthday—which Samantha insisted on observing, and then Thanksgiving. We had small celebrations to try to keep things normal for Ollie, but Samantha’s heart wasn’t really into any of it. She needed a change. That’s when it came to me. I called Griffin. After he checked with everyone, he enthusiastically agreed.

One early December night after Samantha put Ollie to bed, I suggested the idea: “How about for Christmas we go to New York to visit my family?”

Her eyes lit up in a way they hadn’t for months. “Really? But I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense, Sam. I’ve already talked to them, and they’d be thrilled to have us. They’d really like to meet you.”

She thought for a minute. “Okay. A change of scenery might do us good.”

For the three weeks before Christmas, she and Ollie were both brimming with excitement about our trip to New York. I, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. I didn’t know how many phone calls and e-mails I exchanged with Griffin and the others. There were so many contingencies to anticipate and make plans for. I doubted whether an entire coven of vampires could fool a pair of humans in close quarters for five days. But they all scoffed at me. They reassured me they were up to the challenge.

The week before Christmas, Samantha and I sprawled on the couch together watching a movie after Ollie had gone to bed. Samantha had just finished all of her exams and was the most relaxed I’d seen her in weeks. “Sam?”

“Hmm?” She was absentmindedly combing her fingers through my hair as I leaned my back against her chest. I loved her hands in my hair. She seemed to love to play with it.

“I need to tell you something.” Well, two somethings, actually.

“Okay.”

“It’s not a big deal, but I wanted you to know one of the people you’ll meet in New York, my sister- in-law’s sister, Catherine… well, I just wanted you to know I dated her for a while after Lena died.” Again, the vague outline of the truth.

“Okay.” She shifted so she could see my face more. “Is there a reason I need to know this?”

“No, not really. We’re on friendly terms, and I know she’s looking forward to meeting you. It’s just…there are things about my past you still don’t know that you should know.” Of course, dating Catherine was not the most important thing about me she didn’t know. I berated myself inside for that as we spoke.

She sighed. “Lucien, I’m about to meet your family. And we’ve just spent pretty much every day of the last six months together. You’ve seen me at my absolute worst and never wavered one instant in your love or commitment to me. Whatever I don’t know about you at this point isn’t that important.” She reached her hand into a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

I sighed. I would need to talk to my family about this while we were there. I have to tell her. Soon. I could barely stand myself for not having done so already. I’d never been able to find the courage I’d nearly summoned that night in Milwaukee to attempt the Conversation. I couldn’t imagine doing it in the midst of Samantha’s grief. That had been a convenient excuse. And I knew it. I shifted so my ear was against Samantha’s chest and concentrated on the rhythmic sound of her heart to distract me from my thoughts.

Soon, it was Christmas Eve. Samantha and Ollie were bubbling with excitement about our trip. We packed up the Silverado with luggage and presents and got underway. Samantha loaded more songs on the iPod, including a number of Christmas carols at Ollie’s request.

It was the most alive I had seen and felt them in months.

Including a stop for lunch and several stops for the bathroom, we made it to Ithaca in about eight hours. I smiled to myself—it was the longest it’d ever taken me to make that trip.

If I’d had a heart that could beat, it would’ve been thundering as we pulled up the gravel drive to Orchard Hill. I smiled when Ollie gasped.

They’d gone all out. About a dozen trees in the front yard glittered with colored lights and every window in the front of the house had a white candle. A huge wreath with greenery, pine cones, berries, and a large red bow adorned the door. This was my family’s first Christmas ever with a child in the house. They were thrilled.

I pulled the truck into the circular drive and parked behind Jed’s Infiniti Crossover—he’d loved when Nissan first introduced the Infiniti luxury line in 1989. He thought it appropriate for our kind and had owned some Infiniti vehicle ever since.

I looked at Samantha and then back at Ollie. “Well, girls, we’re here. Welcome to Orchard Hill.”

Chapter Twelve

All of a sudden Samantha got nervous. Her anxiety combined with mine was a bit overwhelming in the confined space of the truck cab. I hopped out and opened the door for Ollie, who promptly jumped down into the snow.

When the front door opened, I spoke so only the vampires could hear. “Do not overwhelm them.” It was a fair reminder, for any one of us could do it individually, let alone a whole coven.

Griffin and Henrietta walked down the shoveled path toward us, while Ollie, Samantha, and I moved forward to meet them. I shook Griffin’s hand and hugged Henrietta and made introductions. Ollie seemed puzzled as she studied them. She looked between them and me several times, but Henrietta distracted her and lured her inside with a dazzling description of their Christmas tree.

After stomping the snow off our shoes in the foyer and taking off our coats, we walked through the living room into the great room where everyone was gathered. In front of the windows on the far side stood a mammoth tree easily fourteen feet tall. There must’ve been a thousand ornaments and ten times as many lights. I was going to owe them big for this visit.

As we stepped down into the room, everyone rose from their seats. Ollie had already met them and was now walking around the tree with Henrietta, who delighted in pointing out different ornaments to her. Some of them were quite old and unusual. Ollie was absolutely enthralled.

With my hand on the small of her back, I made more introductions. “Sam, this is my brother Jed and his wife, Rebecca.” Rebecca seemed unusually restrained; she felt nervous to meet Samantha. They all shook hands.

“And this is Rebecca’s sister, Catherine.”

Catherine kissed Samantha on the cheek and welcomed her with a warm smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, Sam. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Samantha was doing so well, though her body was reacting to the presence of so many of our kind. Her heart rate was faster than normal and goose bumps sprang up on her arms when Catherine kissed her. She didn’t seem aware of these instinctual reactions.

“And finally, this is my youngest brother, William, and his wife, Anna.” Casting William as my brother was something of a stretch as we looked nothing alike. At least Jed, Griffin, and I had dark hair. But Samantha radiated nothing but acceptance as she shook their hands.

“This is a beautiful room,” Samantha offered as she admired the central fireplace aglow with a crackling fire.

“Griffin designed and built it,” I told her.

“Oh, Griffin, it’s wonderful. So construction runs in the family, then?”

Griffin and I looked at each other and smiled. “Yes,” he said.

“So, I know William is the youngest, but what’s the order among you?”

“I’m the oldest,” Griffin began as everyone found seats on the leather couches, “followed by Jed, Lucien, and William.”

“Yes, but I’m the best looking,” William countered. Samantha chuckled. William beamed at her reaction. It was stunning to me she accepted all of them so readily.

Henrietta’s voice called from near the tree. “Samantha, Lucien, would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” I replied. Jed rolled his eyes. I glared at him in warning.

“A glass of water would be fine, please.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something else, Sam? We have wine, juice, and soda.”

“No, for now just water, please.”

Henrietta nodded and led Ollie into the kitchen. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered to Samantha. I walked into the foyer where I found our stuff piled. Griffin must’ve brought it in earlier. I reached into my bag and pulled out the small flask I’d brought from home, then headed into the kitchen, which smelled of human food. The double ovens were both on and filled with pans and bowls.

Ollie knelt in front of the fridge and arranged letter magnets in rows. I raised my eyebrows at Henrietta who simply smiled. She’d thought of everything.

Henrietta set a cup of juice on the counter behind Ollie and filled a glass of water out of the refrigerator door for Samantha. I poured a few drops from the flask into Ollie’s juice and again into Sam’s water. Henrietta looked at me questioningly.

“Insurance.”

She still looked confused. I hesitated for a moment and then splashed a droplet of the holy water on the back of my hand where it hissed. Henrietta’s eyes widened as she understood. Her expression and emotions clouded with hurt.

I walked over and squeezed her hand. “Since day one, Hen, because I wasn’t sure I could trust myself. Not just because we’re here.” She relaxed a little and nodded. I replaced the cap on the flask and stored it in the cabinet with the glasses.

Ollie looked up at me. “Can I stay here and play?”

“Sure. We’ll be in here if you need us.” I walked back to the great room and handed Samantha her water, then sat down beside her again.

Everyone had been asking Samantha questions about me, our relationship, and her school. They all offered a round of congratulations when she reported she’d successfully completed her degree and landed a job at the children’s hospital that started in a month. Henrietta was particularly curious to learn about her education and work as a nurse. Griffin offered his seat to Henrietta, and the pair of them became quickly immersed in medical speak.

I joined the guys who moved near the tree and pretended to admire the ornaments so we could talk without Samantha hearing.

“She’s wonderful, Lucien.” Griffin smiled at me. “I can’t believe she seems so comfortable among all of us.”

Jed looked at Griffin. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

“It happens, although it’s not common.”

William agreed. “The girl’s the same way. Did you all notice how easily she meets your eyes?”

“Yes. I didn’t even hear her heart rate accelerate when she came near us. Did any of you?” Griffin and William both shook their heads no at Jed’s question.

Samantha came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “So, men don’t typically stand around admiring Christmas trees. What are you boys plotting over here?”

I leaned my head back and kissed her forehead. Curiosity and astonishment radiated off the men. “No plots. We were just gossiping like old women.”

“Oh. I want in.” Her pout was beautiful. I smiled and turned in her arms to hug her back.

“Samantha, are you getting hungry? Everything’s almost ready. I just have to get it all out of the oven,” Henrietta said as she walked into the kitchen.

“Yes, but can I please help?” Samantha asked as she followed Henrietta.

Jed and William made faces at each other, and then Jed grabbed my shoulders from behind. “So, she really has you wrapped around her little finger there, huh, brother?”

I rolled my eyes. “No more than Rebecca has you whipped.”

He gripped me harder. I shoved him away. They snickered and I smirked. Henrietta interrupted their teasing by calling us to eat.

The dining room table was already set. It looked like a spread right out of an interior design magazine. As Henrietta pulled the food out of the oven, Samantha moved it to the table. “Everything smells and looks wonderful,” she told Henrietta, who smiled appreciatively.

As Henrietta, Samantha, and Rebecca made the final arrangements for dinner, the rest of us conspired in low voices in the living room. They teased me about what I’d owe them for all the human food they were going to ingest over the next several days. I felt their pain—there was simply no way for us to avoid at least one and probably two big Christmas meals with Samantha and Ollie here. I’d burned through more blood and thrown up more in the last six months than in the last six decades together.

They decided to make a bet of it. Jed came up with the terms. “Okay,” he said, “whoever can go the whole holiday without throwing up, Lucien has to buy them the electronics of their choice.” I rolled my eyes. “Lucien, of course, is not eligible to win.”

“Aw, I so need a media room in my cabin, Lucien.” William rubbed his hands together.

“So here are the rules,” Jed continued. Everyone looked at him in anticipation. I was grateful for their willingness to make a game of this, even if it was going to cost me. “First, you have to eat normal portions, roughly equating whatever Samantha eats. Second, if Samantha offers you food at any point during her time here, you have to accept. Third, Samantha can never be allowed to eat by herself. And fourth, outside of our ‘wine’ at dinner, no hunting while she’s here.”

Everyone groaned at the last rule. I’d agreed we could try sneaking “red wine” at dinner, but if she seemed at all suspicious we wouldn’t do it again.

We all took our seats in the dining room. Griffin and Henrietta sat at the heads of the table. Rebecca, William, Catherine, and Jed sat on one side and Samantha, Ollie, me, and Anna sat on the other.

“Samantha, it would be our great honor if you would be willing to say grace.” Griffin looked at her warmly.

“Oh. Okay. Sure. Well, we had a tradition in my family when I was growing up. It went like this: ‘God, we thank you for this food, for rest and home and all things good, for wind and rain and sun above, but most of all for those we love. And for those who are no longer near, please, oh God, do hear our prayer.’ Then we would go around and say the names of people we loved who aren’t with us anymore. I’ll start. My mom and dad.” Samantha looked at Ollie.

“Grampa.” Ollie looked at Henrietta.

Anxiety bloomed throughout the room. Samantha could not know it, of course, but she was asking them to delve into parts of their existence they mostly tried to avoid. Of course, her recent pain was as significant as our own. She didn’t ask so much more of us than she’d done herself.

After a moment, Henrietta simply replied, “For Robert, Robby, and Lucretia.”

“For Joseph and Thomas,” Jed said quietly.

“For our parents and brother,” Catherine said. Rebecca nodded.

“Maggie.” William looked to Griffin.

“Charlotte and the children,” he said.

“I would like to remember my parents,” Anna said shyly.

It had come around to me. Samantha squeezed my hand under the table. Catherine braced for the onslaught. “For Lena, Isabetta, and Joe.”

Two waves of surprise hit me. First, from Catherine, who was surprised because my saying their names hadn’t been accompanied by the wave of pain she expected. Second, from Samantha, because I had included her father among my loved ones. A tear stole down her cheek closest to me. I wiped it away.

I picked up my wine glass, which Henrietta had already filled. “To our loved ones.” Everyone raised and clinked glasses with those nearest them, repeating my toast in a chorus before bringing their glass to their lips.

“Please, everyone, dig in,” Griffin said ceremoniously. A chuckle went around the table.

I handed the bowls to Samantha first, who fixed her and Ollie’s plates. Ollie studied Henrietta with interest as she filled her plate with food. Henrietta looked at me. I shrugged.

Everyone kept an eye on what and how much Samantha was putting on her plate. Before long, the turkey, gravy, dressing, potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, and corn bread had circled the table.

This much food went back to the old days of our food dares. I knew the men were thinking of that as well.

The good news was Samantha was hungry. She seemed to have more of an appetite tonight than I’d seen in months. The bad news was Samantha was hungry. People kept making alternately funny, annoyed, and incredulous faces at me when Samantha wasn’t looking.

The conversation was great. Samantha told animated stories about Ollie’s antics, which Ollie added to by narrating her own versions of the stories. Ollie also entertained everyone by telling jokes. She was so earnest in her telling everyone laughed at them. Catherine regaled us with stories of her travels. Samantha mentioned our trip to see Phantom of the Opera and unintentionally set off a fifteen-minute debate about which was the best Broadway musical. Since they lived relatively close to New York City, they availed themselves of the theater frequently and all had strong opinions. Samantha laughed at how passionate they were in defending their choices.

As Samantha finished, Anna abruptly excused herself from the table. I didn’t know exactly where she went, but it was close enough for the vampires to hear her lose her dinner. Everyone laughed. Samantha looked at me questioningly. I distracted her with a kiss.

As everyone rose from the table to help clean up, William went to check on Anna. No one was surprised she was the first one out. She was the youngest and therefore the least used to ingesting human food.

Once we’d cleared the table, several of us congregated in the kitchen to wash the dishes and put everything away. Ollie performed Christmas carols for the others in the great room and every so often we’d hear them clap or join in. She was the life of the party.

When we were done in the kitchen, Samantha pulled a package out of the bags in the foyer and took it into the great room. “Would you like to open one present tonight, Ollie?”

“Yeah!” She grabbed the snowman-covered box and tore the paper off. She pulled the box apart and found a pair of Christmas princess pajamas. “Yay! Princesses! Thanks, Mommy.” She tossed them aside. “Can I open another one? Please?”

“Nope. Santa will bring the rest late tonight…if you go to sleep in time. Come on.”

“Lucien,” Henrietta called, “put Ollie in your room. You and Sam can have the guest suite.”

I nodded, then headed to the hallway to grab our bags and led Samantha and Ollie upstairs to my old room. A number of picture frames were gone from the dresser; they’d put away all of the photographs and other things throughout the house that would’ve been out of place chronologically for any of us.

Ollie jumped up on the mission-style queen bed and stretched out her arms and legs. “Wow! This is big!”

While Samantha got Ollie changed into her new pajamas, I walked our bags down to the guest suite. When I returned, we kissed Ollie good night and went back downstairs.

At the bottom of the steps, we retrieved three bags of packages and lugged them into the great room. Samantha knelt on the ground and spread the packages out under the tree. Most were for Ollie, but she also had presents for all of the rest of us there, too. I went out to the truck to grab my presents and added them to the piles she had started.

Everyone was gathered on the leather couches except…”Where are Rebecca and Jed?” I asked.

Catherine smirked. “They’ll be right back. Rebecca wasn’t feeling well and went…to take some medicine. Nothing serious.” That made two.

Griffin and Henrietta walked out of the room and returned several moments later with their own gifts. Samantha gasped when she saw the purple princess bike with training wheels and ribbons hanging from the handlebars. “Griffin, that’s too much.”

“Please, Samantha. It’s not. She’s the only child here for Christmas. Please let us splurge on her.” I knew Griffin had to restrain Henrietta. If she’d had her way she would’ve bought the whole toy store for Ollie.

Samantha relented. She knew Ollie would absolutely love a bike. “Thank you, guys, so much. She’s going to flip when she sees that.” Before long, a literal mountain of wrapped packages appeared underneath the tree.

When Jed and Rebecca returned, she nonchalantly proposed watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Everyone agreed and piled on the couches. Samantha cuddled into me. Griffin and Henrietta smiled.

I never imagined in a hundred years I could have all of this happiness at one time.

For the first time in an impossibly long time, I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the odd man out. I was no longer a one. Instead, for the first time, I was one of two—one of three, actually. And I was finally free from the sense of guilt and betrayal that once plagued any effort I made for happiness.

In that moment, I belonged like never before. My family surrounded me, supported me, loved me. And Samantha and Ollie were fundamentally a part of that now.

I was home.

***

Everyone retired to their rooms around midnight. Samantha and I were sleeping in the guest suite, which was in the newer section of the house and featured a huge king-size poster bed and an adjoining bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub.

I threw my clothes over the back of a chair and walked into the bathroom in a pair of gray boxers and a white beater. I closed the door to give Samantha privacy to change and made a show of flushing the toilet. I returned to the bed and froze.

Samantha was sprawled across it wearing nothing but dark red lace lingerie that sat off her shoulders and closed with satin ribbons. Her golden hair cascaded around her neck and splayed out on the hunter green comforter around her. She looked exquisite. Pure and decadent at the same time.

She held one finger up and beckoned me to her. I crawled up her body and held myself above her. I had no idea how I was going to be able to resist her when she looked like this and looked at me like that. For months, the depth of her grief had put any progression of our physical relationship on hold. She’d never before tempted me like this.

“Merry Christmas, Lucien.”

“It is, because of you. Merry Christmas.”

She stroked her fingers from my cheeks, down my neck, and across my collar bones to my chest. Then she dropped her hands to her own chest and slowly untied the two satin ribbons that held the lace bodice together. The confidence she exuded was seductive, and the heat of her hunger coursed through my abdomen and groin.

I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes. This is impossible.

“Lucien?”

I opened my eyes and met hers. “If I look at you when you look this incredible, dolcezza, I won’t be able to control myself.”

“That’s sorta the point. I don’t want you to control yourself. We’ve been about as controlled as two adults should be. I was aiming for a lack of control tonight.” She pulled the lace completely off the sides of her chest just to make her point. “You’re what I want for Christmas. Please? I want you so much.”

The way she offered herself to me was so appealing. She looked beyond beautiful, flushed with her desire and literally glowing. And I loved her more than my life.

I lowered my weight onto her and found her mouth with mine, then ran my left hand down her arm, along the side of her breast to her hip, and back up. I stroked her tongue with mine and relished her taste. When I licked and nipped down her neck, I paused to suck gently over her carotid artery. You’re safe with me, Samantha. And I knew it was true. Her existence was fundamental to my own. I could never do anything to harm her.

She rolled her hips up into mine, and we both groaned when she pressed herself against my erection. I slid down and kissed and licked between her breasts. She was so perfectly formed. I shifted to the side and licked over her nipple, then pulled it into my mouth with my lips. Her flesh pebbled harder as I sucked and tugged at her.

“Oh, God.”

I caressed her other breast in my hand and rolled her nipple between my fingers. She moaned and arched herself up into my mouth. The smell of her arousal was intoxicating. I had to focus to keep my fangs retracted.

“Dio, you’re beautiful. So beautiful.”

I moved my mouth to her other breast. She wound her fingers into my hair. Then I ran open-mouthed kisses down her stomach as she gasped and squirmed. Her skin was savory and sweet, pure and clean. I stroked my tongue down her side to her hip bone, where the thin red strap of her lace panties sat. She moaned as I licked my way across the edge of her panties from one hip bone to the other.

“Off, please, Lucien.” She raised her head and our eyes met.

I swallowed thickly as I hooked my fingers under the lacy material on each side of her hips and slowly slid them down and off her legs. She was completely naked before me, laid out like a sacred offering. I couldn’t keep my eyes from admiring the glistening pink skin between her legs. “You’re perfect,” I praised.

Unclothed, her scent was much stronger and set my mouth to watering. I kissed up the inside of her right leg and paused to extend my tongue into the sensitive skin under her knee I knew pleased her. I nipped at the tender flesh along the inside of her thigh where her femoral artery pulsed under my mouth. A shiver passed through me, and I pressed my tongue hard against my canines to provide some of the counter-pressure they so badly wanted.

I pushed her thighs open wide, allowing space to situate my shoulders between them. She whimpered and let out a shuddering breath. “I want to taste you, Sam. I’ve wanted to for so long.”

“Oh, yes.” She used one arm to support her head as she looked down at me.

I licked my lips as I met her eyes, then pressed a firm kiss directly on her wetness.

She arched her back and sighed. “Oh, my God,” she rasped as I explored her sensitive flesh.

“Cosí dolce,” I murmured, tasting the exquisite sweetness I’d expected. Slowly at first, I laved her with my tongue. I was mesmerized by her smell and her responsiveness to me as I lapped at her slick folds.

“Please,” she whimpered as her hands found my hair.

I groaned at her goodness as I stroked her with my tongue, alternating between hard and quick and deep and penetrating. Her taste was sweet and salty. I wanted to drink her down.

She moaned and writhed and attempted to thrust herself into my mouth. I placed my hands on her hip bones to hold her still. I had to control this for both our sakes.

“Oh. More, Lucien.”

I sucked harder against her and slid a finger into her wet heat. I thrilled at being inside her as I always did. Samantha groaned. Her hands tightened in my hair as she tried to pull me closer. I added a second finger. She gasped and pushed harder. I worked my fingers in and out and curled them within her while I sucked at her tender flesh.

The sounds she was making—for me, because of me—were among the most beautiful and erotic I’d heard in my entire existence. I groaned in pleasure and need.

“Lucien. I’m… God…please…Unnhh…”

The breathy sound of my name out of her mouth was enthralling.

“You look so beautiful like this, Samantha. I want you to lose yourself. Lose yourself to me,” I commanded as I continued to stroke her with my fingers, my thumb finding the center of her need.

“Mmm…oh God!” Her muscles constricted around me.

“That’s right. Come on.” I sucked her swollen flesh into my mouth once again and fought the stinging demands of my fangs.

She screamed and clenched around me, her body convulsing in pleasure, a pleasure that blazed through my entire being. I lapped at her offering and grunted in satisfaction as I swallowed greedily against her.

When she stilled, I pulled my fingers free and sat up between her legs. I held her gaze as I sucked my fingers clean of her sweet essence. Cristo, she tastes phenomenal. I was thrilled she allowed me the privilege of pleasing her this way and couldn’t wait to do it again.

She licked her lips as she watched me through heavy-lidded eyes. Then she surprised me by wrapping her feet around my back and pulling me down on top of her. I allowed her to move me and groaned when she rocked her hips against my erection, still restrained by my boxers.

I took a deep breath, knowing I had things to tell her before we took this any further. I opened my mouth…

And she pressed three fingers against my lips. “I can feel you holding back. I know you think there are things about your past I need to know. But please believe me, there’s nothing else about you I need to know before I make this decision. I know what I want. And I want you. Right now. Inside me. Please.”

I knew I should say something, but my voice failed as her unwavering honesty and guileless need shot through me. I kissed her fingers before she dropped them.

Determined, she tugged at my shirt. I helped her pull it over my head, still torn. She smoothed her hands over my chest, and I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth when she traced my Blood Mark. Then she hooked one of her toes into the waistband of my boxers and pushed it down.

I let her, giving in with each passing second. The desire and need radiating from her fueled my own, and I finally resolved to let her take the lead and have what she wanted. Hell, what I wanted too.

She managed to get my boxers down to my knees with her hands and feet, then I kicked them the rest of the way off. I had elevated myself above her in the process, enough for her to reach between us and grab my engorged length.

“Ah, Dio.”

She worked her warm hand up and down my heavy shaft. I was dying a slow, sweet death. She pushed at my chest and forced me upright, then wiggled her body between my legs so that— Dio!... when I realized what she was planning, I thought I would lose my mind—she could take me into her mouth as I straddled her. She licked up my length and moaned. Her satisfaction warmed me. A low growl rumbled in my chest. I was fascinated to smell how much my sounds heightened her arousal.

“God, you taste good, Lucien.” She rested her head back against the bed and, with her hands on my rear, pulled me down to her waiting mouth.

I grunted. She gripped my hips harder. I closed my eyes as I let her guide me.

It had been years—decades—since someone had pleasured me this way, since someone had been so focused on taking care of me. I swallowed against the thickness that suddenly gripped my throat. Forcing myself to stop thinking, I opened my eyes to find Samantha looking up at me as she swallowed my rigid length.

I groaned at the visual. “Feels…so fucking good.”

She moaned and the vibration stimulated me everywhere. The hot suction of Samantha’s mouth around me was insanely good. When she dragged her teeth down my length, I growled louder, and she moaned and bucked underneath me, her nails digging into my clenching muscles.

The tingling around my canine teeth and the stinging in my eyes became painful. My instincts screamed for release. I could easily imagine the relief of my fangs stretching out and finding purchase against her skin. I clenched my eyes tight in concentration.

Samantha pushed at my hips, urging me off of her and onto my back. I whimpered at the loss of her talented mouth. She quirked a devious little smile at me as she crawled up and straddled me. Again and again, she slid her wetness against my achingly engorged length. I grabbed her hips and ground us together harder to heighten the friction.

She reached her arm across my face to the night stand. As she did, I caught her breast in my mouth and suckled. She groaned and paused while I worked my mouth over her, taking in as much of her as I could and fantasizing about drinking from her there.

She pulled back and held up a square silver packet. “Do you mind? I mean, I know you can’t... um…but I…” For the first time since I joined her in the bed, she blushed.

I reached up and cupped her face in my hand, grateful I wouldn’t have to broach the issue. “Of course not, love.” I would never deny her the ability to protect herself and, given the trace blood in my semen, she needed to.

She turned her face and pressed a kiss against my palm, then ripped open the silver wrapper and deftly rolled the condom down over me.

When she centered herself over my waiting body, one side of my brain screamed at me to stop her, while the other was so far gone I was hesitant to talk lest a feral growl erupt.

And then she lowered herself down fully and took me inside her. And it was over. At that point nothing mattered. Not the past, nor the future.

Only now. Right now. This second. This feeling.

I’m home.

I’d had other women. But everything I thought I remembered about being inside a woman was obliterated by the intense pleasure and sense of connection I felt with Samantha wrapped around me. Decades had passed since I’d felt the slick ecstasy of a man and woman joining together. More than a century had passed since I’d experienced how true love could make the act a spiritual experience full of bliss.

Samantha lifted her body up slowly, nearly to the top of me, before lowering herself down again. I watched myself disappear within her, a sight so full of belonging and eroticism, I simply surrendered to the perfection of the moment.

“Ah Cristo, I’ve wanted you.”

“Me, too. So much,” she moaned, her half-lidded eyes finding mine as we moved together.

She radiated above me, her skin flushed and moist, her golden hair tousled and soft as it dragged against my chest when she leaned forward. She held my gaze and never once shied away from letting me see and hear what she felt.

Her bliss flowed through me setting every nerve ending ablaze and fueling my own urgent hunger. I pulled her down and kissed her deeply, roughly. Her forward position allowed me to thrust up into her, but it wasn’t enough. With my arms around her shoulders and waist, I flipped us over and pinned her to the mattress with my weight. My body covered her, encompassed her.

“Oh, Lucien. You feel so good.” She grasped at my shoulders and brought her knees up against my ribs.

“So do you…oh Dio, so do you.”

I moved in and out of her and concentrated on the way her slick walls clenched my hard length. I reminded myself not to be too rough, but found she responded eagerly when I moved harder rather than softer. I pumped into her relentlessly, giving in to the urge to lose myself inside her.

“Please,” she whimpered.

“Please what, baby? Anything,” I ground out, “anything for you.”

She clawed at my shoulders and back, pulled my hair. “I just need you so…ungh…so bad. God.”

“You have me, dolcezza. I’m here.” Pressing a kiss against her forehead, I wrapped my hands under her shoulders and grabbed on as I thrust into her, rolling my pubic bone again and again into the nerves at the top of her sex.

She panted hard in my ear and nipped and kissed at my neck. Wrapping her arms around my shoulders, she leveraged herself and lifted her hips to meet mine with each stroke.

The added sensation fueled the burn in my eyes and gums. “I love you…unhh…so much.”

“Me…too,” she gasped. “Oh. More…please.” Wanting to be the one who gave her everything she ever needed, I thrust faster and tilted my hips to work new places deep inside her. Supporting my weight with my left arm, I reached my right hand between us and stroked her. She screamed out. I thrust into her harder and rubbed my fingers in slick circles over her.

“Oh…I’m…again…gonna…” Her head wrenched back into the mattress, and her eyes rolled up. Her whole body flexed under me.

Her clenching ecstasy fueled my own. I ground my teeth together. Her fingernails dug into my lower back as I continued to slam into her while her body milked me hard. It was all too much.

With a grunt and a roar, I turned my head away from her neck as my instincts won out and my fangs protruded. The first wave of my release hit me in a series of delicious pulses. The convulsions of my body enflamed Samantha again and, as her body rocked through another orgasm, I sliced my fangs into my biceps to satisfy the fucking urgent need to bite.

We lay panting, our grip so tight we seemed melded together. Still looking away, I released my teeth and licked my wound shut, then retracted my fangs with a shudder. After a minute, I rolled off her and rested my head on her chest and listened as her heart rate slowed.

What have I done? I closed my eyes against the thought.

Then Samantha giggled and pulled me out of my head. I looked up at her and she kissed my forehead. “I have wanted that for so long. God, it was good.”

I tasted her delight and satisfaction and the signature happiness that seemed such a part of her natural makeup. Her words were sincere.

How can I regret what caused her such obvious pleasure and happiness? Just let yourself be happy, for once. I took a deep breath and pressed a lingering kiss in between her breasts. “I feel exactly the same way, Samantha. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” She tilted my face up with her hands and kissed me, then pushed out from underneath of me. “I’ll be right back.” She walked naked over to the bathroom and closed the door.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, then cleaned myself up and found my boxers. Partially dressed again, I pulled the covers down.

Samantha emerged from the bathroom and wrapped herself around my back. She kissed between my shoulder blades and squeezed. Then she leaned down to the floor and picked up my beater, which she threw over her head. My oversized shirt on her body was sexier than the lingerie had been by far. And that was saying something. She found her red panties on the other side of the bed and stepped into them before crawling under the covers.

I got in bed, and she settled herself into my side and used my shoulder as a pillow. She sighed, a sound full of contentment. I hadn’t felt her this at ease in months.

Now that she had found her happiness again, I would protect it with my life.

Before long, she fell asleep. I turned on my side so I could watch her as she lay facing me.

Is it possible all those bad things happened to me so I could eventually find you?

I’d never been one to put much faith in fate, but how else could I explain how my painful journey had finally led to such bliss after so very long?

Chapter Thirteen

Hours later, Ollie wandered the hallway. “Mommy? Lucien?”

The first light was just creeping into the sky. Samantha had warned me Ollie was likely to be up before the sun. I slipped out of bed, threw a clean T- shirt over my head, and opened the door to our suite. Ollie was tiptoeing as she looked for our room.

“Pssst.”

She turned her head in the direction of the noise and smiled when she saw me. She bounded down the hall into my arms. “Lucien, it’s Christmas morning!”

“I know.” I wrapped my arms around her small form and picked her up.

“Do you think Santa came?”

“I do. You know why I think so?” She shook her head.

“Because you, Olivia, are a very, very good girl.”

She beamed and threw her arms around my neck and squeezed. “I love you, Lucien.”

The warmth and sweetness of her sentiment flowed through me. I staggered back against the wall. We expressed our affection for one another in countless ways, but it was the first time she’d said those words in exactly that way. How am I lucky enough to have this much happiness?

A door opened down the hall, but I didn’t care. At that moment, my conversation with Ollie was the only thing worth knowing in the world. “That’s so good to hear, because I love you, too.” She squeezed her arms tighter.

Catherine stepped out into the hall a few doors down. There was no way she hadn’t heard our conversation; I suspected the others probably had as well. I hoped they could approve, but I didn’t truly care what they thought. I tilted my head against Ollie’s shoulder, still holding her tight, and finally looked in Catherine’s direction. When a tear worked its way free from my eye, I swatted it away.

For less than a moment, I tasted Catherine’s sadness and jealousy, but they were quickly replaced with a warm wave of love. Catherine looked at me and smiled, then lowered her eyes and walked the other way down the hall.

I took a deep breath and placed Ollie on her feet, then peeked in the doorway behind me to ensure Samantha was still asleep. “How about we go downstairs and make some breakfast to bring up to your mom?”

“Yeah!” she whispered.

This was a small gift to my family, who wouldn’t be forced to eat breakfast if Samantha ate in the privacy of our room. I led Ollie downstairs. We avoided the great room with its mountains of presents—Ollie was dying to look but agreed to wait until after we’d eaten.

Henrietta had apparently baked overnight, for a big basket of huge blueberry muffins sat out on the counter. A folded sheet of paper leaned against the basket. I flipped it open.

Enjoy all. We’re out. —H&G

I chuckled and tucked the paper under the edge of the basket. I grabbed a plate and placed two muffins and two bananas on it, some for Ollie and some for Samantha, and filled two glasses with orange juice.

Ollie scrunched her eyebrows. “You’re not gonna eat, Lucien?”

I shrugged. “Nah. I’m not much of a breakfast person.”

We headed back upstairs and tiptoed across the guest suite. Ollie crawled up on the bed and sat cross-legged next to Samantha’s knees. She placed her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggles. I set everything down. Samantha opened one eye at us and then closed it again.

Ollie couldn’t hold back her laughter after that. Neither could Samantha, who finally rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. “Merry Christmas, baby.” She reached for and squeezed Ollie’s hand. Then she looked at me. “Merry Christmas, Lucien.”

“Merry Christmas. We brought you breakfast.”

“Mmm.” She pushed herself into more of a sitting position and plumped the pillows up behind her for support.

Ollie handed her a napkin and spread one out for herself, then explained there was one muffin and one banana for each of them. Samantha picked up the muffin and laid it on the napkin in her lap. She pulled off a big piece of the muffin top and put it in her mouth.

“Mommy, why are you wearing Lucien’s shirt?” Samantha coughed and looked at me.

“Oh. I lent it to your mom last night because she couldn’t find her pajamas.”

“Oh. Maybe Santa will bring you some new Christmas pajamas too, Mom. Mine have princesses. See?”

Samantha swallowed and motioned for her orange juice. I grabbed the glass and handed it to her. She drank and placed it on the nightstand next to her. “Yeah, baby, maybe he will.” She made a face at me when Ollie was looking down. I stifled a laugh.

I left them to finish up and went in the bathroom to shower. In a rush to get back to my girls, I threw on a pair of worn jeans and a maroon button-down shirt and emerged from the bathroom to find Samantha selecting clothes from her bag while Ollie finished her banana.

Sam squeezed my arm and kissed me on the cheek, then closed the bathroom door behind her. Ollie was demonstrating her ability to do somersaults on the bedroom floor when Samantha finished up twenty minutes later. I looked up and smiled at her; she looked effortlessly beautiful in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a V-neck white sweater with a row of red snowflakes across the chest. She wore her still-damp hair clipped back on the sides with sparkly barrettes. Small pearl earrings her father had given her for a birthday adorned her ears.

I pushed myself up from the floor. “Who wants to see if Santa came last night?”

“Me!” Ollie yelled as she sprang up.

“Let’s go then.”

Ollie literally ran down the hall before Samantha and I made it out of the room. A chorus of “Merry Christmas!” sounded as we walked down the steps. The others were waiting for us. Ollie’s surprised and excited response to the festive scene in the great room satisfied everyone’s expectations.

A merrier Christmas had never been seen at Orchard Hill in its more than two hundred years.

Ollie tore through her packages like a tornado and demonstrated her riding prowess by making circles around the great room on her new bike. Griffin promised to shovel a clear path for her around the circular drive later in the day. The rest of my family demonstrated their affection for Samantha and Ollie by showering them with gifts. They were both thrilled, although Samantha was overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness. They had been drilling me for ideas for the girls for weeks.

Finally, Samantha couldn’t hold back any longer and insisted I open my presents from her. Everyone else had been exchanging gifts with their spouses, but all the activity quieted as Samantha led me to a tall object hidden beneath a loose-fitting decorated bag with a big red bow.

“First, the little one.” She handed me a red box with a white ribbon.

I looked up at her and smiled. Everyone watched me, and I think I would’ve blushed if I could’ve. Ollie danced around and tried to peer into the box when I lifted the lid.

It was an antiqued gold necklace with a tag- shaped charm. On its face were my initials: LAD. On the reverse was a hidden message:

the most magical
thing of all

I recalled those words vividly from our dinner in Milwaukee. I’d used them to describe her love for me. She was giving me her love to wear. I took a deep breath and nodded minutely in thanks when Catherine shot me a wave of reassurance and strength. I looked at Samantha and pulled her into my arms.

“I love it, Samantha. Thank you so much.”

I stepped back and pulled it out of the box, then clasped the chain around my neck. It was long enough to lie underneath my shirt.

Her smile was huge. “Okay, now the big one,” she said, pointing to the oblong bag behind me. The level of excitement in the room elevated.

“Can I help you, Lucien?” Ollie looked up expectantly.

“You take that side. I’ll get this side. We’ll lift it up slow, okay?”

She nodded and grabbed the edge of the bag. Samantha stood back and snapped a picture as Ollie and I pulled the wrapping over the top of the object. I dropped the plastic and looked at Samantha with an amazed expression. Standing before me was an antique mahogany two-sided music stand with elaborate carving. It was in excellent condition.

Samantha was so excited she could barely contain herself as she waited for my reaction. When I didn’t say anything immediately, she explained, “One time you mentioned the name of your violin’s maker, which I now know helps you date it. This stand is French but was made at roughly the same time as your violin—”

I took two long strides across the room and grabbed her face gently with my hands and pressed my lips against hers. “It’s perfect.” I kissed her again. “No two gifts in the world could have been more perfect—more thoughtful—than the ones you gave me.”

She blushed. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and rocked her gently back and forth. She smiled against my chest. Although I knew she had inherited money from her father, I was concerned about the expense of the gift. She was so proud of herself, though, I couldn’t express any hesitation about it whatsoever.

“Open mine now, Lucien!” Ollie held out a small box she had clearly wrapped herself.

I ripped off the paper and found a key chain with a pocket-sized digital screen. Ollie turned it on and dozens of images played on a slideshow: pictures of the three of us together, of Ollie from all different periods of her life, and images of some of Ollie’s angel drawings Samantha must’ve scanned.

“Ollie, this is the best present. Thank you so much.” I kissed the top of her head and handed the key chain to her when she stretched out her small hand. She sat with it next to Henrietta, who she’d taken to affectionately calling Henny—which Henrietta adored—and proceeded to describe the pictures to her as they changed.

I sat two presents from me on the couch next to Ollie. She eagerly ripped them open. The first was a collectible Golden Angel Barbie doll. She was beautiful with long golden hair, white wings with gold edges, and a flowing gown.

Ollie gasped and stroked at the plastic packaging over the doll. She set it aside but continued to look at it while her hands fumbled for the other package. Finally she pulled her attention away and ripped the paper until she could lift the lid. Inside sat a familiarly shaped black case.

“My own violin?” She gasped and flipped the clasps up on the lid to reveal a child’s violin.

“You’re always asking to play mine. I thought if you had your own, I could teach you, and we could play together.”

“This is so good, Lucien! Thank you! Can we play now?” She ran her hand along the length of the instrument.

“How about after everyone is done opening presents?”

She nodded and picked up the angel doll box. She didn’t seem to be able to decide to which to devote her attention. Henrietta laughed at her excited chatter.

I pulled Samantha down on the couch next to me. “Your turn.” I handed her a familiar blue box. She looked ready to protest. I kissed her and tapped the box. “Open it.”

She slid the ribbon aside and pulled the lid off, then opened the velvet box. Inside sat a solid circle of aquamarines set in white gold.

“It’s called an eternity ring, which is how long I plan to love you.”

She blushed furiously, which everyone would’ve sensed even if they weren’t looking at her. I slipped it from the velvet and placed it on her ring finger. To me, the gesture felt weighted with significance beyond the moment. She held out her left hand and admired it. “It’s stunning, Lucien. I love it.”

I brought her hand to my mouth and pressed my lips to the spot where the ring encircled her skin. “There’s one other thing.” I handed her a rectangular package.

She shook it. “It feels empty.” She laughed as she tore off the paper.

She lifted the lid and set it aside, then pulled out a manila folder. She pursed her lips and looked at me curiously. I stopped breathing in anticipation of her reaction. She opened the folder and frowned. She flipped haltingly through several of the pages. Her breath caught and she brought her hand up to her mouth. Finally she looked up at me with glassy eyes and shook her head back and forth.

I slid down to my knees in front of her and took her hand in mine. “Please say something.”

“I’m sorry. I’m dying here. What is it?” Rebecca’s nervousness around Samantha appeared to be wearing off.

Without looking away from Samantha, I explained, “I made a donation to the children’s hospital where Samantha works…Sam?”

She shook her head. “Lucien, ‘a donation’ is…fifty dollars, a hundred. This is…this is…I... How?”

“I sold a house.”

“You sold a house?” She laughed. Then her face became serious. A single tear streamed down her face. “This is for real?”

I nodded.

“You sold a house and are making a contribution to the children’s hospital in my parents’ names?”

I nodded again and tried to interpret the multiple physical sensations her emotions caused.

“In the amount of”—she glanced at the papers again—”a hundred thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

To their credit, the others didn’t audibly express the surprise they felt, but it tingled in the pit of my stomach.

She pulled a set of papers out. “I don’t understand what this means.”

“It means you get to decide how the money is used. I spoke with the hospital development officer about what a useful sum would be, but I wanted you to get to decide. You have a meeting scheduled for Monday with her, and she plans to make a presentation to you about the hospital’s current needs. Then you’ll get to choose how to allocate the use of the funds.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Even her emotions seemed stunned.

“Say you’ll take the meeting.”

“Say I’ll take the meeting? No, not about the meeting. About…about how much—”

I kissed her. “It’s only money, Sam. I have a lot of it. You already know that. I don’t need it. Having it has never made me happy. Having you makes me happy. Having you happy makes me happy. I just wanted you to know your parents were important to me, because they were important to you. And I just thought…if you saw their names there when you went to work every day, maybe you wouldn’t feel like you were quite as alone as I know you sometimes feel.”

She threw her arms around my neck. “I’m going to kill you for this!” she sobbed. Then: “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dolcezza.” I kissed her hair and stroked her back. Samantha held on for a long time.

Jed nudged William. “It’s a good thing Rebecca and Anna already opened their gifts. We would’ve looked like complete schmucks if we’d followed that.” Rebecca thumped a pillow on his head. Everyone roared with laughter, breaking the tension that had built in the room.

Samantha laughed, too, and wiped her face with some tissues Henrietta passed her. “Oh, God. I need something to drink. And some chocolate.”

“Hey, Jed? Pass around that bowl of candy over there.” I smirked at him as he took a small chocolate and passed it around. Those who were already out of the bet passed.

Samantha took two, so I sent the bowl around again. Henrietta brought Sam and the others glasses of soda. Jed gagged a little on the fizzy liquid.

For the rest of the day, Samantha’s emotions were a wild, curious mixture of happiness and sadness, elation and anger. She was also so aroused I thought I was burning from the inside out. At every available opportunity, we stole away for an intense moment of kissing or groping. She was more aggressive than I’d ever seen her. I was enthralled, but also concerned.

At bedtime, Samantha went upstairs before me. The bedroom door had barely clicked behind me when she grabbed and shoved me toward the bed. I fell backward, and she was on top of me, clawing at my clothes and ripping off her own. Whatever had been going on with her all day was now clearly finding a release.

“Sam?”

She kissed me roughly and shoved her tongue into my mouth. I groaned and pushed her back. Though we french kissed all the time, I generally kept her out of my mouth.

“Sam?”

Finally, she stilled. With her hands braced on my shoulders, her eyes burned down into mine. Her anger squeezed my chest. Her voice was strained. “Lucien, we’ll talk later. I promise. But right now I want you, and I need you. And I need you to know it, feel it.” Her words clarified little, but I nodded.

She unleashed herself on me, kissing and licking and roughly nipping at my upper body all while maintaining eye contact. I thrust my hips into her when she lingered over my Blood Mark. I finally had to grab her hair and tug her attention away from it. With a groan, she reached a hand down between her legs and worked herself as she devoured me. When I realized what she was doing, I moaned and gripped her shoulders and rolled on top of her.

I grabbed her hand and pulled it to my mouth, then noisily sucked on her wet fingers. I groaned at the sweet nectar of her arousal.

“You see what you do to me, Lucien? What only you do to me?” she rasped. “Take me, Lucien. I’m yours,” she offered as she planted her feet flat on the mattress and pushed herself up forcefully against my erection.

Her aggression spurred mine, and I grunted. “You want me?” I asked as I ground myself against her wetness.

She ran a hand over the bedspread and found the packet she’d apparently laid out earlier. She slid herself against me as she opened it and then rolled on the condom. “God, yes,” she whimpered.

I plunged forward and filled her in one hard stroke. She screamed and wrapped herself around me. Hard breaths and grunts and strained curses in two languages filled the room as we battled through Samantha’s emotions with our bodies. She kissed me roughly and dug her nails into my flesh. The physical pain mingled with her radiating pleasure to coax what I was sure was going to be one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever experienced.

She came in a frenzy of screams and muscle contractions. And then bit against the taut skin at the base of my neck. Hard.

My fangs and release shot out at the same time. I growled and in a blur turned my head in search of my biceps. I missed the tender skin of her shoulder by a hair as the urge to bite down became irresistible.

Finally, I willed my fangs to retract and licked at the wound I’d made on my arm, then slid down a little and laid my head on her heaving breasts.

“I love you,” I whispered breathlessly.

She hugged my shoulders and combed her fingers through my hair. “I love you, too.” We lay together, panting, for a long time. “Lucien?” I lifted my head off her chest to look at her. “I’m ready to talk now.”

“Okay.”

She took a deep breath. “I will be thankful for your gift until the day I die. But I want to be clear. I don’t want anymore grand gestures.”

“Sam—”

“No. You have to hear me. I know you have some need to prove your worthiness to me, and in general. But I don’t need you to jump in front of bullets. Or leap over tall buildings. Or lasso me the moon. I don’t need grand gestures to know you are the love of my life.”

The. Love. Of. Her. Life? I sputtered momentarily and then whispered, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t, which is why I can accept it. I’m just saying.”

“Okay.” I grasped her hand and rubbed circles with my thumb.

“Deal?” She still looked stern. But her emotions were full of love and acceptance.

“Deal.” I met her eyes. Her faith in me warmed and chilled me. I had yet to fully earn it.

***

We stayed at Orchard Hill through Sunday morning, when we departed to make the long journey back to Detroit. As we were leaving, Catherine and William both stepped forward to claim their prizes. Jed had been forced out when Samantha ate a couple handfuls of cashews on Saturday night; for some reason he just couldn’t stomach nuts. William would get his media room after all; by comparison, Catherine’s demand of a new camera with lenses seemed rather modest. I happily planned to pay up. I was so grateful for my family’s support over the past five days.

By the end of the weekend, it seemed Samantha had known them forever. She and Ollie hugged them all freely before we left. Each member of my family had pulled me aside at some point during our stay to express their affection for Samantha and to say how good they thought we were together. And, of course, they were all head over heels in love with Ollie.

None of them, however, seemed to have any better ideas than I as to how to introduce Samantha to the elephant in the room.

As we drove home, I couldn’t stanch the warmth the memory of the weekend caused in my chest. Though there was still an omission of fundamental importance I needed to rectify, I couldn’t help but feel good about the developments in my relationships with Samantha and Ollie. I felt closer to them than I had to anyone in over a century.

Samantha was right. I did feel the need to prove my worthiness—my worthiness of their acceptance of me, which was a gift I so wanted to deserve.

As the miles ticked by, I found myself looking forward to the new year with the woman—the family—I so desperately loved.

Chapter Fourteen

Three weeks after Christmas, the cold, snowy winter weather broke. For two days, temperatures hit the mid-forties. It was downright balmy.

After school on the first day, Ollie begged Samantha to let her ride her bike. Samantha finally relented, and Ollie rode the loop around the block, dodging still unthawed snow drifts while her mother and I walked behind her.

On the second day, Mrs. Johnson watched Ollie after school, because Samantha and I both had meetings. Samantha had a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon. She’d been fatigued for weeks, which likely resulted from the stress of the last few months. Though she seemed to be regaining her appetite, she hadn’t been eating well and had lost weight. The walk around the block on the first warm night convinced her to make an appointment, because it was clear the short walk had taken effort.

She hadn’t even had the energy to offer her usual rant about the still-unfixed street light by the park. To the city’s credit, they had come to replace the bulb only to find faulty wiring in the pole that required the replacement of the whole thing. God only knew when that would happen.

My meeting was with Langston at 5 p.m. at the hospital to pick up more blood. He’d become the sole source of my nourishment over the past months. I arrived promptly, eager to get home to hear what the doctor had to say to Samantha. Langston loaded the B-positive into my cooler, zipped it shut, and then sat down in the chair behind his desk.

“Lucien, you might have a problem.” His expression was weary and serious. “And I might have caused it.”

I sat forward in my chair. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Jacques.”

“What about him?”

“It’s probably nothing. But he overheard a conversation Antoine and I had about you. I’m sorry, but Magena saw my thoughts about your relationship with the woman. I ended up having to tell him.”

I stood up in front of his desk. The scent of Langston’s fear did little to suppress my panic. “And?”

“Antoine was fine, amused perhaps, but mostly he was just happy for you.”

“Langston, get to the damn punch line. What’s the problem? What did Jacques overhear?” As if their knowing about Samantha wasn’t bad enough.

“It was something Antoine said. Again, it’s probably nothing.”

I growled.

“Okay, okay. Antoine said he was pleased his son had finally found some peace and happiness.”

I winced, suspecting where this was heading.

“Then Jacques threw a chair through a wall, roared at Antoine he only had one son—him—and flew out.”

I scrubbed my hands through my hair and locked them on top of my head.

“Antoine dismissed his outburst, but I just thought you should know. He sent some of the guard out to find him. Just watch your back, man, that’s all I’m saying. You know Jacques.”

I nodded once and ripped the cooler bag off his desk and fled. A clock in the hospital corridor read 5:28 p.m. Samantha should be home. I just wanted her and Ollie with me.

I wasn’t sure what to think about Jacques. On the one hand, he was a hothead who hated me and felt I stole his father’s affection. On the other hand, he was extremely loyal to his father, who had protected me on multiple occasions. I pondered whether the situation necessitated a meeting with Antoine as I left the hospital and regretted I’d walked. The warmer weather had brought people out of hibernation, and the darkening streets were full. I had to walk at a human pace, but calmed myself with the knowledge it would only take fifteen minutes to get home.

I was within a block of Samantha’s when the chaotic sensations nearly leveled me—the stench and pain and rancid taste I registered as rage, jealousy, terror, and agony set me on full alert.

Witnesses be damned, I broke out into an unnatural sprint in search of the source of those feelings. I scanned Samantha’s house as I approached it; no one seemed to be there. The feelings intensified as I raced across the grassy field. My house was dark; they weren’t there either.

Then I hit the street.

I had found Jacques. He had found Samantha. He held her in a tight embrace and was clearly feeding from her.

I bolted across, vaulting over a parked car, and aimed for the dark spot shrouded by bushes and trees under the broken fucking street light. My only solace was he didn’t seem to be reacting to the holy water in her blood yet, which I’d been giving both of my girls for months, so he’d just bitten her. I soared over Ollie’s abandoned bike and slammed into them, trying like hell to avoid Samantha’s body.

Jacques roared in outrage and dropped Samantha as he whirled on me. She slumped to the cold ground. I tore my now-inhuman eyes away from her to deal with him.

“You always did know how to ruin a good time,” he spat.

The world went fucking red with my rage at the image of Samantha’s blood dripping off his fangs. All I could see was my maker hunched in the darkness over Lena’s body, his crimson eyes and gory fangs flashing to me when I’d interrupted. But Jacques was standing too close to Samantha’s crumpled body to act rashly.

Then he coughed and sprayed a fine red mist into the air.

“How ya feeling there, Jacques?” I sneered through sharp fangs as I stalked closer.

A thin line of blood trickled down from one nostril. He fisted it away. “What the fuck?”

In the split second his eyes flashed down to evaluate the blood he’d wiped onto his knuckles, I launched myself at him.

We collided in a wall of muscle and will and hate.

Jacques stumbled back, propelled by my weight, and gripped my biceps to fling me off him. But my hold was tighter. He succeeded only in spinning us so that when we crashed to the ground, I was on top and pinned him.

Then he made the last in a long line of fatal errors: he turned his head to snap at my wrist where it held his down. In a blur, I leaned forward and sank my fangs deep into his exposed neck.

He roared in outraged surprise. I grunted in disgust as I wrenched my head to the side, tearing a gaping wound partway through his neck. Blood gurgled and splattered from the breach. His eyes were disbelieving as they angled up at me.

“You did this,” I hissed as I released his arms and brought my hands to his jaw. I didn’t pay attention to his newly freed hands until the cold steel pressed against my gut. He squeezed the trigger a split second before I ripped his head clean free of his body. Through a red haze, I watched as his head unevenly rolled under a bush. His body twitched then stilled.

Then the searing fire of the silver bullet registered.

I grunted and keened and clambered off Jacques’s torso. I retched up the blood that had gotten into my mouth and throat. It tasted and stank of his evil and burned where Samantha’s precious blood mixed in.

Samantha. I pushed through the paralyzing agony the silver caused and scrabbled over to her. “Oh, no. Oh, please.”

She was unconscious. Blood poured from her nose, ear, and neck. The left side of her face was swollen and bruising. Her right arm sat at an unnatural angle. That was all I could see in that moment. It was enough.

I pushed myself up onto my knees and tore my shirt open to inspect the gunshot. The fist-sized wound was ragged and raw. My body was trying to heal, but the silver impeded my natural defenses. I reached into my boot and retrieved the titanium dagger I always kept there. With a grunt and a hiss, I plunged the blade into the wound and twisted it until I finally worked the poisonous slug out with the assistance of an old Italian prayer.

A tingling relief slowly—too goddamned slowly—replaced the burning pain, and a cursory glance down confirmed the now enlarged wound was starting to heal.

I sheathed the bloody knife and scooped Samantha’s too-still form into my arms and didn’t notice when her blood dripped onto my left hand.

Ollie. I staggered back to the sidewalk and forced my brain to calm and focus. With difficulty, I blinked and drained my eyes, then retracted my teeth. I scanned the street and sensed a rapid heartbeat from under a parked car twenty feet away.

Langston had told me others were looking for Jacques, so I moved quietly up the sidewalk and crouched down with Samantha. Peering under the car, I found Ollie’s trembling form mostly balled up behind a tire. I shifted Samantha’s weight and extended a hand under the car. Ollie screamed and retreated to the other side.

She couldn’t see my face, so I laid Samantha gently on the sidewalk and crouched down. “Ollie, it’s me, baby. You have to come out from there. Hurry. We have to go.” I kept my voice low.

“Lucien?” It came out as a high-pitched whimper. Her terror sliced through me.

“Yes. Come on, Ollie.”

“I can’t.” Her teeth chattered with the chill of her fear.

I didn’t have time to coax her out. With regret, I placed my hand under the wheel well closest to her body and lifted the car enough to grab her with my free hand. She shrieked. I looked into her eyes, regretting the need to charm her.

Sleep.

It was amazing, but she fought it. Her eyes blinked open a half dozen times. “Mommy,” she slurred before finally succumbing.

I scanned the length of the street. Empty. I raced Ollie down to my truck and laid her on the floor of the back seat. Then I returned for Samantha, who was bleeding enough the sidewalk was stained where I’d left her. I cradled her in my arms, then flew with her to my waiting truck, placing her limp body across the back seat.

Blood. Cazzo! What happened to that damn cooler? It seemed a minor point, but I might need that blood now more than ever. Not for me, for Samantha. I raced across the street and scanned the ground around Jacques’s remains. It wasn’t there. I don’t have time for this!

In seconds, I retraced my steps and finally found the bag on the ground next to Samantha’s house. I jumped in the truck and peeled out of Frederick Street, heading to a Victorian about five miles away I’d acquired during the fall and only recently finished remodeling and staging.

Passing the For Sale sign, the truck screeched to a hard stop in the driveway of the Victorian. I threw the strap of the cooler over my shoulder, then wrenched the rear door open and grabbed Ollie’s sleeping body. I flew with her into the house and laid her on a bed in an upstairs room, where she grumbled and stirred in her sleep.

Then I raced back out for Samantha and moaned at how much blood coated the black leather of the seat. Her hair was thick with it on the left side. I kicked the truck door shut and ran inside. I secured the multiple locks on the front door and carried her up the stairs, then laid her gently on the bed in the master suite.

I paced and began to doubt my wisdom in bringing them to this house. The hospital would’ve been better equipped to care for her, but I feared we’d be hunted. And I had no idea how I’d explain the bite wound. But no one knew about this house. No one would know to look here.

I ripped the pocket of my jeans pulling my cell phone out, then pressed a button and counted the rings. My call waiting interrupted—Catherine.

“I need help,” I answered in a hoarse voice.

“What happened?”

“Samantha was attacked. Put Griffin or Henrietta on the phone.”

“Lucien, I’m not home. Hang up and—”

I redialed and called Griffin. He answered on the first ring. “Lucien, did you just ca—”

“Griffin. Cristo. I need your help. Samantha was attacked by Jacques Laumet.” He sucked in a breath. “She’s unconscious and bleeding profusely. I don’t know what to do.”

He put me on speaker phone so the others could hear. “All right, Lucien.” Henrietta took over. “Describe her injuries to me.”

“Oh, mio Dio! There’s blood everywhe—”

“I know this is hard. But stay calm and start from her head and work down.”

“Okay. Okay. Shit.” I eased onto the mattress next to Samantha and winced as my weight shifted her body. “She’s bleeding from the left side of her head, and there’s blood coming out of her left ear. Her hair is so matted it’s hard to see.”

“That’s fine. Keep going.”

“There’s blood coming out of her nose. Her left eye and cheekbone are bruised and scraped up like…like…ah, Cristo.” The image of Jacques striking her boiled my blood with rage.

“What else, Lucien?” Henrietta’s voice demanded I focus.

My eyes went red again as my sight settled on Samantha’s neck. “Her neck is mangled, chewed, and still bleeding,” I managed through clenched teeth. I forced a breath that failed to calm. “Her right arm is broken and probably a finger, too. Hold on…”

Silently apologizing, for the shirt and so much else, I grasped the top of her button-down and wrenched it open. “Oh, Dio. There’s bruising all along her ribs. The bottom one looks obviously broken on her left side.”

“How about her abdomen, Lucien? Is there any bruising or swelling in her abdomen?”

“Not that I can tell.” My voice cracked.

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

“She’s not moving at all, Hen, and her breathing’s so shallow…”

“Lucien, you’re going to have to perform a Blood Healing. And soon. The head injury is the most worrisome and—”

“But I’ve…I’ve never—”

“I’ll walk you through it, but you must. She cannot go without treatment for the four or five hours it’ll take us to get there.”

“Cazzo!” I roared as I tugged mercilessly at my hair.

It was far from an agreement, but Henrietta continued anyway. “You must open your wrist and get her to drink from you,” Henrietta instructed as my mind whirled.

“Hen, I don’t think I can do this—”

“You are vampire, Lucien. You are capable. And you must be willing. For Samantha.”

“But I’ve never told her. I can’t change her without having ever told her. I won’t.”

“Look, focus. You won’t change her. The change can only take place if there’s a full Blood Exchange, and you’ve injected her with the change enzyme from your fangs. Since you’re not biting her, that won’t happen.”

“Okay. Jesus, okay.”

“You’ll be saving her, Lucien. Your blood will be curative. And her body’s healing process will consume the vampire blood within her, leaving her human. Now, go. You can do this.”

I dropped the phone from my ear and stepped to the edge of the bed. I was nearly frozen with fear and crippled with guilt. My heart lay broken and bleeding on the bed before me.

As I grieved Samantha’s injuries, a footstep startled me from my thoughts, and I snapped around. Ollie stood in the doorway, her face white as a ghost.

I willed the blood out of my eyes and gaped at the child who by all rights should still be asleep. She had willed herself to consciousness despite the force of my charm. I of all people didn’t need it, but here was further proof Olivia Sutton was a special and powerful creature. She stepped forward and stood halfway behind an armchair near the door.

“Go back to your room.” I trembled with the effort to keep my voice gentle as I spoke to her.

“I want to stay with Mommy.” Her voice was shaky, but her resolve was strong.

“Ollie, I need to help her.” “Then do it.”

“I can’t. Do it. With you here.”

“Yes, you can. I’m not leaving.” Her eyes remained on Samantha’s form lying on the bed.

“Ollie—”

“Do whatever it is you do.” She looked me straight in the eye. “Just help her. Please, Lucien.”

Whatever it is I do? Her words made my head spin. I walked over to her and gently pulled her body around to sit on the chair.

She placed her little hand on my cheek. “You can do it. I know you can. Angels have magic powers. Mommy read me books about that.”

Angels? I knew Ollie was obsessed with angels— Samantha had ascribed it to having told her, “Gramma is with the angels now.”

Samantha’s heart stuttered. This conversation would have to wait. “You can only stay if you promise to close your eyes. Do you promise?” She nodded. “I mean it, do not open them for any reason until I tell you to. Do you understand?” She nodded more forcefully this time and squeezed her eyes closed.

I flew to Samantha’s side and looked back over my shoulder to make sure Ollie was keeping her promise. I sunk my teeth into my wrist and tore my radial artery open, then I placed it over Samantha’s mouth. I’d cut deep and the blood flowed freely. She gagged before swallowing once, twice, five times, more.

I glanced at Ollie, who sat stone still.

Samantha’s heart thundered. Her face and chest broke out in a cold sweat as her body reacted to the presence of my blood. Cazzo! How much do I give her? I pulled my hand away when I estimated she’d received about two pints. Unthinkingly, I brought my wrist to my mouth and licked. The cut knitted itself together, though not as quickly as usual. My abdominal wound was still healing.

“Keep them closed, Ollie,” I said gruffly as I walked out of the room. I flew down to the kitchen and grabbed some hand towels and a bowl of water. I returned and cleaned Samantha’s body of the blood she’d shed.

“Can I open them yet?” Ollie whispered from across the room.

I pulled a blanket up over Samantha’s shuddering body. “Yes. Stay where you are for a minute though, okay?”

She nodded and followed me with her eyes as I walked into the adjoining bathroom.

I dumped the bowl of bloody water into the tub, then set the bowl down so I could wash my hands, arms, and face. Between killing Jacques and carrying Samantha, I was nearly as befouled as Samantha had been. I’d need to find a change of clothes at some point, but not until I knew Samantha was stable.

When I came out of the bathroom, Ollie was standing by her mother’s bedside. “Ollie—”

“Is she going to be okay?” She looked over her shoulder at me.

“I…I don’t know. I’ve never…tried to save someone before.” She searched my face and eyes before turning back to look at her mother. “Ollie, we need to talk.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

I frowned. “You won’t tell anyone what?”

“About what you are.” Her voice was matter of fact.

“What…” I gently pulled her arm so she was facing me and knelt down in front of her. Not sure I wanted to know the answer, I continued, “What do you think I am?”

She was full of worry for her mother and still badly shaken over the attack. But none of her fear was directed at me. “A guardian angel, of course,” she said as she reached forward and brushed a strand of hair off my face.

A…what? “Ollie, I’m not an angel.” My voice was almost a whisper.

“You have to say that. I know you’re not supposed to tell. But I knew it the first time I saw you at the hospital.”

Holding her little hands in mine, I asked, “What are you talking about? Why would you think that?”

The words spilled out as if she’d long thought about them but never before given them voice. “First of all, you’re really pale, and your skin’s all glowy, just like the pictures of angels in my books. And you don’t eat. I didn’t realize that right away, sorry about the cake, but angels don’t need food and neither do you. Plus, you can do all kinds of superpowers. When you flew across the street that day with the truck, I knew for sure there was something wrong, er, uh, different about you, but I didn’t know what it was until I saw a picture of an angel flying. Plus you flew down the stairs that day. Mommy was right. And you picked up that car.”

Ollie was not quite six, but she spoke with the self-assurance of an adult.

I was stunned. My mouth moved but nothing came out.

I was equally dazed by the fact Ollie was perfectly calm—neither her emotions nor her heartbeat indicated any fear. I looked at Samantha, pale and still on the bed. Ollie followed my eyes. We stood motionless for some amount of time, keeping vigil.

“Ollie?” She looked back at me. “Angels are good, but I’m—”

“Not all angels are good. The one who hurt Mommy wasn’t good. Was he an angel of death?”

I shook my head in defeat. I don’t know how to respond to this. Maybe it is better to let her believe I am an angel? God, I wish she was right.

I pulled the armchair closer to the bed and lifted Ollie into it. I got her a glass of water. I could tell she was hungry, but I wasn’t willing to leave them alone to get her something.

I paced. I stood. I knelt next to Ollie. Hours passed. How long is this supposed to take?

When a car pulled into the driveway, I flew down the stairs, fangs out and hackles raised. I peered out a front window and relief flooded through me when my family stepped out of their car. We exchanged solemn greetings.

Henrietta laid a hand on my arm and squeezed. My fangs retracted. The momentary infusion of peace and hope she gave me felt like water to a man lost in the desert.

Speaking low and fast so only we could hear, I recounted to them how I’d administered my blood to Samantha. It had been nearly five hours, but there hadn’t been any perceptible change. Henrietta urged patience. The extent of Samantha’s injuries meant the healing process would take time. Henrietta was about to head up the stairs to check on Samantha when I stopped her to explain one last thing: Ollie’s theory. They were moved by Ollie’s insightfulness and her obvious faith in goodness that led her to see light where others saw darkness.

As Henrietta and Rebecca went upstairs to check on Ollie and Samantha, Griffin asked me to tell the story of what happened from the beginning. I began with my conversation with Langston and ended with decapitating Jacques. The gravity of that action finally descended on me. I bent over and braced my hands on my knees with a groan.

Cazzo! I killed Jacques. I killed Antoine Laumet’s only remaining son.

Thinking several steps ahead, Griffin dispatched Jed and William to retrieve and dispose of Jacques’s body. “Lucien, I need you to stay focused. We’re here now. We’re going to help you sort this out.” Griffin’s voice was full of restrained anger and indignant protectiveness.

I nodded as he squeezed my shoulder.

Another car pulled up out front. Catherine’s worry unsettled my gut. When I opened the door, she flew into my arms as her words rushed out. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I was in Canada when I sensed something had happened. So, what did happen?”

Griffin recounted the story while I went upstairs to check on Samantha. I found Rebecca leaning against a wall and Henrietta sitting in the arm chair next to Samantha’s bed with Ollie on her lap.

Henrietta met my eyes. “It’s working, Lucien, although her internal injuries were extensive. I was able to…take care of her arm and ribs, but not…some of the rest of it. I might suggest another…dose.”

Ollie looked up to Henrietta’s face. Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Henny, you don’t have to talk in code, you know. ’Cause I know.” She held Henrietta’s gaze for one minute more before returning her head to the crook of Henrietta’s neck so she could keep an eye on her mom.

“Told you,” I said as Henrietta gaped at me. I stepped to the edge of the bed. “Ollie, I need to help your mom again…” She closed her eyes before I even asked. “Er, okay.”

I bit into my wrist and held it once again to Samantha’s mouth. Griffin and Catherine walked into the room and hovered near the foot of the bed. Henrietta scooted Ollie off her lap so she could stand up and ensured as she placed her back on the chair her eyes were still shut. Then she placed one hand over Samantha’s heart and one hand on her head, sensing the flow of my blood into her.

“I think that’s enough, Lucien.”

I pulled my wrist away and licked across the wound, binding it. It healed faster this time thanks to Henrietta’s earlier touch.

“Now,” she said, “we wait.”

Chapter Fifteen

The family sat and stood around the bed, seven of the world’s most powerful creatures made weak and vulnerable by the worry and anxiety we all felt for Samantha.

“Lucien?” Catherine’s concerned voice interrupted the tense silence after a while. “How much have you... “—she glanced at Ollie—”given?”

“About four, I think.”

Griffin nodded at Catherine. “Lucien, why don’t you go take a break with Catherine for a few minutes? We’ll stay here with Samantha and Ollie.”

I was about to argue, but Griffin’s expression convinced me not to, so I decided on the route of least resistance. Catherine and I walked to a room down the hall. We stepped inside, and I pushed the door shut behind us.

“Sit, Lucien. You need to feed.”

“Catherine—”

“No, Lucien. You don’t look good. It’s obvious you haven’t fed recently, you were shot and poisoned with silver, and you’ve just given away more than a third of your volume. You need to feed.” She unbuttoned the sleeve of her blouse and rolled it up.

I remained standing. “I have a cooler full of blood around here somewhere.”

“Good. You drink from me. I’ll replenish with some of that. My blood is better for you anyway. You need to build your strength back up.” She patted the bed beside her. “Sit.”

When I finally sat next to her, she shifted so her body faced the side of mine. Then she held her arm up to me. Vampire blood was sweet and full of raw power. It heightened senses and intensified strength like nothing else. Usually only vampire mates exchanged blood, as Catherine and I had frequently done when we were together. So her offer was truly extraordinary and proved again what an invaluable friend she was.

I cradled her arm in my hands and laid a soft kiss on her forearm. She nodded when my eyes met hers. I sank my teeth in over her radial artery. She sucked in a breath but was calm. With her other hand, she rubbed my back in a gesture of comfort. It’d been seven decades since I’d last felt Catherine’s blood within me. The strength of vampire blood immediately enlivened my senses and fortified my musculature.

“Okay.” Catherine rubbed gently where my hair met my neck.

I immediately released her and ran my tongue across the wound. She pulled her wrist back and waited for the healing to complete before rolling her sleeve back down.

“Thank you, Catherine.”

She smiled at me and nodded. “Hey, how’s your stomach?”

I rose and tugged my hands through my hair. Her blood was at work on the wound. “Fine.”

She reached for the hem of my ruined shirt.

I blocked her hands and pulled one to my mouth. I pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “I’m fine.”

“Lucien—”

Jed and William’s car pulled into the driveway. “Come on,” I said as I turned away.

Catherine sighed and followed me out of the room and downstairs.

Jed and William came through the front door. Jed spoke first: “Somebody got to him before we did.”

“The place reeked of vampire. Besides you and Laumet, I’d say there were three others there at some point,” William said.

Cazzo! I nodded and ran my hands roughly through my hair.

“Oh, we grabbed Ollie’s bike. It’s in the trunk of Griffin’s car,” Jed added.

“Thanks. Listen, sorry to ask you to go back out. But they need food and clothes, and I could use a clean shirt.”

Without hesitation, William handed me the button-down he had on over a T-shirt. I stripped off my bloodied thermal and ignored the collective groans and grimaces as the others reacted to the ragged hole in my gut. Tugging on the offered shirt with a nod to William, I rattled off a list of things I wanted for the girls and sent my brothers in the direction of a store not too far away.

Back upstairs, Ollie had fallen asleep on Henrietta’s lap. I showed Henrietta to a room down the hall. She carried the child there to sleep. We rejoined the others in Samantha’s room.

My phone startled us when it rang. I recognized the number. “Langston?”

“Lucien, are you all right?”

“Yes.” I glanced at the others, knowing they could hear both sides of the conversation.

“Man, I thought you might be freaking out a little. The guard found Jacques’s body.”

I lowered my head. There was no way they wouldn’t smell my scent on him.

“What the hell happened?”

I growled. “Jacques is what the hell happened. He fucking brutalized Samantha.”

Langston hissed. “Shit, I’m sorry, Lucien. Hold on.” Over a long minute, muffled exchanges sounded in the background on his end. “Antoine doesn’t have time to talk right now, but he wants me to tell you he understands. He is furious at Jacques for going after the woman and creating this situation. We’ve all known Jacques’s rashness was going to catch up with him sooner or later.”

“Antoine’s not calling for my head?” My gut tingled with everyone’s surprise.

“Of course, he’s upset about Jacques, but you know he always liked you better. He always considered you like a son. His first reaction was to inquire about your and the humans’ fates. How are they, by the way?”

“I don’t know yet. Samantha’s critical.”

“I’m really sorry, Lucien. Hey, tell me where you are. I can bring you some supplies.”

I frowned. “Uh, I think I’m okay for now. I’ll give you a call back if I think of anything.”

“All right. Keep in touch. I’ll check back in with you soon. Antoine will be in touch after all this blows over. He has to focus on damage control right now.”

“Okay. Thanks for your call, Langston.”

“No problem.” The tension in the room ratcheted down at the news Samantha and I weren’t being hunted. Now I could put my full concentration into getting her better and creating a cover story.

Jed and William returned a while later with bags of food, drinks, and clothes. I thought about waking Ollie up to give her something to eat—she hadn’t eaten since lunch time at school—but decided if her body was letting her sleep, than sleep was what she most needed.

We settled in the living room to talk and left Henrietta upstairs in the arm chair to keep watch over Samantha in case she regained consciousness.

“Okay,” I began, “when Samantha wakes up…” Catherine looked at me and spoke gently.

“Maybe this is the time to tell her, Lucien.”

Everyone remained quiet and watched as I sat thinking. “She’s going to be too fragile. I can’t ask her to deal with that on top of recovering from these injuries. She was already unwell before this.” I didn’t even know what’d happened at her doctor’s appointment. “Plus, then I’d have to tell her about the Laumets and all the rest of it. It’s too much at all once, even for someone as strong as Samantha.”

Griffin sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees, his measured tones full of the same thoughtfulness he always brought to his words. “Lucien, you have done an astounding job of walking in her world. But the reality is your world and her world exist together. They’re the same world. Jacques demonstrated that forcefully last night. If you’re going to be with her, she deserves to know the truth.”

“What about Ollie?” Rebecca asked. “She knows about us.”

“I don’t know what to think about Ollie.” I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “I charmed her before. She was almost able to resist it. And then she pulled herself out of it after we got here.”

Henrietta appeared in the doorway to the living room. “She’s a special little girl, Lucien.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go up and sit with Samantha,” Catherine said as she rose from her chair. I tried to smile at her as she left the room.

Henrietta sat down on the arm of the couch next to Griffin. “I think I agree with Lucien. His blood will heal her injuries, but she’s going to be weak for a while. I don’t think it will help her recovery to have the added stress of knowing about him, us.”

“Henrietta’s opinion is enough for me.” I rose and paced behind the couch.

Griffin disagreed, but nodded at the both of us. “You’re going to have to charm her then, Lucien. You need to make sure she won’t recall anything supernatural about last night’s events.” He paused. “Did Ollie see the attack?”

“I don’t know what she saw. When I found her, she was hiding underneath a car farther up the street. There’s a line of bushes that should’ve blocked her view of Jacques’s biting Samantha and my…killing him.” Those words were hard enough to think, let alone say. I hadn’t been responsible for taking a sentient life in over a decade. “Oh.” I swallowed. They’re not going to like this. “Um, but she saw me pick up the car she was hiding under.”

They gaped at me. “Lucien.” Griffin’s voice was full of disapproval.

“I know, Griffin, but she was too scared to crawl out, and I couldn’t wait. I know.”

“She chalked that up to your being an angel, too, though, right?” Henrietta looked thoughtful. “What’s the harm in letting her continue to think that? She’s clearly believed that about you for a while. It hasn’t caused any problems.”

I sighed. “For some reason, it feels worse to let her think I’m an angel than to think about telling her the truth.”

Soft footsteps padded down the stairs. I walked out of the room into the foyer. Ollie was nearly at the bottom of the staircase. “Hey. What are you doing up?” I lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around my waist as I carried her into the living room.

“I don’t know. I woke up. Then I heard voices.”

I lowered us onto the couch and smoothed her hair back from her face. “Okay.”

Everyone’s anxiety tightened in my gut. What had she heard?

She lay quietly on my shoulder for a few minutes. The room relaxed. When she spoke, her voice was small but calm. “The truth about what?”

I froze. Everyone looked at me. In that moment, I made the decision. I pushed her body back gently, so I could see her face. “You’re a smart kid, Ollie, do you know that?”

She nodded, but her face remained serious. “You know how you think I’m an angel?” She nodded again.

“Well, I’m not. I’m not an angel. But you are right, I am something different.”

“What are you, then?” She met my eyes.

“I’m afraid I’ll scare you if I tell you.”

She fiddled with a loose thread on my shirt. “I can be brave.” She took a deep breath.

I took her small hand in mine and squeezed. “I know that, Ollie. You are very brave.” I thought for a minute while she searched my face. “Do you remember when you asked me if the man that…hurt your mom was an angel of death?”

“Yes.”

“You said not all angels were good, there were good angels and bad angels, like him. Remember?”

“Yes.”

I tasted the faintest hint of her anxiety, but overall she was remarkably calm. It felt so wrong to burden her with this information. She shouldn’t have to know about things like this. I looked around. Griffin nodded at me.

Ollie watched me intently. “Lucien, you’re good.” She surveyed the others and rested her eyes on Henrietta a beat longer than the rest. “And they’re good, too.” She looked back at me and whispered, “You don’t want to tell me.”

“I’m afraid to,” I whispered back, meeting her eyes.

She cupped her little hand around my cheek. “Can’t I just call you angels, even if you’re something different?”

The love I felt for her in that moment—that came from myself and the others—was overwhelming. None of us had ever experienced that kind of unconditional acceptance in our long existences. I nodded and swallowed hard. “Yes, Ollie, you can. You are right about one part of it though. We are your guardians. Do you know that?”

She nodded.

“I’ll always protect you. Do you believe me?”

“Yeah.”

“Us, too,” Griffin added softly.

She nodded. “Will you take me to see Mommy now, Lucien?”

“Yeah, baby, come on.” I lifted her and carried her up the steps to Samantha’s dim room. She’d shifted positions a little. That small evidence of movement gave me the hope I so desperately needed.

Catherine left as I sat with Ollie in the armchair. She lay her head down on my shoulder, but tilted it at an angle that allowed her to see her mother. Within fifteen minutes, she was sound asleep. I focused on the feeling of her heart beating against my chest and imagined for a moment it was big enough to beat for both of us.

I closed my eyes, not intending to rest. Before long, my ears tuned in to the conversation taking place in the living room. The consensus held I’d done the right thing by not telling Ollie the truth. It had felt right in that moment, but I remained unsure. There really was no right way to tell someone you’re a monster. I shut the conversation back out.

Maybe that was the problem. They wouldn’t have to know if I wasn’t around them anymore. The weight crushing my chest nearly suffocated me.

The next instant, Catherine stood in front of me trying to understand the cause of the emotions she’d just sensed. Her flight from the living room had startled the others, who filed in behind her. Catherine knelt down in front of me and kept her voice low to avoid waking Ollie. “Lucien, I’m guessing by the sense of loss and grief you’re feeling you’re considering leaving them. Maybe that’s the right thing, maybe it isn’t. But I don’t think it’s your place to make that decision for Samantha without her having any input. Maybe one week into your relationship it would’ve been, or even one month. But you have been with her now for seven months. Their lives are entirely oriented around their relationship with you, am I right?”

I nodded.

“Samantha has no one else now, no family.” She hesitated, then added, “And you’re sleeping with her.”

I winced. While I knew in a house full of creatures with heightened aural abilities our intimacy at Christmas wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, I still didn’t want it to be a topic of general conversation.

“My point is you’ve allowed the relationship to progress beyond where you can just make a unilateral decision without her.”

“But—”

“No, listen to me. I know you’re worried she’ll be devastated by the truth and hate you for it, but I can guarantee you she’ll be devastated and hate you if you just up and leave her or make up some hollow lie about not loving her anymore.”

I heaved a breath and hung my head back against the chair.

“At some point, you’re going to have to trust her with the truth and let her make her own decision. You owe her that much.”

“She’s right, Lucien,” Henrietta offered.

Griffin had said it best. Our worlds had collided. Samantha had been walking in my world all along, every bit as much as I’d been walking in hers. Only I knew it, and she didn’t. My shoulders fell, and I sighed. Ollie stirred but settled back down.

“Okay, you’re right,” I murmured.

Catherine found my hand and squeezed some reassurance into me. I offered her a weak smile.

One by one the others left the room. Henrietta walked to the bed and placed her hands on Samantha.

“She’s getting stronger, Lucien. It won’t be too long now.” She sat on the foot of the bed and leaned her back against the low footboard.

As I sat there with Ollie cradled in my lap, I could only hope and pray Henrietta was right.

***

Henrietta and I sat in silence for a long while. The morning had dawned just enough that the blackness at the windows turned dark blue. As the room continued to brighten, I realized the movement I was seeing through the curtains was snow falling. A storm front had passed through overnight. The normal cold of Detroit’s winter had returned.

Ollie mumbled in her sleep. I pushed out of the chair, then carried her back down to the bed where she’d slept earlier. I was thankful she stayed asleep when I laid her down. Miraculously strong though she was, her little body needed whatever rest it could find after the events of the last fourteen hours.

I pulled the door shut and walked back down to Samantha’s room. Henrietta inhaled to speak when Samantha’s hand jerked. I flew to her side and grasped her hand in mine. Her eyelids fluttered, then fell closed again. Her cheek twitched.

“Samantha?”

A barely audible moan whispered from her chest. Her eyelids opened again, though her eyes remained unfocused, unseeing. Her mouth attempted to form a word, but it got caught in her throat. She turned her head to the side and with effort pushed her eyelids up again and struggled to make sense of what stood before her. She forced some air out of her mouth. “Thirsty.”

Henrietta left the room and came back a moment later with a glass of water. The others gathered in the hallway, and I thanked them silently for giving her privacy. They always seemed to know the right thing to do.

I took the glass from Henrietta and, with my free hand, gently lifted Samantha’s head. I tilted the glass against her lips and allowed a little of the cool water to pour in. She kept her eyes on me while she drank. Then she lay back down and shivered.

Too low for Samantha to hear, Henrietta quickly explained she would likely experience fever-like symptoms for the next six to eight hours as her body burned off the remainder of my blood. I pulled an extra blanket up over her body. She attempted a smile.

“Where am I?”

“At one of my houses. Don’t try to talk, dolcezza. Just rest.” I kissed her forehead.

She nodded and her eyes drifted shut, then flew open suddenly. “Ollie?”

“She’s here. Sleeping. Don’t worry, now, rest.” Herhead fell to the side as she lost consciousness again. She’s okay. Oh, thank God. I closed my eyes as the realization swept over me.

The others quietly celebrated with me in the hallway. Henrietta smiled and nodded, then left the room.

I pulled the armchair close enough to the bed I could rest my weight in the chair but laid my head on the mattress near Samantha’s hip. I gripped her hand in mine and closed my eyes. Four hours later, her respiration changed, quickened. I opened my eyes. Samantha was looking down at me.

“Hey,” I said as I lifted my head.

“Hey,” she managed with a hoarse voice.

I picked up the water glass and brought it to her lips again. She drank greedily, then pulled back. I returned the glass to the nightstand. She pushed herself up a little and grimaced.

“What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

She frowned. “I took Ollie for a bike ride. She was too impatient to wait for you to get home, so I agreed we could go early. It was so nice outside. I let her go over to the playground, but the equipment was still too wet, so we left. And then…” Her heart rate accelerated. “I don’t know. I think I fell.”

“You don’t remember anything else? Why did you fall?” Was it really going to be this easy?

“I…I don’t know. One minute I was talking to Ollie, and the next…I was…my head hit the ground.” She worked her hand out from under the blankets and reached for her head.

“Does it hurt?”

“It feels numb and throbbing at the same time.”

Ollie walked through the door. She looked at me, and I nodded. “Mommy!” She ran up to the bed and pushed her body tight against mine. “Are you feeling any better, Mommy?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I was scared for you though.”

I tensed.

“I’m sorry, Ollie. I’m sorry I scared you.” Samantha looked between us. “What happened? I just can’t seem to remember.”

“We were going around the block and—”

“Ollie—”

“—you got wobbly and fell down. Your head hit the sidewalk hard.”

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby. I’m so sorry.” Samantha worked her hand free of mine to stroke Ollie’s cheek.

Ollie threaded one of her hands into mine and squeezed. If I lived a thousand years, I wouldn’t be worthy of this child.

“Stupid,” Samantha croaked. “My doctor’s appointment…I’m anemic.” She rolled her eyes. “I actually found out yesterday. There was a blood drive at the hospital. I got turned down because my iron was too low. The doctor confirmed it with some blood tests this afternoon, which made me feel a little woozy. I should’ve taken the time to eat something when I got home, but I figured I wouldn’t be out that long with Ollie, and I wanted to go before it got much darker.”

Her anger was a pang in my chest, a sensation made more uncomfortable by my guilt and betrayal at letting her blame herself.

She looked up at me. “You found me?”

“Yeah. You were just down the street across from my house.”

She looked around, recognizing the house this time. “Why did you bring me here?”

Damn. She’s sharp even when she’s out of it. “Um, there was a snowstorm last night.” True. “We lost power in our neighborhood.” Not so true.

Her face relaxed, then she yawned. “You should rest some more.”

“Yeah.” She turned onto her side and brought her knees up. “Just for a couple minutes,” she said as she closed her eyes.

I looked at Ollie and led her into the hallway. At the top of the steps, I sat down and patted the step beside me. She sat too.

“Ollie, I want to thank you for what you did in there.”

“I told you I wouldn’t tell.”

“I know you did. And I appreciate that. But I want you to make me a promise.” She looked up at me. “I agree we needed to do what we just did in this one situation. But I want you to promise you won’t lie to your mother about anything else. Do you agree?”

“Okay.”

I needed to make that promise too, but couldn’t. Not yet. “Let’s shake on it.” I held my hand out to her and she slid her hand around my thumb and laughed. “Come on. Are you hungry?”

She nodded, so we went downstairs. Everyone joined us in the kitchen as I rummaged through the bags Jed and William had brought from the store. I set three boxes of Pop Tarts on the counter and threw a look at Jed, who shrugged.

“Looks like it’s Pop Tarts, Ollie. Is that okay?”

“Sure!” She grabbed the blueberry box, opened it, and lifted out a silver foil package. I handed her a napkin and a glass of water. I found a bunch of bananas in another bag and handed one of those to her as well.

“She didn’t remember me being in the room before, did she?”

I looked at Henrietta. “No, it doesn’t seem like it.”

She looked at Ollie and hesitated. “Then maybe we should go before she knows we’re here.” I frowned.

“Henrietta’s right, Lucien,” Griffin added. “Our being here doesn’t well fit with the story.”

Ollie silently ate her Pop Tarts but paid close attention to the conversation.

“I know she would want to see you.” The wisdom of their words was winning me over, though I really didn’t want them to go.

“Why don’t we just come back for a visit this weekend?” Rebecca offered. “That would make sense. We’d be coming to make sure she was doing okay and to help out around the house for the weekend while she was recuperating.”

“I can’t come this weekend,” Henrietta replied. “I have to work. I can’t cancel this late; they’ll never find someone to replace me. I’m sorry, Lucien.”

“What about next weekend, then?” Ollie hated to see them go as much as me. I smiled at her suggestion.

They looked at each other. “Next weekend should work. We’ll come back,” Henrietta said as she smiled at Ollie.

“Okay. It’s a plan,” I said. “Can you stay long enough to keep Ollie company while I help Samantha get a bath? I want to get her hair cleaned up before she…” sees how much blood there is.

They got the gist without me needing to spell it out in front of Ollie. “Of course. Go ahead.” Griffin looked at me kindly.

As I walked out of the room, everyone settled down at the table around Ollie. I laughed out loud when she giggled and asked, “Anybody want some?”

They chuckled at her. Rebecca asked her to describe what a Pop Tart tasted like. Ollie’s voice rambled as I walked into Samantha’s room.

Balancing a glass of orange juice and a banana in one hand and a bag in the other, I shut the door behind me. I sat the food on the nightstand and sank into the arm chair. Samantha seemed to be sleeping peacefully. About thirty minutes later, a plow rumbled down the street in front of the house, waking her.

Her eyes settled on the orange juice. She reached out a hand for it. I helped her, and she drank half the glass. “Uh, that’s good.”

“How do you feel?”

“Better, I guess. Achy.” She pushed herself up on an elbow.

“How about a warm bath? It might help.”

“Um, yeah. Sounds good, actually.”

“Here.” I peeled the banana and handed it to her. “Try to eat a little something while I get the water going.” She nodded and nibbled a tiny bite.

Within ten minutes, the bathtub was sufficiently filled. I pulled the shampoo and body wash out of the bag and sat them on the edge of the tub. I walked out to get Samantha and was relieved to see the empty banana peel laying on the nightstand.

She was in the process of pushing herself into a sitting position. I silently thanked the girls for coming in overnight and dressing her. It would’ve been hard to explain the torn and bloody clothes.

“Here. Let me help you.” I scooped her up into my arms and carried her into the bathroom. I sat her on the toilet lid, knelt down in front of her, and grabbed the hem of her shirt. “Is this okay?”

She blushed a little—God it was wonderful to see that again—but nodded.

“I won’t look. Promise.”

She giggled weakly as I squeezed my eyes shut and lifted the shirt over her head. “Don’t be a dork, Lucien. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

I opened my eyes and thrilled to see her smiling. “I’ve been called many things, Sam, but I don’t think I’ve even heard the word ‘dork’ since the 1980s.” She laughed. It was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

I grabbed the waistband of the sweatpants she wore. “Lift.” She held her hips up, and I slid the fabric down. I met her eyes as I lifted her body and lowered her gently down into the warm water. “Is the temperature okay?”

She leaned her upper body against her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Yeah. It feels good.”

I grabbed a washcloth and dunked it in the water, then poured some of the soap into it. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” She watched me as I ran the cloth up and down her arms. I washed her back for her. Then she took over.

“I missed you,” I said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Lucien, you can’t be there every moment of every day. And it wasn’t your fault.”

I ignored her last comment. “I always want to be there for you. If anything ever happened to you—”

“Shhh, baby. I’m okay.” She reached out a wet hand and stroked my cheek. I leaned into her warm touch.

As she finished bathing, I walked out into the bedroom to retrieve the water glass from the nightstand. I knelt back down and dipped it into the water. She tilted her head back for me while I wet her hair. The water turned pink and she looked up at me.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry. It just bled a lot.”

Liar.

She nodded. She knew how much head lacerations bled, even when they weren’t very serious.

I picked up the shampoo and filled my palm with it. I worked the creamy liquid into her hair, trying to be thorough but gentle with the injured side of her head. When I massaged my fingers against her scalp, she closed her eyes. She loved when I ran my fingers through her hair. She said she found it relaxing.

I scrubbed the length of her hair between my hands, then retrieved the glass again. Within minutes, all the blood and soap had been rinsed out and she turned the drain lever with her toes. I turned and grabbed a thick decorative towel off a bar and unfolded it.

“Can you stand?”

She pushed herself up but grabbed onto my shoulders. I wrapped the towel around her body and lifted her feet over the tub’s edge. She sat back down on the toilet lid, and I handed her another towel for her hair.

Someone moved out in the bedroom, then Ollie came through the bathroom door. I peeked out and Henrietta stood in the shadow of the hallway. She blew me a kiss and mouthed, “See you soon,” then waved.

“Thank you,” I mouthed in return. It wasn’t sufficient, but they knew what their help meant to me. It didn’t require words.

Chapter Sixteen

We returned to Samantha’s townhouse that evening. I had to smile at the kitchen appliance clocks blinking as if the power had gone out. My family was nothing if not thorough.

Samantha was weak and exhausted but didn’t seem to be in any pain, for which I was eternally grateful. She made a concerted effort to eat since her anemia resulted at least in part from nutritional deficiencies, and she believed that was the cause of what had happened. My guilt at this train of thought grew since she was, of course, in no way responsible.

But day by day, she got stronger. And it was easier to let it all go.

Three days later, I finally gave in to her pleas to make love. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her. Dio, that was never the problem. I was just worried about harming her after what had happened. And I felt so damn guilty I didn’t think I deserved to have her.

But Monday night, she was cuddled against me in bed trying, I thought, to fall asleep. Then the hand she had settled on my chest slowly slid down my abdomen and cupped me through my boxers.

Her rhythmic grip enticed my erection immediately. “Please,” she whispered.

I couldn’t stand her begging for what I was only too willing to give. I turned into her and gently took her face in my hand. I brushed my lips over her eyes and nose, and then leisurely nibbled at her lips and tongue until she was writhing against me.

Together we fumbled under the covers at removing our clothing. I grabbed some condoms and, when nothing stood between us, we settled back into the same side-facing position and softly kissed and lovingly stroked one another. I took my time before I reached for the heated cleft between her thighs.

“You’re so wet for me.” I groaned in pride and satisfaction as I dragged my fingers teasingly back and forth. The corners of her mouth quirked up around our kiss.

“That’s because you drive me so insane.” Her hands moved into my hair and tangled and fisted the way I liked. “I really need you.”

I shifted my body lower and kissed my way down her neck until I was eye level with her collar bone, then I pressed a wet kiss over her pounding heart and hitched her thigh over my hip. I rolled on the condom and gripped my hard length and rubbed the swollen head against her drenched opening. She coated me with her arousal.

“Don’t tease me.” She pouted as she pressed kisses against my forehead.

I pushed into her. Slowly I filled her. When I was fully seated within her heat, I paused to suckle at her breasts. She moaned and pressed herself down and against me.

I threaded one arm under her body and gripped across her back; with my other hand, I grabbed hold of the curve of her hip. I rocked my hips against hers slowly and savored the sensations where we were joined. The sound of our lovemaking thrilled me as it always did—I relished the music of every shuddered sigh, wet kiss, pleasured moan, and shifting body.

Slow and sweet as it was, I was surprised by how much more intense it felt to be in her now that we had a Blood Connection. That my blood had run through her veins tied us together in primal ways that allowed me to sense and anticipate her. The connection vibrated around us and pounded in my hard length. It made me need to be deeper.

Gently I rolled on top of her and grunted and swallowed as the new position enabled her body to take more of me in. I cradled one of her legs up over an arm and opened her to me further.

“Oh, fuck,” I breathed, still trying to go slow, savor.

Samantha’s hands sought purchase against my sides until she finally pulled me down to lie fully atop her. “I love…your weight on…me,” she gasped around my thrusts.

The heat of her growing need enflamed my body and my mind. I grunted my agreement as a possessive, dominating urge ran down my spine. She buried her fingernails in the clenching muscles of my ass.

My restraint gave way. I gripped her shoulders and came at her with slow hard thrusts. Each time, I pulled myself almost all the way out of her before I hammered back in and rolled the base of my engorged sex against the center of her need.

Samantha groaned out her pleasure and lifted her hips to meet mine. “So good, Lucien, so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

We reached out with dry lips and wet tongues, but our labored breathing made lingering kisses difficult. So we panted and sighed and moaned into each other’s mouths as our bodies met again and again. When her breaths started to come in gasps and her muscles started to tighten around me, I shortened the length of my strokes and thrust faster to concentrate all my efforts on stimulating her.

“That’s it. Oh…God.”

I didn’t let up on her as she climaxed around me, on me. If anything, I moved harder, faster, dragging out her orgasm and chasing mine. When Samantha wrapped her arms and legs around me, the clenching in my groin told me to turn my head away from the sweating, pulsing life of her throat.

“Come in me, Lucien,” she begged.

Her words sent me over the edge. “Fuck.”

My release erupted, and my fangs tore into my biceps. The Blood Connection intensified my orgasm as well, and I ground my hips into her over and over as seconds turned into a minute. I wondered with amazement if I’d possibly had more than one.

I sucked my fangs and the blood on my arm back into my mouth and licked my wound shut as I panted on top of her. “Jesus Christ,” I rasped with my head on her shoulder.

Knowing my weight must get uncomfortable on her, I pushed away with a kiss on her cheek. But she locked her ankles around my ass and held me in place.

“What was that?” she asked, her tone full of incredulity and appreciation. I opened my mouth, trying to figure out exactly what she meant, when she continued, “That was freaking incredible.” Her smile was full and bright and coaxed one from me in return.

“Yes.” I leaned down and kissed her. “It was.” Minutes later, we were dressed and spooned in bed, though Samantha kicked some of the covers off with protests of being too hot. I chuckled as she shifted around and tried to get comfortable, and then stilled in surprise when the heat of her renewed lust snaked through my abdomen toward my groin.

Abruptly, she groaned and pressed her firm bottom back into my already-stiff erection. “Fuck, Lucien, I need you again.”

“Your wish,” I hissed as I sucked on her neck. She continued to grind her ass into me.

In one moment, I shoved her panties and my boxers down and sheathed myself in latex. Then I pushed her upper body slightly forward and found her wet entrance from behind.

The whole night went on like that.

We’d make love, and she’d sleep restlessly. Then she’d wake up, and one of us would need it again. My blood in her veins was calling me home. And it was clear both of us heard it.

***

Samantha’s new job was set to start on Wednesday. She was determined to go lest she end up having to work the weekend when my family planned to visit. Wednesday morning dawned, and she did in fact seem better, even excited. She demonstrated that first with her body before confirming it with her words.

“This is the first time I’ll step foot in that hospital as a real nurse.” She bounded out of bed and got in the shower. As she dressed in the bathroom, she called, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’ll be kinda good to get out of the house, too.”

“Hey!” I pouted. But it was true. We hadn’t left the house at all during the previous five days while she recovered. I knew she was getting cabin fever.

She emerged from the bathroom in scrubs—blue pants and a Snoopy shirt—with her damp hair in a ponytail. She leaned over the bed and kissed me. I restrained myself from pulling her back in with me. Barely.

“Don’t work too hard today.” I remained worried about her.

“I won’t. Thanks again for today.’”

“No problem.” Ollie had a bad cold and was staying home from school. I told Samantha I’d stay with her. “Your cab is going to be here in ten minutes. You should go grab some breakfast.” I really wanted her to take a few extra days to recover. But when she insisted on going to work, I asked her to indulge me by getting a ride and not wasting her energy walking.

She finally agreed but wasn’t happy about it. She rolled her eyes. “Lucien, I really can walk.”

“I know. Humor me.”

“Fine.” She kissed me again and then ran downstairs. A few minutes later, a car horn blared and Samantha yelled, “Bye! Love you!” as she ran out the door.

It was a quiet day with Ollie, who really was sick and divided her time between sleeping in her bed and watching television. When Samantha got home at 3:30, Ollie was on the couch in the family room. Three hours later, we had her in bed for the night.

Assuming Ollie wasn’t going to be well enough for school again the next day, Samantha asked Mrs. Johnson to watch her. I offered to do it, but she wanted me to get the Victorian cleaned back up and reopened to showings so it would be done before my family came. She was thrilled they were coming and didn’t want anything to interfere with their visit.

I walked Ollie over to Mrs. Johnson’s in the morning after Samantha went to the hospital. She seemed better but looked pale and acted tired. I left my cell phone number with Mrs. Johnson; if Ollie got worse, I wanted her to call me and not disturb Samantha at work. Ollie climbed on Mrs. Johnson’s couch with a pink blanket and a thin brown bear she only seemed to want when she wasn’t feeling good. I loved knowing that about her.

I kissed her on the forehead. “Bye, Ollie. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” She laid her head down on the arm of the couch.

“Thanks again, Mrs. Johnson. Don’t hesitate to call.”

I jumped in my truck, still parked in front of Samantha’s since we’d returned from the Victorian. As I pulled the door shut, the full power of Samantha’s dried blood in the back seat hit me. I’d meant to clean it up but had completely forgotten. My fangs tingled. I powered all the windows down and pulled out of the lot.

I spent the day cleaning my truck and the spec house. I no longer renovated houses for Lena. I did it to provide for Samantha and Ollie’s financial security. For the first time, I looked at the houses as investments in the future, not memorials of the past.

I’d just finished making up the master bed with the new comforter set I’d purchased when my cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and placed it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Lucien, this is Betty Johnson.”

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Johnson? How’s Ollie?”

“Well, that’s what I was calling about. Is Ollie with you?”

“What? No. Why would she be with me?”

“Well, she said she was going over to her house to get one of her movies about twenty minutes ago. She hasn’t come back. I went over and checked, but she isn’t there, so I thought maybe you or Sam had come home and got her.” Her voice quivered with panic.

“No. Stay at your house, because she’ll probably be right back. I’ll be right there.” I slammed the phone shut as I raced down the stairs. Where could she be? I jumped in my now-clean truck. Within fifteen minutes, I was parked in front of Samantha’s.

The dark skin of her brow furrowed in worry, Mrs. Johnson met me at her door.

“Is she back?”

She shook her head. “No.”

I turned abruptly and jogged over to Samantha’s. I didn’t hear any heartbeats inside, which didn’t fully calm me. I ran through the house, but it was empty. I came back out to the front porch. Where? My eyes drifted down. Beginning at the edge of the sidewalk and continuing around the side of the house was a trail of small footsteps in the snow.

My house. I followed the trail across the snow- covered field and jogged up my front steps. The front door stood open.

There were no heartbeats in this house either. Ollie wasn’t here. Her thin brown bear lay discarded on the floor. A small stack of DVD cases spilled off the coffee table. Her scent was strong in the air and—I seethed—tinged through with fear. She’d been here not long ago.

I froze as I stepped into the living room. Her scent wasn’t the only one I smelled. Vampire. Someone, something, else had been here, too, had been here when Ollie came.

I went feral in that moment, my fangs punching out and my eyes flooding with blood. Giving over to my sense of smell, I stalked through the first floor. It couldn’t be.

One of Ollie’s angel drawings lay on the kitchen island picture-side down. Please don’t let it say what I think it’s going to say. I chanted a prayer as I picked it up.

Through a red haze, I read the curling script of Antoine Laumet’s seventeenth-century hand.

I got tired of waiting for you. But this is so much better. A daughter for a son. Almost poetic, don’t you think?

Unfortunately, she’s just so little. She’s really not a fair trade. So collect the girl’s mother, and come to the Michigan Central Station at midnight.

Don’t think of not bringing her. It will be so much worse if I have to track her down.

My eyes locked into a loop, reading and rereading the lines over again, willing them to shift the letters into different words.

My cell phone rang. Instinctively I knew who it would be. She couldn’t help me now. No one could.

I thought back to Langston’s phone call. I had been played. Betrayed.

The unsettling sensation of Samantha’s worry broke me out of my reverie. The Blood Connection enabled me to sense her from even greater distances now. As she neared my house, she called my name. Her tone was filled with restrained panic.

I crumpled the paper and shoved it in my jeans pocket. I drained my eyes and retracted my fangs, then turned to face her as she ran up the steps and through the front door.

Her world was about to shatter in a million pieces. And I was going to be the one to wield the hammer.

Chapter Seventeen

“Lucien, did you find Ollie?” She registered the look on my face. “Oh, God. What’s happened?” She ran down the hall to the kitchen and stopped right in front of me.

“Samantha.”

She grabbed my arms and shook me. “Lucien? You’re scaring me.”

“Sam, I need you to sit down.”

“What? No. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Do you know how much I love you?”

“Of course I do.” Tears filled her eyes. “What does that have to do—”

“I lied to you last week.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. “What?”

Just rip it open, I thought. “You didn’t fall. You were attacked. You were attacked by the son of a man I used to work for a long time ago.”

She gaped and pushed back the wisps of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.

“The son, his name was Jacques Laumet. He hated me from the day I met him. He attacked you to get at me.”

The next sentence ranked as one of the three most impossibly hard things I was going to have to say to her today: “When I found you that day, he was killing you. Ollie was probably next. I killed him to stop him from doing it.”

Her head shook back and forth involuntarily as she struggled to make sense of what she was hearing. Her fear and confusion roiled in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m so sorry I lied to you. I was trying to protect you. I thought we were clear of the danger.”

“You killed someone?” She flung her arms down and paced between the counter and the island. “Defending me?”

I nodded when she finally looked at me. “Sam?” She continued pacing. “Sam!”

“What?”

“There’s more. I need you to listen.”

She braced her hands flat on the counter in front of her and leaned forward. Then she bolted upright. “What does this have to do with Ollie? Oh God, did she see what happened?”

“No, she doesn’t seem to have seen most of what happened after he grabbed you. That’s not the point. Listen to me.” I paused. She focused. “The man I worked for, the father, his name is Antoine Laumet. He is a very powerful…man in this city. He runs a lot of the organized crime here.”

The news devastated her—she paled and gaped. I’d just admitted to working for what she understood to be the mob. I steeled myself for the second of the impossible things I had to tell her: “He took her, Sam. He took Ollie to avenge Jacques.”

She shook her head again. Then she came around the counter, walked straight up to me, and slapped me hard across the face.

I turned back to her and looked at her patiently. That’s the least of what I deserve. She trembled and rubbed her hand. She raised her fists at me and slammed them into my chest. Finally, I caught them, though she twisted and struggled in my grip. “Sam…Sam, stop…Samantha!” But she continued to fight within my arms as tears streamed down her face.

“No. No!” she sobbed and futilely tried to pummel me. “She’s all I have left!”

I hugged her tight. I needed her to work through these emotions, because the situation was far from over. My cell phone rang again in my pocket. I ignored it.

Finally, she pulled back and looked at me fiercely. “You’re part of some criminal underworld, and you exposed Ollie to it?”

I blanched. “It is my fault, Samantha. But I’m not part of that world. I haven’t worked for or with those people in a very long time.”

She scoffed. “Lucien, you’re twenty-eight. How long ago could it have been?”

“I’m older than I look, Sam.”

She squinted and looked at me hard. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I walked right up to her. “You have every right to me furious with me. And you have every right to demand the truth—and I will give it to you, every last bit. But right now, that truth is not the most important thing. The most important thing is Ollie. I think we can get her back.”

She sucked in a breath. I pulled the piece of paper out of my pocket and handed it to her. She uncrumpled and read it, a whimper escaping her throat as she did.

“Why the old train station?” She looked up at me.

“I don’t know. The only thing I can figure is because I’ve never been there before. So he knows I’m not familiar with the building and its layout. Plus it’s relatively isolated.”

She looked at her watch. “We’ve got eight hours. We should call the police.” She walked toward the phone on my counter. I grabbed her wrist.

“We can’t, Sam.” Her eyes and rage sliced into me. “If we do, he’ll kill Ollie or take her away somewhere we’ll never find. The police wouldn’t be very effective against him anyway. Trust me.”

Her voice came out as a high-pitched wail. “What are we supposed to do then?”

“We’re going to do exactly what he says. I will gladly trade my life for hers. I need you to know that.”

For an instant, her love and trust warmed me before being replaced by a noxious quagmire of hurt, betrayal, and fear.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Then I walked to the kitchen cabinet over the sink. “Drink this.” I pulled the flask down and held it out to her.

“What?”

“I know you don’t trust me. But right now you’re going to have to. You’re going to have to dig deep down where some part of you knows I love you and find a way to trust me. Because Ollie’s life depends on it. All of ours do.”

Her blue-green eyes flashed with love and fear and malice. She grabbed the flask. “What is this?”

“It’s just water. Drink it.”

“Why—”

“Please, dolcezza, just drink it.”

I really hadn’t meant to, but I charmed her a little. She lifted the flask to her lips and emptied it, then made a face. “Tastes weird.” She shoved the flask back at me. “And don’t call me dolcezza.”

I set the flask on the counter as her rage and terror wracked my body. Every bit of the pain I deserved. “Come on. You should change. Then there are some things we need to do.”

She turned and stalked out of the house. She didn’t wait for me as she crossed the field. And I stayed in her living room as she ran upstairs to change. Her distance was suffocating me, a tightness clenched my chest, but as it was entirely of my own making, I could hardly blame her for it. Finally, she came back down in dark jeans tucked into snow boots and a navy turtleneck sweater I’d given her.

It took everything I had not to pull her into my arms when she came downstairs. Instead, she shoved on her coat and walked alone out the door. I followed.

“Get in the truck, please. I’ll tell Mrs. Johnson we’re going to get Ollie, so she doesn’t worry.” Without responding, she got in the truck. I registered the door slamming as I knocked on Mrs. Johnson’s door.

Several hours later, we returned. I’d made stops at four lawyers’ offices and a bank. I also bought a prepaid cell phone just in case, a thick silver necklace I finally convinced Samantha to wear, and a silver-bladed dagger. I had weapons at Edmund Place I could’ve used instead, but I wasn’t willing to leave Samantha alone, and taking her there seemed likely to raise more questions than she already had. I needed her as focused as humanly possible given what we were about to walk into.

She stomped up the sidewalk and into her house. I was about to follow when snow crunched behind me. I spun into a crouch, fangs bared. Catherine stood mostly hidden behind the corner of the next row of townhouses. I relaxed and flew over to her. We stared, silently conversing through our empathy.

“I’ve been calling…How bad is it?” She already knew from my emotions everything was coming apart.

“It couldn’t be worse. Laumet took Ollie. Samantha and I have to meet him at midnight to try to get her back.”

Catherine growled. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, you won’t. He’s going to have guards everywhere. He’ll know you’re coming before you’re anywhere near him. I can’t risk Ollie that way.” She searched for alternatives, but there weren’t any. “There is something you can do. Get the rest of the family here. If either of them makes it out of this alive, do everything you can to protect them. Take them out of the city if you have to. Give them access to any and all of my resources. I’ve made all of the arrangements, and Griffin knows who to contact. Just make sure they’re taken care of.”

“Why are you talking like you’re not going to be here?”

I shrugged. “I’m not the most important thing.”

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you fucking do that, Lucien. You come back from this. You hear me? Don’t be reckless. They need you.”

Kicking at the snow, I nodded, but refused to voice any promises I couldn’t keep.

She grabbed my hands and squeezed. “We’ll be here for all of you, Lucien.”

I kissed her cheek. “I have to go.”

“Wait.” She ripped the clothing aside at her neck. “I don’t know what you’re walking into, but you need every possible advantage. Don’t even think about resisting.”

I met her eyes and sent her a rush of eternal gratitude. I embraced her and sliced my teeth into her neck. I drank and drank and was about to pull away when she gripped her hand at the back of my head and held me down. I could feel her concern for my safety, but I couldn’t let her gravely weaken herself for me.

I pulled back more forcefully this time. She didn’t fight.

I kissed her cheek again. A thin red tear stole from her eye as I ran back to Samantha’s.

***

Soft snowflakes fell as I drove the truck up the long deserted approach road through Roosevelt Park to the ghostly grandeur of the Michigan Central Railroad Station. Built in the early twentieth century, the structure was imposing with its massive arched windows and neoclassical office building towering eighteen stories above. Its height was all the more pronounced due to the lack of any other noticeable building around it.

After refusing to talk to me all evening, Samantha’s nerves had finally gotten the better of her. On the ride over she began tentatively talking and asking questions. Hearing her voice, even transformed as it was by fear and rage, was like a salve. All her words could be summed up by the ones she stated fiercely as we got closer to our destination: “No matter what, Lucien, we have to get her back. Promise me we can get her back.”

I cupped my hand tenderly around her neck, groaning inwardly at the relief the physical contact provided. “I will gladly give my life to make that happen, Samantha.”

She nodded and met my eyes momentarily, then glanced back down at her knotted hands.

I parked and scanned the area around us. I couldn’t see or sense anyone, but surely they were there. As my eyes searched, I reiterated a list of rules to Samantha. “I need to say this one more time. You have to listen. You have to obey.”

She met my gaze.

“First, I need you to avoid looking in Laumet’s eyes. It would just be better in general to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.” I could feel her wanting to question me again; we’d already had this argument. “Second, no matter what happens, you must remain at my side at all times so I can focus on how to regain physical possession of Ollie. Third, if I tell you to close your eyes, close them immediately and do not open them for any reason until I tell you to.” I studied her to see if she was going to question me. “Finally—”

A shadow moved in front of the right side of the arched entryway.

I opened the truck door and stepped out, then motioned for Samantha to slide across the seat so she could get out on my side with me. As I shut the door, two more shadows—now taking shape as bodies—appeared. I grasped Samantha’s hand tight in my own and walked around the front of the truck toward the building.

She tucked her body snug against my shoulder. I could smell her terror, but to her credit she was outwardly calm, steady, and focused.

I didn’t recognize the vampires in the entryway. A tall black male radiating confidence opened the doors and indicated we should follow, while the other two males—one pale and bald and a muscular one with spiky blond hair—felt more curious and excited and followed behind to prevent our escape.

Samantha grasped me tighter as she lost her sight to the pitch black of the empty cavernous waiting room. My eyes scanned over the huge arched ceiling and the numerous classical columns, committing to memory as much of the physical layout of the building as I could. The space narrowed as they led us down a long arcade. Up ahead, I could just make out a hint of gray light. Samantha’s heartbeat and the sound of our footsteps scattering unseen debris on the hard floor thundered in the stillness.

The walls around us opened up once more into another large hall—a row of abandoned ticket windows lined one side of the room. The light I perceived moments before came from ahead of us.

I pressed my lips against Samantha’s ear. “Remember the rules and that I love you.”

She nodded against my face and shivered like she was freezing.

As we stepped out into the massive rectangular concourse, I sensed and then saw a group congregated at one end of the long space. I surveyed the landscape: exit doors stood at each end, although Laumet’s group blocked one set and the other appeared chained. A row of doors lined one wall, presumably the exits to the now defunct platforms. My shoulders fell as I calculated the odds. Including the three men escorting us in, seven of Laumet’s inner circle and guard stood before us.

Samantha glanced up from underneath her eyelashes. She was looking for the same thing I was, but Ollie was not among them.

I locked eyes with Laumet from halfway across the hall. When we were within fifteen feet of him, I stopped abruptly. Samantha stumbled into me.

“Where is she?” My voice was coarse.

“Tsk. Tsk. All in good time.” He glanced at Samantha. “I have not had the pleasure of your introduction.”

Her eyes flickered up at him. Dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit, he moved toward us. At first her terror elevated. I took a step back, pushing her back with me. But then I was rocked with a wave of defiance and fury. I looked to Samantha, awed at her strength. She had stepped out from behind me and stood squared off, tall, erect. I wished I could read her mind, but I guessed by reading her body she’d decided she would not be cowed.

I raised my arm up in front of her. “That’s close enough, Antoine.”

He raised his hands in a gesture of assurance and stopped several feet in front of Samantha. He looked at me expectantly. Then he sighed and bowed slightly. “Madame, I am Antoine Laumet.”

Samantha’s eyes darted to my face before focusing forward again.

His smile was indulgent. “Is it not still customary to offer one’s name in return upon an introduction?” A murmuring chuckle rumbled through the group.

“Saman—” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “Samantha Sutton.”

He appraised her. His eyes made her uncomfortable. The confidence she’d demonstrated just a moment ago wavered under his intense gaze. The embarrassment his attention was causing her, however, stoked her fury.

“Where is my daughter? She has done nothing to you.” Then, with some effort: “Please.”

“Do not be concerned, Samantha. She will be down shortly.”

“Antoine, let them go. They have nothing to do with this. I’m the one you want. Take me and let them go.”

He walked right up in front of me. I instinctively pushed Samantha back with my arm. His emotions were all over the place and battered me: now pitying, then enraged; now bitter, then grieving; now regretful, then resentful.

I worked hard to block his and everyone’s emotions. It was too distracting, and thereby made me too vulnerable. But months of keeping my power open to Samantha and Ollie had weakened the walls I used to throw up around my empathy.

“It has been a long road you and I have walked, Lucien. I took you in. I brought you close. I treated you as a son. I cared for you as a son. I gave you what you most wanted, your freedom.” He shook his head. When his eyes met mine again, they glinted darkly. “You brought this on. I warned you not to interfere in my business. I warned you what would happen. You have left me no choice. The gravity of your transgression against me demands redress. Jacques’s death demands vengeance!” His voice bellowed and echoed through the hall by the end.

“So find your vengeance with me. Let the girls go. Olivia is but a child, for God’s sake.”

He spat his words at me. “You have been a miserable shell of a man the entire time I have known you. Killing a man who would like nothing more than to die is no vengeance at all. It’s mercy. Jacques’s memory, my empire, demands vengeance. I need to make an example. They will help me make it.”

My temper flared. “How many times have I saved your life? You—”

He flew at me, cutting me off with a blow across my face. I staggered back. Samantha choked on a scream.

“How dare you? I have repaid that debt several times over.” He smoothed his suit. “And even if I had not, your destruction of my family has offended me so grievously as to render forgiveness or even leniency impossible.”

Footsteps at the doorway through which we’d entered caught my attention. I whipped around. I could only focus on one of the four figures approaching our group: Ollie was slumped against Magena’s chest, no doubt having been charmed into sleep. Perhaps that was a blessing.

Magena avoided my eyes. I couldn’t get a good read on her. Walking behind her was a male vampire I didn’t know and—my eyes narrowed— Langston, whose gaze flickered toward me before returning to the ground in front of him. I sneered at the false remorse flowing off him.

Samantha gasped and whimpered when her eyes could finally cut through the dimness enough to see her daughter. I had to restrain her from throwing herself at them. Her maternal instinct was strong and gave off a powerful energy.

They skirted around us and stood a little distance behind Laumet. Ollie was maybe twenty feet away—it felt like miles.

Tears spilled down Samantha’s face. Her arms out, she took a halting step forward, which of course Laumet noticed. “Please…please, give me back my baby.”

I could instantly tell when her eyes met Laumet’s. She took another step forward, though this one was clumsier.

“Samantha!” The volume and urgency of my voice snapped her out of it as she whipped her head to me. Her eyes widened with some sort of realization. Laumet chuckled once at our exchange.

The sound pushed some button inside Samantha, who raised her head again and blurted out, “She’s a child! An innocent child! We have nothing to do with this! What kind of monster are you?”

Laumet flew at her. I stepped between them in a defensive posture. My aggression caused several of the guard to move forward menacingly.

Laumet held up his hands. “Step back,” he commanded them. “They are mine. I will brook no interference under any circumstances.” He took the time to meet each of their eyes individually. They retreated. His direct order left them no other option.

He smiled broadly at Samantha over my shoulder. It struck even me as grotesque. He glanced back to me. “What kind of monster? What kind of monster?” He covered his laughing mouth with one hand as he crossed the other over his stomach. All of a sudden his face changed. He arched his eyebrows as he looked at me. “Oh, Lucien. It never occurred to me. You were always such a one for scruples.”

I frowned, then blanched as I understood the meaning of his words.

He looked at Samantha with amusement as he spoke to me. “She doesn’t know.” He barked a single laugh as he paced back and forth before us. He finally walked over to Magena, drawing Samantha forward to stand next to me.

I growled fiercely when he brushed a wisp of blonde hair back from Ollie’s face. Samantha stared at me in amazement. This wasn’t the playful sound she elicited during our lovemaking. She’d never heard such a feral noise from me before.

Laumet turned on his heel to consider me in a sidelong manner. “You have been passing. Oh, that is too good, Lucien. Truly. You are a piece of work.”

Samantha’s confusion cut off abruptly as Laumet closed the distance between them at an inhuman speed and stood before her. A terrified curiosity washed off her. “What kind of monster, indeed, Samantha. Lucien, perhaps you—”

“Lucien?” The small voice came from behind Laumet, capturing everyone’s attention. Ollie had regained consciousness and twisted in Magena’s arms to try to see us. Magena held her firm, although she did let Ollie angle herself toward us. “Lucien? Mommy!” Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She was scared but remarkably composed.

“I’m here, baby. It’s okay…” Samantha pressed her fist against her mouth.

“I knew you’d come, Lucien,” she whispered. Her faith in me lifted me up and smashed me down. It felt miraculous, but was completely undeserved.

Ollie finally registered the others standing around her and surveyed the group. She cowered against Magena’s body and flinched when she looked at Laumet. Then she pulled back to evaluate Magena, and her body relaxed. She ran her gaze over Magena’s face and met the Indian woman’s eyes in the disconcertingly easy way she did with me and my family. Something tugged at the back of my mind.

Laumet grumbled and pulled everyone’s attention back to him. “I am bored with this. It is time…”

“Antoine,” I warned, “you should know if anything happens to any of us, I’ve made arrangements to expose you. Several attorneys are waiting to hear from me. If they don’t, they’re prepared to distribute packets of information—”

“You think you can threaten me?” He belted out a strained maniacal laugh. “Lucien Demarco, you have violated my trust, tarnished my honor, challenged my authority, and murdered my son. This is my city. I make the rules. I mete out the punishment for the infraction of those rules. Your sins are too grievous for anything short of execution. I therefore sentence you and your humans to destruction.” He looked at Langston and another vampire and barked, “Restrain them.”

I hissed as Langston grasped Samantha’s biceps. She shrieked in surprise. The bulky blond male from our escort grabbed me from behind. I seethed and bucked.

In a flash, Laumet flew to Magena and roughly pulled Ollie from her arms. Magena gasped and Ollie screamed, a sound Samantha immediately echoed. Something in Magena’s face momentarily distracted me.

I scowled at Laumet and roared, “Antoine! Don’t!”

Chapter Eighteen

Antoine cradled Ollie in his arms. She struggled against him. He held her face still and looked into her eyes. A moment later her body went limp.

The next moments passed as if in slow motion. Laumet tilted Ollie’s head back. Her long blonde hair cascaded over his arm toward the floor. Laumet’s fangs protruded from his drawn lips. He lined his mouth up on Ollie’s neck, sank his teeth into her, and swallowed once, twice, three times.

I slammed my elbows back into the blond male’s gut, unsheathed the silver blade from my coat sleeve, and slashed his throat. Then I launched myself at Laumet. I silently thanked Catherine for her blood, which made possible these razor-sharp reflexes and my heightened speed and strength.

Samantha screamed Ollie’s name over and over as Laumet continued to feed.

Then, he wrenched his head back in pained surprise. His eyes were bloodied, wide with shock and realization. His now-poisoned blood dripped from his nose. Just as I slammed into him, he coughed a stream of blood so forcefully it arced out over Ollie’s body.

With one hand, I shoved him back hard. With the other, I flung Ollie’s body to the side, flinching at the thud her head made as it hit the floor several feet away.

I was surprised to realize the others weren’t attacking, and I concentrated just long enough to feel the frustration roiling off most of them. Antoine’s order forced their inaction, which I prayed would keep Samantha safe for a few more moments.

I refocused on my target, who spewed more blood from his mouth and began bleeding from the ears.

Over Laumet’s gagging and Samantha’s shrieks, an authoritative voice commanded: “He told you not to interfere. As his second, I am telling you not to interfere.” Magena.

I finally realized what had been tugging at me earlier: That must be a good sign about this guy. Ollie has always been a good judge of people. Samantha’s diary. Ollie had assessed Magena and relaxed. I hadn’t connected it at the time, but Ollie had judged Magena to be good.

Magena is on our side. I tucked that away as I landed on top of Laumet. “Samantha, eyes!” I roared.

I couldn’t delay to see if she obeyed. I needed to finish this before his body found a way to deal with and recuperate from the holy water now coursing through his bloodstream. If he got the command out of his mouth, the rest of them would be on me and this would be over.

I couldn’t let that happen.

The blood pouring down Laumet’s face burned his skin and, as I came into contact with him, it burned me as well. He struggled to control his body, but I knew from seeing him go through this once before—the day I twice saved his life two decades ago—his age slowed his healing abilities.

I had one option only and, as I sank my fangs into Laumet’s neck and ripped with all my might, I hoped my interpretation of Magena was correct. Because I killed her mate of nearly a quarter millennium. Laumet’s head rolled to the side.

Just to be sure this was over, I slammed my fist holding the silver dagger into his chest and opened up a gaping hole that allowed blood to stream out in a gush. It set my hand on fire.

I jumped off him and landed several feet away, just far enough to escape his pooling blood. I wiped the bloody hand on my jeans as I crouched defensively and assessed the situation, looking for the next threat.

Remembering Samantha, I drained my eyes and retracted my teeth. Rage and confusion consumed me at the image of Langston’s arm around her shoulders.

She pulled and twisted against Langston’s hold and radiated a white-hot terror matched in intensity only by the murderous maternal instinct she felt for Ollie, who lay crumpled and bleeding a dozen feet away.

Laumet’s broken body was in pieces at my feet. Where Ollie’s blessed blood had spilled from him, his skin was blistered and raw. My hands, neck, and left cheek had similar marks on them, now in the process of healing. But none of that mattered.

I looked to Magena, who emitted an odd mixture of relief and anxiety. With Jacques and Laumet gone, she was the natural successor to the empire. She’d been Laumet’s mate and was the next oldest vampire in his coven. She had to take decisive action to secure her ascendancy. She did.

“Do it,” she growled at me.

In a flash, I was over Ollie.

Samantha screamed and fought until Langston finally released her. She sprinted toward us and fell to her knees just an arm’s length away. I met her eyes and used my power on her in a forceful way for the first time. She stopped where she was.

“Sam, you have to listen to me. Ollie’s life depends on it. Do you hear me? When I let you go, you may come over here, but you cannot interfere with what I am about to do.”

I released her. She blinked lazily. When her eyes regained their focus, the look she trained on me was part incredulous and part livid.

“I know you have absolutely no reason to do so, but you have to trust me.”

She made a choked noise filled with contempt. Wanting to spare her my fangs, I reached back and pulled the blade from my boot. Sensing Samantha’s defensive instinct, I trained my eyes on her and held her in place to ensure she didn’t attempt to stop me again.

“Here’s what’s about to happen. If you will please listen and stop trying to interfere, I will not do this to you again. We’re running out of time, Sam; her head injury is stressing her system, and her heart is working too hard.”

Her strength was simply amazing. Despite my hold on her she managed an obvious nod and a weak but clear, “Please.”

I released her. “Think about it. I have saved your life once and her life twice. I would never— never, do you hear me?—do anything to harm you or her.”

Her confusion flickered across her eyes, and a torrent of competing emotions coursed through her. Some deep part of my brain gasped in hope as the acrid betrayal and anger she felt toward me lost a little ground to the warmth of the love she had, or at least used to have, for me.

“She needs my blood. It’s curative. It will heal her.” I sliced the knife across my right wrist.

Samantha stifled a cry and glanced from my wrist to my eyes. “No, no, no, no.”

“Sam, I’m her only chance.”

“But you…you’re a…” She looked at me wide-eyed.

“Yes, Samantha. I am a vampire.” I met her eyes for one moment—which was all I could stand—and gulped down a massive knot of regret at this final impossible revelation.

“This will not change her. You’ve had my blood.” She looked confused, then her eyes bulged. “It didn’t change you.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly. I’m not sure she even realized she did it.

I pulled Ollie’s little body up against my leg so she was slightly elevated. I eased her jaw open and rested my bleeding wrist against her waiting mouth. The blood dropped in. After a moment she weakly swallowed, an involuntary reaction to the liquid pooling against her throat. I took the knife in my free hand and nicked the forefinger of the hand resting over Ollie’s mouth, opening up a second small flow I wiped across the wound on her neck.

Within minutes, my blood started closing her throat wound. Samantha gasped. She sought my permission as she reached to take Ollie’s extended hand.

“Yes, of course. It’s okay.” I looked up to Magena, who’d moved a little closer to observe my ministrations. “Magena, may we please have some water and cloths?”

She motioned to one of the others, who returned within minutes with a pitcher of water and several washcloths and towels. Magena looked to Langston and two other male vampires she’d made decades ago. These three men would form the beginnings of the inner circle of her guard.

Too low for Samantha to hear, she ordered everyone else out and commanded Langston and two others named Daniel and Michael to put the whole place on lockdown until she was done with this situation. Langston nodded, and the three flew out of the room. Only the four of us remained.

“Not too much, Lucien,” Magena cautioned.

I nodded and pulled my arm away from Ollie’s mouth, then lifted her body up slightly so I could rub my open wrist against the injury she’d received on the back of her head when I’d shoved her clear of Laumet’s spilling blood. I cringed at the lump under her hair.

I’d caused that.

Magena stepped forward and placed her hand on my shoulder. So only I could hear, she offered, “You did right by her. She could have been changed otherwise.”

I nodded and noticed Samantha’s confusion at our seemingly silent exchange. “Magena, please speak loud enough for Sam to hear you.”

“Oh. As you wish.” She looked at Samantha. “Lucien feels guilty for Olivia’s head injury, but I was assuring him if he hadn’t knocked her free of Laumet’s blood and it had gotten into the bite mark on her neck, it could have begun her change into one of us. That was all I was telling him.”

Samantha glanced back and forth between us and tried to keep up with the torrent of information coming at her from all sides. When I pulled my arm away from Ollie’s head, I rested it in my lap. Samantha’s breath caught and I looked up to see the cause of her alarm. Her eyes were wide and trained on my wrist. I glanced down to find my wound had healed.

“I heal,” I murmured. “There isn’t much that can permanently harm me. Those are the properties that will help make Ollie better.”

She glanced at Ollie’s face. “Now what do we do?” she whispered, still holding Ollie’s hand.

“We wait for the blood to do its job.”

I grabbed a washcloth and dipped it into the pitcher of water. I gently washed the blood off Ollie’s face and neck. I threw the reddened cloth to the floor behind me. Her hair would have to wait until she could be bathed.

Magena picked up a cloth and dipped it, then handed it to me. I frowned up at her in confusion. “For your face,” she said. “You look as bad as she did.” I roughly ran the clean cloth over my face and neck, and then cleaned my hands.

I looked up at Magena. “Why did you do this for us?”

“You know why, Lucien.” I frowned. I really didn’t. Her eyes darkened. “For more than two hundred years, I have hated what I am, what he made me into. I have hated the kind of person he was, the kind of world he doomed me to live in for all eternity. I have had to suffer hearing the thoughts of the very worst creatures. He did that to me. He subjected me to that.” She paused and paced, glancing down at Laumet’s gory remains.

“Then you came here. And you were different. You wanted to be different.” She spun to look at me. “You were different, Lucien. I could see it. I could read it in you. You gave me hope. I was so happy for you when he let you go. And then when Langston told me you had found love, I was thrilled.” She became lost in thought for a moment.

“When the guard brought the child in, I was so furious I had to hold back from striking at Laumet myself. Not only was she part of your happiness, but she was everything he was not: goodness, innocence, hopefulness, possibility. There was no way I was letting him take that away, from you or from her. I don’t care what it costs me.”

I gawked at her in admiration and gratitude. “Thank you” was all I could manage.

I was certainly aware of her resentment of Laumet and had been for a long time. And I knew she kept things from him. As I thought about it, she’d always seemed to have a special sense of protectiveness toward me. I never realized the significance of that feeling, however.

I looked from Magena to Samantha, whose eyes had been drawn away from Ollie by the forcefulness and passion of Magena’s words. Samantha was fascinated despite herself.

“Magena, would you be willing to allow us the use of a room for a few hours until we can more safely remove Ollie from here?”

She looked between us. “Follow me.”

I gently scooped Ollie into my arms, then extended the hand under Ollie’s legs to Samantha to help her up. She hesitated but finally accepted it. I pulled her to her feet. She was more steady than I feared she might be, although I could smell the adrenaline in her blood and knew that was keeping her going.

Magena led us out of the concourse and down a corridor to a staircase. On the next level, we passed a few doors down a dark hallway when she stopped and pushed open a door to a large sitting room with couches.

The room stood out from everything else I’d seen here so far because it was clean, modern, lit, and well appointed. They’d clearly left the main level disintegrating to discourage intruders.

“I’ll have some pillows and blankets brought in so you can make her comfortable.”

“And some drinking water, please?”

“Of course.” She returned with the items several minutes later.

I handed one of the bottled waters to Samantha who looked at me blankly. “Drink it, please, Samantha.” She grabbed the bottle but didn’t open it.

I arranged Ollie on one of the wide couches with a pillow beneath her head, then draped the thin blanket over her still form. Come on, Ollie. Open your eyes, baby.

I turned and found Samantha standing behind me. She stared at me intently, warily.

Not meeting her eyes, I whispered, “We have a while. Are there things you’d like to ask me?” Finally, I manned up and met her eyes. They were cold, flat, and filled with anger.

***

“Was any…any of it…anything…true?” Silent tears spilled down Samantha’s cheeks. Her body trembled as the shock set in.

“All of it was true.”

“How could that be, Lucien? Huh? How?”

“If you’ll allow me, I think I could prove to you— show you—the truth.”

She looked between me and Magena and nodded, but took a step back. The shivering worsened.

“Please drink, Samantha. You’re probably experiencing shock.” This time she twisted off the cap and took a long pull from the water bottle. “Magena, would you be willing to help me?”

She nodded, knowing what I wanted. Her telepathic skill actually extended one step past where most people, including Laumet, knew. She could not only read minds, but she could project her readings into other people’s minds. Her resentment of Laumet for changing her had over time led her to keep a number of things to herself, including the extent of her power.

“Please sit down, Sam,” I urged as Magena and I approached her.

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Okay. It’s not necessary.” I took a breath. “Magena is going to help me show you the truth. I realize this is going to sound crazy, but Magena is telepathic.”

Samantha’s eyes widened as she looked at Magena. “She can read minds?”

“Yes. If you’ll let her take your hand, she can show you what she sees in my mind. Are you willing?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Oh, God. You absolutely have a choice. I’m not going to force you to do anything. Sam, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her shivering returned. “What do I…?”

Magena extended her hand toward Samantha’s. “May I?” Samantha nodded. Magena took her hand and mine at the same time.

A series of images ran through my head, beginning at the beginning. I pictured the night Lena and Isabetta died, what I recalled of how I was changed, my shock and horror at discovering what I was, and when I begged Griffin to kill me.

Samantha gasped.

Damn. Way to go, Lucien. I’d just outed my family as well. I shook my head and concentrated again. I showed her my despair when I left Orchard Hill and my intense relief when I left Laumet. I recalled my confession to my family of my feelings for Samantha and Ollie, and I pictured a million different moments the three of us had spent together over the last seven months which I hoped would show the depth and true nature of my love and devotion.

I looked at her and tried to communicate all of these things with my eyes as well.

The tears streaked down her face. She bit her lip, hard, to keep from crying out. All of a sudden, Samantha ripped her hand free from Magena, who made no effort to prevent her from doing so.

Magena stepped back to try to ensure Samantha didn’t feel threatened. “Lucien, I need to put my house in order. I’ll return in a while.”

“Thank you. For everything.” I worried for her. The challenges she’d face in making Detroit her own were going to be numerous.

She nodded, turned, and left.

Samantha and I stood and stared at each other for a long time. Her emotions were so torn up I could barely make any sense out of them as they battered me. She was pale. Every once in a while, her body involuntarily shuddered.

But above all that was an extraordinarily strong woman. She’d held her head. She’d survived. I couldn’t have loved or admired her more than I did in that moment.

“Sam?”

“Lucien.” Her voice cracked.

I took a tentative step toward her. She eyed me warily but held her ground.

“Can I…?” I held my arms up to embrace her and slowly moved forward. Her face rippled with pain as she trembled. I took another step. Please. The next step put me within arm’s reach of her. As I hesitated, she melted into me.

I wrapped my arms around her greedily and pulled her against my body, relishing a kind of touch from her I feared I’d never again experience.

Her voice was hoarse and strained. “You got her back for me…” All of the fear and stress and horror of the night began to pour out of her. She wailed and heaved against me for a long time. I whispered reassurances into her hair and told her I loved her, I was sorry, and I would do absolutely anything to try to make this right by her.

A rustle of fabric made us look at Ollie, who was moving in her sleep—a sign of progress. Samantha sobered up. We knelt at Ollie’s side. Keeping her eyes on her daughter, she asked, “How does it work?” She nodded at Ollie.

“Um, I don’t know the physiology of the mechanics. You were the first person I ever tried to save. Whatever it is that keeps us from aging helps cure injuries in the human body.”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “You don’t age?” She thought for a moment and frowned. “How old are you?” I looked down, hesitating. “You said you would tell me the truth, ‘every bit of it’…”

I met her gaze. “And I will, without question. I was twenty-seven and a half when I was changed, Samantha.”

“And when was that?”

“May 13, 1895. Almost one hundred fourteen years ago.”

Her heart rate spiked again. “You’re…a hundred and forty years old?” I nodded. “And the others?”

“Which…?”

“Griffin…”

“They’re much older. They found me after my family was murdered, after my maker changed and abandoned me. They were already old then. They took me in and taught me how to survive.”

“How is this possible?”

The question was rhetorical, but I answered anyway. “I honestly don’t know.”

She glanced at me. Her sympathy tasted like tears. I was in awe of her capacity for such compassion, all things considered. “Lucien, I want you to tell me everything right now—don’t leave anything out—you ever told me that wasn’t true.”

I wanted to answer truthfully and thoroughly. I took a deep breath and began. “Well, I already told you I lied about what happened to you. You were attacked.” She nodded. “Um, I did fly down the steps the day Ollie fell.” I glanced up at her, and she stared intently.

“And the day I met Ollie, she didn’t fall down in the street. She ran in front of a truck. I grabbed her out of the way before it hit her. I didn’t want you to worry. And, well, this isn’t so much a lie as I didn’t correct an assumption you made: I wasn’t visiting a patient at the hospital, I was visiting a…friend who works there. Uh…I do own my own business, technically, but I really don’t need to work in order to provide for myself. The length of my life has made it possible to accumulate money. I have more than I could need in many lifetimes. And I was born in Italy as a human, not New York, but I was changed there. Oh, and”—I rushed on now—”the mark on my chest isn’t a tattoo. It’s called a Blood Mark. It occurs when you’re changed into…this…and is supposed to indicate your lineage.”

Her eyes flashed down to my left pectoral despite the fact it was covered.

I thought again and sighed. “I would be remiss if I didn’t admit my acquisition of the house on Frederick wasn’t coincidental. I’d become intrigued by you and desired a way to be nearer to you.”

“Intrigued?”

“Yes. The first time I saw you, Sam, I was so filled with grief. My whole life I’ve berated myself about my family’s deaths. In my head, I know there was nothing I could’ve done. The attackers were so strong. But in my heart, I’ve punished myself every single day for not being able to protect them. The pain often felt crushing, suffocating.”

I tasted the salt of her sympathy again.

“But then you walked by me at the hospital. And you felt so happy I—”

“Felt?”

“Oh.” How much more of this can she take? “Uh, yes, felt. I am empathic, which means I can sense people’s emotions, how they’re feeling.” She frowned so I explained further. “I don’t really know how it works. Henrietta thinks it has something to do with emotions being chemical reactions, and wonders if I’m sensing the energy that results from them. I don’t know. But you felt so happy when I saw you that the relief was stunning. I wanted you, fantasized how to be around you all the time so I could feel that relief. It was challenging at first. I haven’t allowed myself to become attached to humans in the past, because I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I found myself drawn to you, liking you, and then, well, loving you.”

“Challenging? Does that mean…did you want…I mean…”

I sighed, expecting each confession to be the one that caused her to flee. “I struggled badly with my bloodlust for you, Samantha, at first. But it didn’t take me long to realize harming you would only hurt myself.”

Ollie jerked under Samantha’s hand. We both looked at her, but she remained unconscious.

“Is there anything else?” she whispered.

I thought, hard. The problem was what and how much to tell her. In order to exist in this world undetected, much of my life was based on a lie. Lies of deception were a central tool of survival for my kind. I supposed that was something: “Um, oh, I don’t eat human food.”

She gawked at me.

“I mean, I can swallow it, but I can’t digest it. While food gives you energy, it depletes mine.”

“Mommy,” Ollie’s little voice croaked.

Samantha snapped her head back toward Ollie. “Hi, baby. Mommy’s right here. Open your eyes.” Samantha brushed soft kisses on Ollie’s cheeks as she dragged her lids open.

Ollie finally forced her eyes to focus on her mother’s, then she looked at me. “Hi, Lucien,” she whispered hoarsely. I smiled at her, relief coursing through my body. “Thank you.” She swallowed thickly. “For saving me. I wasn’t too, too scared ’cause I knew you’d come.”

Her faith in me was astounding.

“Was it like when you saved Mommy?”

“Yes, Ollie, and you’re going to be okay.” I squeezed her knee gently through the blanket.

“Did Mommy keep her eyes closed?”

Samantha looked at both of us questioningly. “I don’t understand, Ollie.”

“Save your strength. I’ll tell her.” She nodded. “When I was trying to save you, Ollie insisted on being in the room. I finally agreed, but only if she promised to keep her eyes closed the entire time. I didn’t want her to see what was happening. I didn’t want her to be burdened with the knowledge of my kind.”

Samantha’s frowned and looked back and forth between us for a moment. “Wait, does Ollie already know about you?”

Ollie and I both spoke at the same time, then both apologized to each other at the same time. “Yes and no. Ollie is incredibly smart—somehow she deduced there was something different about me, which has never happened before. I owed her the respect to acknowledge she was right, but I didn’t tell her what I was.”

Samantha’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.

“I thought he was an angel, but he told me he’s not. But I think of him as my guardian angel. He looks out for us, Mommy.”

Samantha’s breath shuddered as she took in all we were saying. She squeezed Ollie’s hand reassuringly.

Ollie groaned a little. “I don’t feel so good.” She weakly turned on her side and pulled her knees up into a fetal position.

Alarmed, Samantha looked at me then back at Ollie. “What feels bad, honey?”

“I feel like I might throw up. And my head hurts.” She whimpered. “I feel dizzy.”

Samantha brushed her hand across Ollie’s forehead and feathered stray tendrils of gold back off her face. “She’s hot. Lucien?”

“The fever symptoms are normal. Hold on.” I fished my cell phone out. There were a half dozen missed calls—all from my family. My signal was weak, so I sprang to my feet and walked toward a window. As soon as I found a signal, I pushed a sequence of keys and waited.

“Oh, thank God. Lucien, are you all right? Are they all right?”

“Yes, yes, Henrietta. We’re all right.”

She reported the news to the others. I smiled to myself at their obvious relief and joy. “Where are you, Lucien? We’ll come get you.”

I debated. “I don’t want all of you to come. The situation seems defused, but I don’t want them to feel besieged by another coven of vampires showing up. You and Griffin come…” The others overheard me and protested. “I need your help, Henrietta.”

She understood immediately. “What happened? Who’s hurt?”

“Ollie. Laumet bit her.”

Henrietta gasped and her voice was strained. “Were you…”

“It’s okay, Henrietta. I was able to stop him. And I think I was able to address her injuries. But she’s not feeling well now. I need you to look at her.”

“Tell me where you are, and we’re on our way.”

I complied and snapped the phone shut, then returned to the couch where Samantha was softly singing to Ollie to distract her from her discomfort. The worry washed off her.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway and drove me back to the defensive. It was too quick to be my family. A vicious growled erupted from my throat as the knob to the hallway door started to turn. Samantha gasped as I leaped across the room to protect my girls from whatever new threat was about to walk through it.

Chapter Nineteen

I wrenched the door open, surprising Langston as he was about to push into the room. Given his betrayal, I was immediately suspicious to find him trying to enter. I grabbed him by the throat and shoved him so hard against a wall the plaster caved in around his shoulders. I surprised even myself with my ferocity, but felt a primal urge to protect and defend my girls.

Samantha jumped up, her body positioned in front of Ollie.

“It’s okay,” I called out to her with a graveled voice. “Nothing to worry about.” But she didn’t relax her stance at all. I shifted my eyes back to Langston’s shocked face. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Hey, man, it’s okay. Listen, I don’t blame you. Magena told me to stand guard. She didn’t want anyone bothering you. I was just coming in to let you know.”

I didn’t sense deception, but I still didn’t trust him. He’d been a part of this tonight. He’d called to tell me Laumet understood about Jacques. “You lied to me. You set me up,” I growled and flashed my fangs, leaning in menacingly toward his face.

He struggled, but my age and Catherine’s blood were too much for him. “I know. I know. I didn’t have a choice. When I hesitated, Laumet threatened to kill Magena if I didn’t make that call. Man, I didn’t want to do it. I’m sorry.”

“Kill Magena?” This made me even more suspicious. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense, Langston. She was his mate.”

“You didn’t see him, Lucien. Laumet snapped when they brought Jacques’s body back. He killed the two members of the guard who brought him the news. He just lost it. Your scent was all over the body, confirming what the guard had already told him. He sent people out looking for you immediately. When no one could find you, he came up with the plan of trying to lure you out.” He tried to restrain himself, then a wave of love and grief and embarrassment washed off him. “I love her, man.”

“What? Who?”

He groaned. “Magena. You were gone by the time it started, but it’s still been years. It’s been unbearable.”

“You’re in love with Magena? Did he know?”

He appraised me for a moment. “He caught me looking at her a couple times. He must’ve suspected…I don’t know. But that night, he grabbed Magena, he wrapped a long silver chain around her neck and declared I had to choose sides. If I chose his side, he would spare Magena. If I didn’t do everything in my power to help bring you to him, he said Magena would die. The pain on her face…he took her completely off guard. He was so far gone. I’d never seen him treat her like that. Of course, he groveled apologies to her later, saying he was so overcome with grief…”

I released him and stood back.

He pulled himself out of the wall and brushed the small crumbles of plaster from his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Lucien. I know it’s not enough.”

We faced one another for a long minute, both of us breathing hard from the confrontation. The pieces of a puzzle started falling together: Magena’s sidelong glance at Langston that night at Belle Isle…her willingness to help us tonight…Ollie judging Magena to be good…Langston standing guard now…

“Does Magena know you—”

“Yeah.” He folded his arms across his chest, a fierce protectiveness flashing out from him.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Does she love you?”

“Yes.”

That was the missing piece. “Did you two…was tonight planned?”

“Not exactly. We didn’t know how the whole thing would go down. But we hoped to get you and your humans out of this in one piece. And it was our chance.”

“For?”

“Being together. And for Magena to finally be free of him.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Until Samantha and Ollie were completely out of harm’s way, I just couldn’t find the full measure of forgiveness Langston probably deserved. But I could admit the situation was a lot different than I’d thought.

I ran a hand roughly through my hair. “Where is Magena now? I need to talk to her.”

He seemed to appreciate the change in topic. “She, Michael, and Daniel are dealing with the others. Laumet’s fall is going to have ripples. Magena has a following, though, because they know she’s gonna be different. She’s elevating all the guards who were here tonight, so garnering their loyalty should be doable. She said she’d be back.”

“People are coming for me, to help…” I nodded toward the room. “I need you to let her know so they can get safe passage in here. It’s a man and a woman—Griffin and Henrietta.”

He nodded, then he looked over his shoulder into the room. “So how are they?”

“Okay. I don’t know. I think okay.” I watched Samantha for a moment. She sat on the edge of the couch rubbing Ollie’s back.

“Good. Okay, so, I’ll go tell her.”

I walked back in the room, but left the door open to keep an eye on the hallway. “How is she?” I whispered to Samantha. Ollie’s eyes had drifted shut again.

“Honestly, I don’t know. She feels like she has a fever. If the rest of this night hadn’t happened, I’d say she has a virus or something.” She looked at me questioningly.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” For everything. “Henrietta will be here in a few minutes and can better explain exactly what’s going on with her. I suspect between my blood and Laumet’s bite, her body is dealing with all the foreign matter.”

“I thought you said it would cure her.” Her voice was steady, but her emotions laced with panic.

I took her hand. “It is. It will. But—” Cazzo! Running footsteps pounded down the hall. I growled, wondering again about the near-insanity I felt to protect them. I shot out of the room.

Catherine slammed into me in a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” I hugged her back. Griffin and Henrietta walked up behind her, also clearly relieved. The looks on their faces told me there had been no keeping Catherine from coming.

I brushed a kiss against her hair. “Thank you. I owe you.” I’d never been easy for her, but she’d been there for me so many times during my life. I appreciated her so much.

She stepped back. “How are Samantha and Ollie?”

“Come.” I led them all into the room then hesitated, watching to see whether Samantha would be comfortable having so many of us near.

Momentary uncertainty pulsed from her before she spoke to Henrietta. “Can you please help her?” In a flash, Henrietta knelt next to the couch. Samantha described Ollie’s symptoms while Henrietta nodded.

“Is it okay with you if I touch her, Sam?” Samantha tilted her head, and her eyes misted.

She and Henrietta had become close during our Christmas visit and had stayed in touch ever since. After a moment, Samantha nodded. “You don’t have to ask.”

Henrietta laid her hands on Ollie’s head and then smoothed them over her little body, pushing the blanket down as she did so.

Ollie stirred and smiled up at Henrietta. “Henny,” she said weakly.

“Hi, Ollie. How are you doing?”

“I don’t feel so good.” She glanced around Henrietta’s side and noticed Griffin and Catherine standing there. “Hi,” she whispered to them. They both smiled and returned her greeting.

“What doesn’t feel good? Can you tell me?”

“My head and my tummy.”

“Can you lie on your back for me?”

Ollie nodded and grimaced through a turn. Henrietta helped her.

“I’m just going to take a look at you, okay?” Henrietta embraced Ollie’s face in her hands.

“Your hands feel good, Henny.”

Henrietta smiled and turned Ollie’s head a little to the side. She threaded one of her hands through Ollie’s now tangled hair to cup the back of her head where she’d been injured. She held her hand there for a few moments and looked over her shoulder at me. I stepped closer.

“What is it?” Samantha glanced between us.

“Hold on,” Henrietta whispered.

“Henny, that’s feeling better. Keep doing that.” Henrietta smiled down at her.

“What’s going on? I don’t understand.” Samantha could tell Henrietta was trying to focus, so she directed the question at me.

I knelt down next to her. “Henrietta’s a healer, Sam. Her power isn’t absolute. She can’t fix everything—”

“It’s okay,” Henrietta said reassuringly as she withdrew her hand from Ollie’s hair. “Your blood healed the brain injury, but there was still a moderate subdural hematoma. It’s gone.” She looked at me. “Did she lose consciousness when she hit her head, Lucien?”

“I don’t know. Laumet had charmed her before... “

Henrietta nodded and continued to work her hands down Ollie’s body.

“Charmed her?”

I looked up at Samantha from where I knelt next to her and took one of her hands. She let me. “We have a number of heightened powers and special abilities, Sam. One of those is an ability to control other beings, like when Laumet made Ollie fall asleep before.”

She glanced down for a moment and then looked back at me. “You charmed me.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I needed a way for you to let me help Ollie, and I could see you wouldn’t let me near her otherwise. I’m sorry.”

“Have you done it…before tonight?” Her eyes flickered to the others. I tasted her embarrassment.

“I’ve tried to avoid doing it to you. I didn’t want to control you. I wanted you to act with free will.” I sighed. “When I first met you at the hospital, I willed you to stay a moment longer when you were about to leave.” I could feel the others’ discomfort at being present for the execution of my confessions to Samantha, but I wasn’t going to beg off her questions. I owed her that much.

“I felt dizzy when I stood up,” she recalled. I nodded, ashamed. “Any other times?”

“When you drank the water at my house yesterday.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “Is that why you told me not to meet anyone’s eyes?’

Smart woman. “Yes. Our eyes are mesmeric, especially in combination with our voices.”

“Laumet charmed me…”

“He tried to. You were able to break from it. Your will was more powerful than his.”

“Hmm.” Henrietta had her hands on Ollie’s bare stomach.

“What is it?” Samantha couldn’t hide her worry. The sharpness of Henrietta’s rage sliced at me. I frowned at her. She shook her head and took a deep breath. “She will likely be nauseated and crampy for a few hours, maybe a day. From Laumet’s bite.”

That could only mean one thing: he didn’t just bite her, he secreted his changing enzyme into her. That’s what Ollie’s body was struggling with. I shuddered in rage and disbelief, but also felt relief I’d shoved her clear of her blood. God, if his blood had gotten into her wound…

Henrietta was furious too and struggled to calm herself as she met Samantha’s eyes. “But it will pass. She’ll be okay.”

Ollie pressed her little hands over Henrietta’s on her stomach, holding them in place. “It helps,” she whispered.

“Whatever you need, Olivia.” Henrietta’s love for her was complete.

Just then, Magena walked into the room. The others braced defensively before I quickly talked them down and made introductions, which were polite but stiff and formal.

“Are we free to go, Magena? I would like to get Ollie somewhere more comfortable.”

“Yes, but there is one thing I need to do first, Lucien. Will you all follow me back downstairs?” Her words were cryptic, but her emotions didn’t radiate anything that concerned me.

I nodded. Henrietta carried Ollie so her touch could continue to offer some comfort. I took Samantha’s hand and led her and the others out of the room behind Magena and Langston.

My separation from Ollie, small though it was, rankled, and I realized in a moment of stunned clarity this protectiveness was the way the Blood Connection was manifesting between me and the child.

I tensed as we walked back into the concourse and saw other vampires gathered there. Magena led us over to the group. Catherine and Henrietta hung back with Ollie. I kept an eye on them as I assessed the others. “Magena?”

When she turned, the group stepped up around her. “Lucien, you are one of my favorite people in the world. But I am in a very difficult position right now, to a large extent because of things you have done. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you. And I certainly feel no love for Laumet after everything…but there must be consequences. This city will devolve into wholesale vampire war if I don’t decisively take charge.”

“Okay, so, what—”

“You are hereby banished from this city. Leave and never return.” I was stunned. “If you ever return, I will not protect you. There are too many forces, loyal though they may become to me, that will want to avenge the Laumets. I cannot have you be the source of further conflict or unrest.” Regret and grief washed off her, even as she maintained her resolve and voiced her decision. “You can have a day to leave the city. You must be gone by dawn tomorrow.”

I gaped and tried to process this turn of events.

“Do you understand me, Lucien?”

“Yes.” I thought for a moment. “What about Samantha?” I squeezed her hand, which trembled within my grasp.

Magena looked at Samantha sympathetically. “She may remain. She has not wronged me. She will not be disturbed. Simply charm her to forget.” Then Magena walked over and took both of my hands in hers. She kissed me on the cheek and whispered into my ear for only me to hear, “I’m sorry. There’s no other way.”

Given the enormity of the power politics I knew must be playing out, I actually did understand and said so.

“Take good care, Lucien.” She stared at me. And just like that I was dismissed, from the room, from my whole life in Detroit. After a long moment, I nodded at Magena and turned away.

Her pronouncement was final. Nonnegotiable.

I shoved the shock of it away and concentrated on getting my girls to safe ground. Ignoring the confusion in Samantha’s eyes, I whispered to her, “Will you allow me to carry you, Sam? I want to get us out of here as quickly as possible.” She couldn’t have agreed more, so I scooped her into my arms. “Close your eyes, please.” She did, and turned her head into my chest.

Seconds later, we were all out in front of the station standing by our cars.

“Okay, dolc—uh, Sam,” I said as I placed her on her feet.

She blinked incredulously at where we were and then stared sadly up at me. A biting wind whipped at her hair as we stood in the circular drive of the train station.

Everyone hurried into the waiting vehicles. Henrietta rode with Ollie in her lap in the backseat of my truck while Samantha sat next to them. Griffin and Catherine followed us back to Samantha’s house in their car.

As we parked in Samantha’s lot, Rebecca, Jed, William, and Anna jumped out of a car parked outside of her house. Another round of relief-filled greetings ensued.

As we approached the door to her house, everyone stopped. Samantha looked at us, confused.

“You have to invite them in. We can’t enter a dwelling inhabited by humans without an express invitation.”

“Oh.” She scanned the group, shivering. “Well, come in then.”

Samantha and Henrietta entered and took Ollie upstairs. The others filed in and waited in the living room. I ran up to Ollie’s room and found Samantha pulling the covers back so Henrietta could slip Ollie under. Henrietta’s long dark hair spilled around her shoulders as she leaned down to kiss Ollie on the forehead. She smiled sadly at me, then turned to leave.

Shyly, Samantha caught her with a hand on her arm. “Thank you, Henrietta.”

Henrietta patted Samantha’s hand and squeezed. “Of course.” Then she left us alone.

We watched Ollie sleeping peacefully as small children should. Safe in her bed. It was a miracle.

I watched Samantha. It seemed like she saw me looking at her, but she kept her eyes on Ollie. Several minutes passed that way. The room suddenly felt awkward, tense.

Finally, she looked at me. A tear spilled from one eye and streamed silently down her cheek. I took two long strides over to her and wrapped my arms around her. She leaned her head against my chest. Her pulsing warmth felt like life.

“You should get some sleep, my love.”

She glanced at Ollie and pushed out of my embrace, then stepped out of the room and motioned for me to follow. I pulled the door closed behind me, and we stood out in the hallway.

She shifted on her feet and fumbled with her fingers. She heaved a great, shuddering breath that sounded of pure exhaustion. Then she met my eyes. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Twenty

The hope I’d been feeling at Samantha’s accepting behavior plummeted as those words left her mouth. But she was right, especially given Magena’s pronouncement.

“We do need to talk,” I agreed quietly, “but I think right now you should let your body shut down and recuperate from this day. Besides, you don’t know how long Ollie will sleep. You should sleep now while she’s out.”

“Fine.”

I followed her to her bedroom but stopped in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. Samantha moved aimlessly around her room. Finally, she pulled open a drawer and grabbed a set of pajamas. “What are you doing?” she asked as she noticed me.

“Standing here?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, but why are you standing there like that?”

“I…I just…didn’t want to push you.” I was screaming in my mind for her to please, please tell me I was being ridiculous, to just come in.

Instead, she thought for a moment, then nodded and walked into the bathroom. She clicked the door closed behind her. An eternity passed before the door opened again, and she stepped out.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Her voice was flat. Her emotions an unreadable fog.

Is that numbness? I parsed her question in my mind trying to understand the meaning behind it. “If that’s all right with you.”

She climbed into bed and nodded once, then shut off the light. I stayed where I was for a moment, then reached in and grabbed the door knob.

“Can you please sit with me until I fall asleep?” A hesitant relief coursed through my body.

“I would love to, Sam.” I longed to lie with her, to pull her in with my arm against my body, but I sat on the edge of the bed as she’d asked. The heat radiating off her abdomen warmed my hip and back. She watched me for a few moments before her eyelids drooped. I reached out a hand and stroked her hair back from her face. Within minutes, her decelerated heart rate confirmed she’d fallen asleep.

Even in the gray light of the dark morning, her beauty shone. I studied her—the splash of faint freckles, the fullness of her bottom lip, her thick eyelashes fanned out against her soft skin— committing every detail of her face to memory. Just in case…

Regretfully, I rose from the bed. Walking over to the dresser, I yanked my ruined shirt over my head with one arm. In one of the drawers she’d given me, I grabbed the first thing my hand touched—a long- sleeved black Henley—and pulled it on. Several minutes later, I rejoined my family downstairs and interrupted a low murmur of voices when I hit the bottom of the steps.

Everyone looked up at me expectantly. I glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen, surprised to see it was 8:12 in the morning. It was still dark out, a result of the heavy cloud cover moving in to dump yet more snow on the world.

8:12 a.m. That left me twenty-three hours and forty-one minutes to forever leave the city of my residence for the past sixty years.

Catherine broke the silence. “Lucien, don’t tell me you’re thinking of trying to stay here.”

I blinked at her. “No. Staying here is tantamount to suicide. I don’t want to die, not when I have so much to live for.” Catherine nodded. Everyone’s relief warmed me.

“What can we do to help you then?” Answering Griffin’s question necessitated I prioritize which aspects of my life here I was willing to abandon and for which I wanted to make arrangements before departing.

I formulated a plan, pulling out my cell phone and calling the attorneys I’d visited yesterday. I ordered two of the four to destroy the thick sealed packet of documents I’d dropped off in an attempt at blackmailing Laumet to release Ollie. The other two I instructed to courier the documents to safety deposit boxes at banks outside the city. One of these two lawyers was my long-time personal attorney James Bryant. I made an appointment with him for noon and gave him a series of tasks to complete in advance of the meeting.

I looked to Jed and William. “Would you go rent a moving truck and head over to Edmund Place? And get a trailer for the Camaro.” They nodded and left, debating who would get to drive the truck as they walked down the front steps.

I tossed Griffin the keys to my truck. “Would you go get a couple dozen boxes and then come back here? Then some of us could get started here and some of us could get started at Edmund Place.”

Griffin rose and headed to the door. “I’ll come with you, Griffin,” Rebecca offered. She rattled off a list of other things we’d need.

“Lucien? Lucien?” Henrietta’s voice finally caught my attention.

“Huh?”

Henrietta and Catherine exchanged a glance. I cocked my head to the side. “What?”

“They’re leaving, too?”

I stared at Henrietta uncomprehending. Then I took two steps backward and sat down in a recliner.

“Lucien, did you and Samantha talk about what is happening when you leave?”

“No, Catherine, actually, we didn’t. She wanted to talk, but I thought she should get some sleep. I told her we’d talk when she gets up.”

“But, then”—she looked down into her lap—”can you be sure she’s leaving with you?”

I put my head in my hands, then combed my fingers through my hair and locked them on top of my head. “I…I guess I don’t know.”

It was, of course, the obvious question. Only Samantha could make this decision. And after the revelations of the previous night, I had no basis for knowing what she might do.

Everything in me told me she still loved me. Even after she found out what I was, she’d talked to me and touched me and received my touch. I didn’t perceive she was scared of me. Although given the way she’d felt in the bedroom, I had to admit I couldn’t perceive much from her right now.

“We’re sorry to even ask, Lucien. It’s just—”

“No, Henrietta, don’t apologize. Really. In fact, thank you for asking. You’ve reminded me to slow down where Samantha is concerned. I don’t want her to feel pressured. It is her decision. But, still, we need to be prepared. Assuming she comes”—an assumption upon which it felt my future survival was now based—”we need to get to work on this place sooner rather than later. I don’t want her to be in a position of having to leave anything behind.”

Catherine sensed the turmoil beneath my words. She reached for my hand from her position on the couch.

I met her eyes and whispered, “She has to come.”

“I know. She’ll come. She loves you. They both do.” Then she smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes.

I pulled my hand away and stood up. “Would you two stay here? I want to run over to my house and grab some things.” They agreed, so I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a black trash bag from under the sink. I left the house, and the cold air hit me like a brick wall.

Back at my house, evidence of Laumet’s effort to destroy me remained, momentarily resurrecting the fear and loathing I’d felt when realization set in the last time I had stepped through this door. I picked up Ollie’s brown bear from the living room floor and scooped up the scattered pile of DVD cases, then dumped everything in the trash bag.

I walked through the house collecting clothes, books, CDs, and framed photographs strewn throughout. I grabbed Ollie’s pictures off the refrigerator and set them aside on the counter, then straightened some sheet music into a pile and laid it on top of her pictures. Finally, I secured Ollie’s and my violin cases, still open on the kitchen table from a practice session we’d had the previous week.

I stood there for a moment. Having to abandon this of all my houses left an empty feeling in my gut. It had come to feel the most like a home of anywhere I’d lived. While in recent years that had become more true of Orchard Hill, during the time I lived there, my own emotional struggles and constant conflicts with William had kept that house from ever feeling like the sanctuary this one did.

I regretted having to leave. This was where I’d met them. This was where I’d fallen in love with them. This was where they’d loved me back.

I put the pile inside the bag and cinched it, then threw my violin case strap over my shoulder. I put Ollie’s case under the arm holding the bag and with my other hand picked up the music stand Samantha had given me for Christmas. That was everything.

I locked the door on my way out and returned to Samantha’s. Catherine held the door open for me. I thanked her as I set everything down on Samantha’s living room floor.

“Griffin just called. They should be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Henrietta. Have you heard anything from upstairs?” She shook her head. That was good. They needed their rest.

When Griffin and Rebecca returned with the supplies, Catherine took the keys and code to Edmund Place. She and Rebecca went over to meet William and Jed with the truck to pack.

I glanced at the clock. 9:24 a.m. Twenty-two hours twenty-nine minutes. “Henrietta, will you please go up and check on Ollie? Just make sure she’s still doing okay?”

Her face brightened. In a flash, she was upstairs.

I looked at Griffin’s face, etched with concern, and blew out a breath. “I really made a mess of things, didn’t I?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then jammed his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “Yeah.” My shoulders slumped. “But you know what, Lucien? Life is messy. I am a hundred times happier seeing you trying to live. It’s so much better than how you used to be, just going through the motions, denying yourself any happiness. I mean this in the best possible way: you’re more human right now than at any time since I’ve known you.”

My eyes flashed to his and, as I struggled to find the words to respond, Henrietta returned. “She’s still sleeping, Lucien, and her temperature has almost returned to normal. It’s a good sign.” She slid an arm around my waist and squeezed, then laid her head on my shoulder.

I slipped my arm around her in return, needing to indulge in her healing touch for just a moment. “Thanks, Henny.” She smiled up at me.

“So, do you want us to start packing in here?” Griffin asked.

“Um, let’s prepare to do it, anyway,” I offered lamely. “Maybe start taping the boxes together—”

“Lucien?”

We all heard Samantha’s whispered call. The agony in the tone of it nearly made me double over. I flew upstairs to Samantha’s room, trying all the while to find the courage to face the conversation I knew we needed to have.

***

I took a deep breath and pushed gently through Samantha’s bedroom door. She was still asleep, clearly dreaming. Her face was wet with tears.

I climbed into the bed and spooned myself against her, willing her to feel safe and secure. I draped my arm over her waist and tucked my fingers between her body and the mattress. Her shuddered breathing steadied after a few minutes, and she pushed her body back into mine. I sighed in relief.

She shifted onto her back, her face turned into my chest. I pressed a warm kiss of prayer against her forehead. Please be okay with all this. I know it’s impossible. But please.

Over her head, the red light of her alarm clock spelled out the time: 10:01 a.m. Twenty-one hours fifty-two minutes. Fifteen minutes later, her eyelashes brushed against my throat. She snuggled into my chest, warm with sleep. Then her emotions clouded.

I pulled back a little. “Are you all right?”

A long moment passed. She looked so vulnerable laying there curled on her side against me. “Yes. No. I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

She pushed out of bed and padded across the carpet to the bathroom. Several minutes later, she returned with a glass of water she placed on the nightstand, then she shivered, looked at me, made a decision, and crawled back into bed against me.

I closed my eyes in thanks. I’d been terrified she’d gone to the bathroom as a pretense. Her return nearly melted me. Okay, I have to stop looking for meaning in every little thing she does. But, honestly, right then, it was all I had to go on.

“Would you like to talk now?” I kissed her forehead as she nodded. “Do you want to start, or do you want me to?”

“Um, you?”

“Okay.” I kissed her again, inhaling the smell of vanilla from her hair. I shifted down on the bed and lay on my stomach so I could see her face. I wanted her to be able to see me say what I had to say. “Sam, I love you. I love you so desperately it feels like my existence depends on yours. And I love Ollie. I love seeing the world through her eyes. Her goodness gives me hope. I love the three of us together. You, her, us—it all feels natural to me, like it was meant to be. You two feel like my destiny.”

I reached for her hand and kissed it. “I should’ve told you earlier. I know it sounds pathetic, but I tried. I swear I did. But I didn’t know how to force the words from my lips. Still, I know I should’ve told you. I know I deceived you. But, please, please believe I didn’t mean or want to hurt you. Your pain is my pain, Samantha, literally. You must know that. So I’m sorry. So very sorry.”

She heaved a deep breath and bit down on her lip.

“If the biggest contribution I ever make to this world is your happiness, Ollie’s happiness, it will be enough, and so much more than I ever dared hope for. I promise I will never lie to you again, never keep anything from you again. If there is a way I can prove that to you, just name it. Anything. I will do anything to regain your trust.”

Her emotions resurfaced, and the warmth of her love encompassed me. My heart swelled. I clasped both hands around the hand I’d been holding and laced my fingers through one another over her hand as if I was praying. I was.

“Please tell me we can be all right again, that you can accept me, that you’ll let me make this up to you. I love you with my life, Samantha, please—”

She slipped her hand from mine and wrapped it around my neck. I moaned into her mouth when her lips found mine. Her heart thundered. I placed a hand on the side of her face and deepened the kiss, nearly euphoric in my relief. Too soon, she pulled away. She gasped.

She brushed her hand against my cheekbone and held it up to her face. Then she sat up and turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

Cazzo! I held my breath.

Finally she looked at me. “You cry blood?”

I ground the heel of my hand against my traitorous eye. “I’m sorry.”

But she only felt sympathy for me. The thin bloody tear hadn’t alarmed her, it seemed. In fact, she closed her fist around the remainder of the tear on her palm as if it was an object she was safekeeping. “Tell me about you. Please?”

“Anything, dolcezza.” The nickname slipped out. I glanced up at her, expecting her reprimand.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, causing a dangerous current of hope to jolt through my heart.

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know everything.”

“Well, you already know my history. I only left the dates out before. I lived at Orchard Hill until 1938, then I traveled for a long time. I searched for the one who made me, who…killed my family, but I never found him. I came here in 1949 and have lived here ever since. Right after I arrived, Laumet’s men found me and brought me to him. I was in a very bad place then. I felt like a total failure, like I didn’t deserve anything better than the worst possible life. So I agreed to work for him. But you should know I tried to abstain from the worst parts of his business dealings. I feel things too acutely because of my empathy, and it was hard living in his world. I was losing myself. One time, I saved his life, so he let me leave. That was in 1990.”

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where have you lived?”

“Oh. Well, you know I have a lot of houses. One has been my primary residence for most of my time here. It’s not too far.”

“I want to see it.”

I thought about debating her, only because our time was so limited. But after everything, she had the right to ask for anything. “Okay. I’ll take you this afternoon.”

She nodded. “What else?”

“Last night you said you had special abilities. What are they?”

I met her eyes. “Besides being empathic and being able to charm, I also have heightened physical capabilities—strength, speed—”

“Like when you carried me outside last night.”

“Yes. Um, also, our senses are heightened, so I can see, hear, and smell things you can’t.”

“Oh.” After a moment, she felt embarrassed. “Whatever you’re thinking about, you can ask it. You won’t offend me.”

“It’s stupid.” She pulled her knees up to her chest.

I pushed myself into a sitting position facing her. “I’m sure it’s not. Just ask.”

“Okay, well, um. Shit. I don’t know how to say what I’m trying to ask. Okay, so I’ll just say it: I’m thinking about movies, about what they show in the movies about…”

“About vampires?” She bit her lip and nodded. “Well, what exactly do you have in mind?”

“Um, wooden stakes, garlic, sunlight, coffins?” She traced a white flower on her comforter with one finger.

“Most of those things are fictions. Direct sunlight burns if we expose ourselves to it for any length of time, Griffin thinks because of the limited pigmentation in our skin. But otherwise all of those things are just legend. Would you like to know what can harm us, me?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Can you guess any?”

“Um…you…his…” She stumbled, then made a cutting gesture across her neck with a grimace.

“Yes, that is the surest way to kill us.”

She nodded and thought for a moment. “Why did he collapse after he bit Ollie?”

“One of the things that can harm my kind is blessed water or wine—holy water. I’ve been feeding you and Ollie holy water since I first got involved with you.” She gasped so I rushed on. “Please try to understand, you were the first humans I’d allowed myself to get close to. I just wanted to protect you, to make sure I maintained my control around you. I’ve been putting it in your bottled water dispenser. It can’t kill us, but it’s like a poison, and it takes time to heal.”

“That’s why you made me drink that water yesterday? In case anyone bit me?”

“Yes. Having so much in your systems weakened Jacques and Antoine enough for me to save you both from them.” She nodded. “Are you okay?”

She scoffed. “I have no idea. Go on.”

“Um, silver. It also burns us and can be used to restrain us. Again, it wounds but doesn’t kill—”

“Oh, God, Lucien. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I asked, surprised by her rapid actions.

Her hands flew to her throat. She fished under the collar of her T-shirt and grabbed the thick silver chain I’d asked her to wear. She wrenched it over her head and threw it on the floor. She looked at me horrified, her guilt lying sour in my mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she gasped. “I wouldn’t have left it on.”

At first I was mystified, but then I understood and hope seized me. I’d been working hard to give her space, but I threw myself around her. “Don’t apologize,” I rasped. “You didn’t know. And even if you had, I would’ve understood if you wanted to keep it on.”

“What? I don’t want to hurt you!”

“I know, dolcezza. You can’t know what your actions just now mean to me. You don’t have to remove it, though, you know. I want you to feel safe. If it helps you feel safe, then—”

“Stop. Please.” She heaved a breath. “Did you ask to become what you are?”

I sat back enough to see her but kept her in my arms. “Absolutely not.”

“And can you change it?”

I looked at her for a long moment and shook my head.

“Lucien, I’m having a very hard time reconciling what you are with what I know of you. I mean, I never would’ve expected…this. But I can at least recognize what you are isn’t your fault.”

“Sam,” I whispered, “is it too much to hope you can accept this?” I dropped my arms from around her but took her hand.

She let out a long breath. “I’ve just found out a world of myth and magic exists side by side with the real world. I don’t know yet, okay?”

“Okay.” It wasn’t a no. Right? At least it wasn’t a no.

“So”—she thought for a moment—”why do holy water and silver harm you?”

“I don’t know the origins of my kind, but a lot of cultures ascribe religious significance and power to these items, so I can only assume their ability to harm us is evidence of our inherent sinfulness.”

She played with her fingers. I feared the look on her face. “I don’t know what to think of that, Lucien. You’ve always struck me as one of the most decent people I’ve ever known.”

I looked up at her, in awe of the effort she was making.

Then her face clouded. “Do you sleep?”

“Not like you do. I don’t fully lose consciousness, and I can go for some time without sleeping. I think of it as more of a trance.”

She nodded and her anxiety spiked.

“What is the question you really wanted to ask me?”

She looked up at me surprised. “Are you reading my feelings?”

“Sorry. It’s a little hard for me to avoid with you. But, since you know I am, you know I can tell you’re feeling anxious about something. So, what is it?”

“I’m just wondering…about…what you…uh…” Her face flushed.

“Eat?”

“Yeah.” Her blush deepened.

“Please don’t feel embarrassed. You have the right to ask these questions.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I assume you know the legends of what vampires eat?”

Her heart rate accelerated. “Yeah.”

“That’s true.” The scents of adrenaline and fear struck me. “Don’t be scared, Sam. I would never hurt you. Or Ollie. There are ways of getting blood that don’t cause harm. I’ve been buying blood from a blood bank. I can also ingest animal blood.”

She let out a shaky breath. Her fear diffused.

“But, in the spirit of complete honesty, I must tell you I have killed before. I know this doesn’t make it any better, but because I can read emotions, I can sense evil. I rationalized that I was helping good people by removing the bad ones. I realize that’s messianic…”

“Is…blood the only thing you can survive on?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“So, then, maybe…”

“What?” I concentrated on her hands in the comforter, twisting and gripping, twisting and gripping.

Her voice was low, quiet. “Maybe it isn’t so much messianic as making the best of a situation.”

I snapped my head up and knew my mouth was hanging open, but my gratitude to her was overwhelming.

She leaned away from the force of my stare. “What?”

“Just, thank you, is all.” She nodded distractedly. I smelled her adrenaline again. Her eyes focused somewhere below my own. “What are you looking at?”

“Your…um”—a blush heated her face again— “mouth.”

“Ah.”

“So…how…”

“I just will it, and they change. Some situations cause it automatically.”

She licked her lips and her eyes flitted between my eyes and my mouth. “Show me,” she whispered.

“Sam—”

“Show me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know you.”

I glared at her and hated the idea she might define me by the vampiric nature I didn’t choose or want. Her heart rate spiked. I cursed myself. I leaned my head into the cradle of my hands and tugged at my hair.

She stroked the back of my head. “Lucien, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know what you meant—”

“No, obviously, you don’t.” Her tone surprised me. I dropped my hands and looked up. “I know…this isn’t all you are. But it’s part of you. I want to know it, too.”

Good, Lucien. Keep being an asshole, why don’t ya?

“Please show me,” she said softly as she fingered the side of my foot. Her small gesture of outreach melted my resolve.

Resigned, I glanced down into my lap. And punched out my fangs. I flinched when Samantha lifted my chin, but I didn’t resist. Instead, I closed my eyes, not wanting to also see the fear I was about to feel. As if on cue, she gasped. But the scent of her fear never came.

“Please look at me.” Her expression was filled with wonder and curiosity. “Eyes too?”

I frowned. “You didn’t close your eyes at all, did you?” She shook her head. I rolled my eyes, blinked them closed, and then trained my crimson orbs on Samantha. Her heart worked harder in her chest but still the fear didn’t come.

“Does it affect your eyesight?”

“Improves it,” I replied in a low voice.

Out of nowhere, she reached a hand forward. “Can I touch—”

I flinched away. “No!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she cried.

“You can’t…I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. That was stupid of me.”

“Sam—”

“What situations?” she deflected.

“What?” I panted.

“You said some situations make it happen?”

I groaned. “When I’m feeding, threatened, or, um”—I sighed—”aroused.”

She gaped and licked her lips again. Finally she inhaled to speak.

I preempted her, not really wanting to hear her voice the question I just knew she’d ask. “Yes. And I hid it,” I said as I looked away, drained my eyes and retracted my fangs, and got off the bed to pace.

A rustle of fabric told me Samantha climbed out of bed, too. Warm arms wrapped around my stomach. Samantha leaned her head against my back. “You’re beautiful, Lucien, striking. I’ve always thought so. I still think so.” I smelled the salt of her tears and turned in her arms.

We stood in silence for a moment. The alarm clock shone over her shoulder: 11:32 a.m. Twenty hours twenty-one minutes.

“Sam, I know there are probably more things you’d like to ask, and I promise you’ll have the chance. But I need to leave in a few minutes to make some arrangements. There’s something I need to ask you before I go.”

“Okay.” She dropped her arms and locked them behind her back.

“You heard what Magena said to me.”

“You have to leave Detroit. Is that for real?”

“Yes. I have to be gone by dawn tomorrow. My question is—” Please, God, please, God. “—will you come with me? To New York?” She sucked in a breath. “I realize a lot is happening all at once, and I’m so sorry. But this is for real. I have to go. My family is helping pack up my belongings right now. They’re wondering if they should pack here, too. I’m wondering…”

She rubbed her forehead. “The room is spinning.”

I gently led her to sit on the bed and grabbed the glass of water off the nightstand. “Here, drink this. It might help.”

She grasped the glass and drank, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them, they overflowed tears. She brushed them away roughly. “I don’t know what to say, Lucien. I don’t know what to do. I can’t think.”

“Say you’ll come with me, dolcezza. Say you’ll be with me.”

“I can’t think.” She stared at her lap.

“There’s some time. I’m sorry, but I have to go for a while. I’ll be back in a few hours. I can take you to see my house then, if you like.” She nodded. “Oh, you should know Henrietta checked on Ollie earlier. She’s doing better.” Samantha’s face lifted and brightened.

I leaned over and kissed her forehead. When I spoke, my lips brushed her skin. “I love you, Samantha. Nothing could change that. I’ll be back soon. Griffin and Henrietta are downstairs if you need anything.”

She nodded again.

Reluctantly, I left. The pull to stay with her was intense. But I had things I had to do in person. On my way out, I told Henrietta and Griffin they’d need to wait to begin packing. I didn’t stop to hear their worried response.

Chapter Twenty-One

I returned to Samantha’s house at 2:45 p.m. Seventeen hours eight minutes.

She’d showered and dressed in jeans and a green sweater and sat curled in the recliner with a cup of coffee in her hands. Her face brightened when I walked through the door. The wave of relief that hit told me some part of her was afraid I wasn’t returning.

“Do you still want to see my other house?”

“Yes.” She stood and sank her feet into her boots.

I held her coat for her and met eyes with Griffin and Henrietta as I did. Their expressions told me Samantha hadn’t made a decision yet.

When we pulled up to the back of Edmund Place, she gasped. “I’ve been by this house before. I always thought it looked like a medieval castle or something.”

I brushed her cheek with my hand and helped her down from the truck. We went in through the back door. “I’ve never renovated this place, Sam. It’s not in the best condition, as you’ll see.”

Catherine and Rebecca were in the living room taping boxes shut. A huge pile sat at the front of the room, full of my books, CDs, and albums, no doubt. William and Jed loaded the truck out front. “We’re almost done,” Catherine said. “This is the last of it.”

“Thanks,” I said as I watched Samantha survey the room out of the corner of my eye.

“Why have you never fixed this place up, Lucien? Like the others?”

“It just felt more right this way.”

“You didn’t think you deserved something nice, did you?”

My head snapped to her, and my dead heart expanded at her understanding and insight. “How did you know that?”

“Because this morning you said you were in a bad place when you came to Detroit and didn’t think you deserved to be around people better than Laumet.”

“Yes.” I strode over to her and kissed her temple. “God, I love you.”

I walked her through the house, which was relatively empty now save for the old furniture I was leaving behind. She remarked on the architecture but otherwise was quiet, observing.

When we came back downstairs, Catherine and Rebecca had joined the men in carrying boxes out to the truck. Catherine poked her head back in. “We’re gonna head back over to Sam’s.”

“Okay. We’ll be right behind you.” She nodded and left. I locked up the doors and turned off the lights on the first floor, then set the alarm system as Samantha and I headed out the back. I peered through the glass of the now-empty garage. Then we were in the truck heading toward Sam’s house.

“Sam, I don’t mean to push, really. But have you given any thought to whether you’ll come with me?”

“Yes. I…I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be away from you. I’m so confused. And I’m scared.”

I grasped her hand where it lay on the truck seat. “Of what?”

She stared out her window. “I can’t get the images from last night out of my head. It just keeps playing over and over. And especially what happened to Ollie. I couldn’t function if anything happened to her. I’m just still so scared for her.”

“I understand, Sam. She’s going to be okay. Nothing will happen to her now, I promise. Ollie is very important to me, too. You know that, right?”

She turned her head to me. “I do, Lucien.”

It was 5:16 p.m. when we returned to her house. I had fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes. We were all together again, including Ollie, who Samantha was overjoyed to find awake downstairs and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When Samantha leaned down to her where she sat on Henrietta’s lap, Ollie threw her arms around her mother’s neck. Samantha held her until Ollie protested for her breath. I reached down and pecked a kiss on Ollie’s head. She smiled up at me.

We talked quietly for a while, just enjoying the good news of Ollie’s improving condition. After a while, Ollie slipped down from Henrietta’s lap and climbed into mine. Her words captured everyone’s attention. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Uh…” I looked to Samantha for help. But she was clearly grappling with the whole issue of leaving and trying to find a way to a decision of her own. “Yes, Ollie. I have to leave.”

“Can we come with you?” Her voice shook. It was clear it cost her to have to ask not to be left behind again.

“Sam?” I didn’t want to contradict whatever decision Samantha was making.

“I don’t know, Lucien.” Her confusion and stress were apparent even to those of us who weren’t empathic.

“Ollie, it’s your mom’s decision whether you come. And whatever she decides will be the right thing. But you are welcome to come. I hope you do.” The thought of being separated from Ollie crushed my chest and made it difficult to breathe.

Ollie looked at me funny for a moment and then shifted around. “Mommy? Can we, please?”

Samantha sucked in a breath, then she glanced around at all of us. “Um, I don’t mean to be…do you think Ollie and I can be alone for a while?”

“Oh. Of course,” I said as I placed Ollie on her feet and rose to my own. Everyone followed my lead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, dolcezza. Just give me a call,” I said a little mechanically.

“I will,” she whispered.

“William and Jed will be outside if you need anything. Just a precaution.”

“Okay.” Samantha offered strained words of thanks and farewell to my family as they filed out.

Then I grasped Samantha’s face in my hands and pulled her into a kiss. She leaned into me as I poured my soul into her. I stroked her tongue with mine, needing to feel her, taste her. I approached everything as if it were the last time, because in my worst fear, it was. Finally, I pulled back, tried to smile, and left.

Each step away from them battered my body, like having bones broken one painful snap at a time.

William and Jed waved from their perch in my truck out front. I nodded, then the rest of us meandered across the darkening field to my house. It felt odd to return; I’d said my good-byes earlier in the day. But it made the most sense as a place to wait.

As time passed, everyone got edgy. “Lucien, we shouldn’t delay leaving until the very last minute,” Griffin cautioned apologetically.

“I agree. I am acutely aware of the passage of time. But I can’t push her into this decision. I don’t want to push her into saying ‘no.’ “

He nodded.

We waited. The dread in the pit of my stomach grew with each passing hour. I couldn’t imagine how Samantha would try to weigh this decision. What must be going through her mind? The suspense was killing me. I almost jumped when my cell phone beeped at me from my pocket. I pulled it out and flipped it open. She’d sent a text message at 9:06 p.m.

Can you come over?

A wave of nausea passed through me— everyone’s anxiety, and my own.

“She wants me to come over,” I said to them all. “Oh, Dio.” I slipped the phone back into my pocket and locked my hands in my hair on top of my head.

Catherine spoke for them all. “Go to her, Lucien. Make her listen. She loves you. You love her. So, fight for her.”

I stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then nodded and left. The blackness of the snow-covered field closed around me. I prayed with everything I had I wouldn’t get trapped by the darkness of loss again.

***

When I walked into Samantha’s living room, she was huddled on the couch with a blue quilt around her. Her eyes were dry now, but her face was red and puffy from crying. I sat down next to her sideways so I could face her. She avoided my eyes.

I let myself do something I’d blocked when I came in—I reached out and searched for her emotions. They were a full-body experience for me: fear, grief, love, longing, sadness, pain. The constellation of emotions wasn’t so different from what she’d been working through for the past day since we’d stood in my kitchen. But it filled me with foreboding nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, Sam. The suspense is unbearable. Please tell me you’ve decided to come with me.” I stared at her still-diverted eyes. In a century, I’d never felt more powerless than I did at that moment.

Sensing she was wavering, I pushed on. “If you choose me, I promise I’ll take care of you and Ollie. We’ll make a normal life for her. I promise I’ll love you forever, and I’ll spend my days showing you how much over and over again.”

I took her hand in mine. She let me. I shifted my body closer to her on the couch. When I kissed her forehead, she leaned into it just enough to offer me a spark of hope.

Eight minutes, thirty-six seconds—the amount of time that elapsed between the moment I walked in the door and when she finally spoke. I only heard it because of my heightened aural abilities.

“I can’t.” She finally met my eyes and bit down hard on her quivering lip.

I shuddered in panicked disbelief. “Sam, please. Let me make this right. I promise you this can work out. You said it yourself—you never would’ve known what I am. What I am doesn’t have to change what we have.”

She shook her head in a detached sort of way. Her torment constricted my chest and made it hard to breathe. I gasped as if I’d been punched in the gut.

“I’m sorry, Lucien, I can’t.” She fisted a stray tear away, adding to the redness of her face.

“Why?”

She heaved a deep breath. “I love you, I do. I love you so much it hurts. Even with what I now know, as scary as that is to me, I…just…love you.”

“Sam—”

“No. Please. Let me finish. This is so hard,” she choked.

Please, Dio, no.

“I love you, but it’s not enough. And it’s not the most important thing. The most important thing is Ollie. That she’s safe. That she’s protected. That she gets to be a child, innocent of all that’s complicated and dangerous and scary in the world. I have to be a mother first. I have to do what’s in her best interest, which means I can’t go with you.”

“Sam, I would give my life to protect Ollie, to ensure her happiness—”

“I don’t doubt that. But I don’t want her to live in a world where someone might actually need to give their life for hers. One near-death experience with immortal beings is probably enough for one child’s lifetime.”

“Sam—”

“If I chose what I want over what I think she needs, I would not be able to live with myself. I would hate myself for that. And if anything ever happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. I wouldn’t be able to go on living.”

“If you stay here, I won’t ever be able to see you again.”

“I know.” Her sadness and suffering tasted like a bitter cocktail.

“Oh, mio Dio,” I moaned as I got up and paced a circuit around the room.

“I can’t do this halfway, Lucien,” she rasped. “I couldn’t take it. I’m already dying here a little tonight. There’s no way I could see you now and again and not go crazy with wanting you. But more importantly, I can’t do it to Ollie. She’s crushed…” She took a deep breath. “I can’t raise her hopes by letting her see you again. As it is, she may never speak to me after tonight…”

Think, Lucien! Cazzo! I swallowed down my frustration. At an impasse, I stared down at her while she pulled at a loose string on the quilt around her legs.

I involuntarily tranced out. But being inside my mind wasn’t any better than being outside of it. The future I’d hoped for was gone, and the memories of another time I’d lost everything resurfaced and tormented me.

But this time, it was my fault. I didn’t know how I’d ever be able to live with that.

“Oh, Lucien. Please don’t cry,” she said as she came to me. She reached up and grabbed my face into her smooth hands. I winced as her touch brought me back, but I let her wipe the thin red tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize. Just tell me there’s something I can do to change your mind. I’ll make any promise. I’ll accept any condition.”

A long time passed before she dropped her hands and her gaze. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I cut my eyes away and nodded. Struggling to keep my voice even, I asked, “May I say good-bye to Ollie before I leave?”

“She’s sleeping…” She knotted her hands in front of her.

“I won’t wake her, Sam, I promise. I can’t bear the thought of not saying good-bye.”

The internal debate played out on her face, then she turned and walked silently up the steps. I followed Samantha into Ollie’s room, lit by a pink castle-shaped lamp that cast a low, warm tint. I knelt down on the floor next to her bed. Ollie was curled on her side and faced out into the room, toward me.

Il mio piccolo angelo. My little angel. She was the angel, not me.

Samantha was right. She deserved protecting no matter the costs. While I thought she’d be equally safe around me, I couldn’t deny where Samantha’s priorities were or that she thought she was doing the right thing. Even if her decision was tantamount to my destruction, my love for Ollie made me accept it.

I spoke quietly, keeping my promise to Samantha not to disturb her daughter. “I love you, precious Ollie. The way you accepted me, the way you looked at me—I’ll never forget your kindness or your love. I hope you’ll always be able to remember how much I loved and adored you. You listen to your mom. She loves you very much, and she only wants what’s best for you. The two of you will have long wonderful lives together. And though we won’t see each other again”—I paused, swallowing down the nauseating blend of Samantha’s emotions and my own turmoil—”know I’ll always be thinking about you, wondering what great things you’re accomplishing.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “Dream sweet dreams, Ollie. Forever.”

I leaned over and barely brushed a kiss on her hair. I inhaled deeply and tried to commit her innocent scent to memory. After a long moment, I stood up, and a tear-streaked Samantha and I walked out together. I pulled the door shut and rested my hand against it.

“Lucien? Is that you?”

Without thinking of Samantha, I pushed the door back open. Ollie flew off the end of the bed into my arms as the words spilled out of her.

“P-please don’t leave me, Lucien. I love you. I’m s-sorry. I’ll be better. I’m sorry I went t-to your house without asking. Mommy’s always t-telling me. If I hadn’t g-gone, I would’ve never run into him. Please,” she wailed.

“Ollie, no, no.” I sat down on the bed with her straddling my lap. “You can never think any of this is your fault. Do you hear me? You did absolutely nothing wrong.” I hugged her into me and imprinted the feel of her in my arms into my brain. “I love you, Ollie. So much. I’m so proud of you. You have so many exciting things ahead of you in your life. Know I’ll always love you and always be thinking of you.”

“Lucien!” The tears streamed down her face now. Her arm muffled sobs as she used her pajama sleeve to wipe her face and nose.

The combination of their suffering was becoming incapacitating. My head and chest throbbed. “There, there, now. It’s okay. Come, crawl back in bed. You’re going to be fine. Just fine.” My eyes burned from the tears threatening to flood into them.

She curled into her pillow. “Can you play for me, Lucien? I don’t think I can go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Ollie. I can’t play right now, but I can sing to you.” She nodded, her breath still coming in uneven heaves. My voice wavered through a lullaby I knew she liked.

“I love you, Lucien. You’re still my angel,” she whimpered as her eyelids drooped.

“Sleep now, baby. Dream good dreams.”

When her eyelids fell for good, I flew out of the room. Samantha gasped. Her surprise tingled in my stomach as she followed downstairs, alarmed. I leaned against a wall bent over with my hands on my knees, trying to breathe through the chaos of emotions. I willed myself under control and rose to face her.

Her face was pale, drawn. An LED in the kitchen read 10:59 p.m. Eight hours fifty-four minutes until my life is over. An awkward moment passed.

Finally, I walked over to the trash bag of items I’d retrieved from my house earlier. My mind started to work in a more mechanical way. I knelt and pulled out Ollie’s stack of DVDs and placed them on the coffee table. Then I found her brown bear. I held it up to my face, feeling its softness and inhaling its scent. Gritting my teeth, I set it on top of the pile of movies. Next, I pulled Ollie’s violin case out from underneath the bag and slid it on the rug underneath the coffee table. I held my hand on the case a beat longer than necessary.

The rest of the bag was mine. I looked around. The others had already taken my music stand and violin with them earlier. I rose, emptiness a heavy weight within my very blood. Samantha approached me, slowly at first. Then she caught me off guard by throwing herself against me. We stumbled back into the front door as her lips found mine, pleading, urgent. I wrapped my arms around her and surrendered to the kiss. I tasted the salt from the tears she’d cried as I ran kisses across her cheeks and jaw to her ear and neck. We panted and moaned into one another.

It was pleasure and pain. Light and dark. Life and death.

“I love you, Lucien. I’m sorry. I love you.” She looked up at me from underneath wet eyelashes.

“Never apologize. You gave me more than I could’ve ever hoped for. I love you, Samantha. I always will.” I lingered a kiss against her forehead.

It’s time. I looked into her eyes. She met mine, but the acrid smell of fear and panic flooded from her. She looked away gasping. “No!”

“Samantha—”

“I don’t want to forget! Please don’t make me!”

I scrubbed a rough palm over my face. Selfishly, I didn’t want her to forget either. And charming them hadn’t always worked anyway. I decided this was one infraction Magena could forgive. She knew charming wasn’t fail-safe.

I nodded. “I told you I’d never force you to do anything.” Then I reached down, picked up the black bag, and stepped out the door. I pulled it closed behind me and a thump and a brush told me Samantha had slid down against it.

My connection with both of them ached as I strained to break it. I swayed and gripped the railing.

When I regained my bearings, I looked up. “Meet on the street,” I growled to William and Jed, still in the truck. Expressions filled with emotions I didn’t want to analyze, they nodded.

I staggered around the side of the house and pounded a path back and forth while Samantha’s hitching sobs echoed through the living room wall. The sound ate at me, and I threw the bag into the night with a grunt.

My knuckles grazed something. I reached out, needing to destroy. In a frenzy, I ripped out the row of boxwoods at the side of her house and hurled them.

It wasn’t enough. I turned, almost behind her house now, and saw the large oak. A particular set of memories unhinged me: all those summer days I’d spent teaching Ollie to climb that tree.

I stalked up to the thick trunk and slammed my head into it. Blood trickled down my forehead as I reared back and with a roar planted my right fist into it over and over. The physical injuries didn’t distract me from the emotional distress—mine or hers.

I had to get away. The others were all waiting on the street for me. The brine of their sympathy made it all worse.

“Let’s go.” I didn’t wait for a response. I wrenched the door open and slammed my body into the Maserati and punched the accelerator. Tearing down the block and squealing around the corner, I careened in the direction of the interstate, the rear of the car fishtailing.

My body screamed against the separation, tearing me apart as surely as if I’d been drawn and quartered. I cranked the volume control up to its maximum setting. Some rock band screeched out unintelligible lyrics against a background of explosive percussion and screaming guitars. It suited me just fine.

My head was the last place I wanted to be.

In an effort to escape the agony, I succumbed to a light trance and allowed only enough mental capacity to remain in control of the vehicle. I forced everything else out.

There was just me. Alone. The road. The midnight sky.

***

Something nagged at me.

Despite my growing distance, torment and horror choked and suffocated me. The emotions’ physical impact intensified and ripped me free of the trance.

That’s when I understood it. Fear. Pain. Regret. Panic. Longing.

This was the cocktail of Samantha’s and Ollie’s emotions I’d felt earlier. My Blood Connections with them were stronger than my need for self-preservation.

The strangest thing was my family’s feelings seemed to be reflected in what I was picking up. I looked in my rearview mirror. They weren’t behind me. But then I’d torn out of Frederick Street with little expectation they’d be able to keep up.

A block before the on-ramp to the interstate, my cell phone rang. The noise enraged me. It took everything in my power not to crumble the phone into a pile of metallic dust. I rolled my eyes at Catherine’s number on my caller ID.

“What?” I spat into the phone.

The voice that responded took me off guard. “Come back.” Samantha. “We need you. P-please?”

I remained in a stupor of grief and rage and self-loathing. The only thing I could think to ask was why she was calling from Catherine’s cell phone.

She ignored me. “Just come back, Lucien. Please.”

I pulled a U-turn across four lanes of traffic, sending a beat-up sedan into a tailspin. In six minutes’ time, I returned to Frederick Street, filled with equal parts dread and hope.

Unattended vehicles were parked haphazardly as if my family had returned unexpectedly. Everyone stood in the snowy field near Samantha’s townhouse. I couldn’t fathom the situation.

I raced across the field, but slowed as I approached them, still confused. In the center of the group, Samantha sat on the cold ground with Ollie on her lap. She rocked Ollie while whispering soft motherly reassurances in a panicked voice. Henrietta knelt next to them, delicately skimming her hands over Ollie’s arm and shoulder.

“What—”

Samantha looked up, her face full of the same grief and despair I tasted. “She fell.”

“What?”

Catherine placed her hand on my arm and pointed. My eyes followed her finger to the open window to Ollie’s room where the pink light of the castle lamp still illuminated the inside.

“She fell…out of her window?” Samantha nodded, clutching Ollie to her harder and rocking her. “Hen?”

She evaluated Ollie’s arm as she spoke. “Catherine felt her when it happened. She apparently landed on a surface tree root. She broke her arm and shoulder. It’s taking me longer to heal her because her body is still weak from the earlier attack.”

I knelt down, stunned. “Ollie?”

“I put her to sleep,” Henrietta responded. “It was bad.”

Samantha moaned at Henrietta’s words. “I said I wouldn’t go with you, to protect her,” she gasped as she tried to hold back tears, “and then…I didn’t.”

“Sam, you can’t blame yourself for this,” I said, still dazed.

She shook her head. Her emotions were a gut- twisting frenzy of guilt and grief and sadness. “I’m making this huge sacrifice, on both our parts, but if I can’t keep her safe, if she won’t let me, then what’s the point?”

“Sam—”

“Lucien, please, please, forgive me,” she rasped, her voice a raw scrape as tears finally leaked from her swollen eyes.

Griffin stepped back so I could crawl in next to Samantha. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, and she sank into me, Ollie’s body falling slightly so she was between us, some of her weight on my thigh.

“There is nothing to forgive, dolcezza.”

Samantha choked back a sob as she pressed her face into my neck. “Help me. Please?”

The taste and sound of her anguish pulled at the center of my chest. “With what, sweetheart?”

“With Ollie. Please? Help me keep her safe. I can’t lose her. I can never lose her.”

I didn’t know how to respond to her. I couldn’t stay. But I didn’t dare hope she was asking to join me in leaving the city. “Sam—”

“Will you ask me again?” She pulled free of my arm so she could look up into my eyes.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me. Please?”

Hope felt like the most dangerous emotion I’d ever known. But there was only one real question I’d put to her in recent hours. I swallowed thickly, then blew out a breath. “Will you come with me, Samantha?” My voice was a strained whisper. “Will you come with me to New York?”

She clenched her eyes shut and nodded against my shoulder. A wave of relief rolled through me so forcefully I sucked in a breath. “If you’ll still have me, have us, then, yes,” she whispered in a voice distorted by emotion.

I stopped breathing for a moment, half convinced I was still sitting in the Maserati on the way to New York and my grief had conjured up this hope-against-hope conversation.

“Lucien?” Henrietta interrupted. “We need to get Ollie someplace warm.”

Samantha and I stared at one another for a beat longer, then we separated as Henrietta lifted an unconscious Ollie into her arms for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“Your face,” Samantha said as she reached her hand toward my forehead.

I grabbed her hand before she could touch the blood crusted down the side of my face from my earlier encounter with the tree. Pressing a kiss against her knuckles, I murmured, “It’s nothing.”

She bit her lip as she continued to look up at my wound. When she finally looked away, down at the hand she was holding, she gasped at my healed but bloodied knuckles. A warm wave of compassion erupted from her. She tugged my hand to her mouth and kissed the back of it.

We returned to Samantha’s house. I felt queasy passing through her living room, remembering the wrenching good-bye scene that had played out there less than an hour before and still echoed in the air.

We got Ollie settled in her bed, and Henrietta stayed with her, continuing to work her hands over Ollie’s injuries. I walked to the window and pulled it down, but first noticed Ollie had pushed the screen out in her effort to flee the house. A wave of guilt swamped me for not registering her desperation sooner.

Griffin stood with Henrietta, a pointed look on his face. The clock read nearly 12:30, which only left us a little over seven hours until the sun rose. I guided Samantha into her bedroom and closed the door.

Tugging at my hair, I gazed at her, then walked up to her and grasped her hands. “Sam, you are welcome, of course. I want you. God, how I want you. But I don’t want you to feel you have to be with me if that’s not what you want. I can set you up somewhere safe, set you up with a whole new life. And we can watch over you, protect the both of you. But please, don’t make the choice to come with me out of fear. If you come with me, I want you to be with me because you want to.”

Samantha simply could not make her decision out of desperation. If she did, she would always regret it, always second-guess it, and I would feel every nuance of those emotions. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if Samantha felt cornered or pressured into this.

Samantha thought for a long while, staring down at her feet and shivering from the cold and her adrenaline. “Lucien, I love you. We love you. I won’t deny I’m scared. And confused. And still overwhelmed by…everything.” She heaved a breath. “But the main factor in my decision was Ollie’s safety. I didn’t want to risk it, to risk exposing her to unnecessary dangers. And then, not ten minutes after you left, she started screaming for you and then there was this thumping. I rushed upstairs and found her chair in front of her window and the broken screen. She was hanging from the tree limb whispering ‘Don’t leave’ over and over, but she couldn’t hold on. When she slipped, I thought I would pass out. Oh, God, the sound of…”

She choked on a sob and shook her head.

“She was crumpled on the ground, not moving. And I was so sure…”

I pulled her in for a hug, but she pushed back.

“No, no, please let me say this.” She took a deep breath. “I ran outside praying for her to be okay. My first thought after that was for you to be here, for your family to be here. And then I knew. I thought about the truck. And the stairs. And the fall from the window. And I realized there’s danger everywhere. If you hadn’t been here from the beginning, Ollie might very well have died when that truck hit her. I realized there are no guarantees—there’s only living life today. But there are no guarantees.”

We looked at each other for a long while. I finally managed, in a whisper, “Sam, please think this through carefully. I couldn’t bear it if you changed your mind. It would break me completely.”

“I won’t. I promise. I’m only sorry I didn’t come to these realizations sooner.”

I froze and used every means at my disposal to evaluate her. She was sincere. But I was still concerned about her reasoning.

She cupped her hands around my face. Her fingers worried for a moment over the faint mark of the forehead wound. She searched my eyes for a long moment. Forever came and went while I waited for her to speak.

Finally, she smiled. A warmth so healing rushed through me I had to close my eyes at the goodness of it. “All that I am, Lucien, all that I have…it’s yours. And it feels like it always has been.”

My eyes flew open. I sucked in a breath. That was all I’d needed to hear. I pulled her into my arms and pressed kisses onto her hair and face, then leaned back so I could look into her eyes.

“Thank you, Sam, thank God. Your acceptance of me…it eases the burden I have carried for the sin of what I am. Your love has helped me forgive myself. And that is a gift, Samantha, a priceless gift, this feeling of absolution. I have been searching for it my whole life.”

“Oh, Lucien,” Samantha whispered against my lips.

Our mouths found one another, and we lost ourselves. The kiss was filled with love and acceptance and forgiveness and longing. It was glorious and life-giving. It might have gone on for minutes or hours.

A knock sounded against the door. We pulled back but remained embraced.

“Come in,” I called, still staring in Samantha’s now-bright eyes.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Griffin began with a small smile, “but the time... “

“Oh.” I broke my gaze at Samantha and looked at the clock on her nightstand and nodded. We had only six hours to do whatever needed to be done. “Dolcezza, time is short. May I ask my family to begin packing the house?”

She nodded and offered instructions about what could stay and what needed to go. Much of the furniture in the house was a mishmash of things her father had gathered in his bachelorhood. That fortunately left us with a smaller job than if she’d wanted to take everything. William pulled the moving truck around. Soon the house was a frenzy of activity.

Griffin came to me once work got underway. “Lucien, I think you should leave the city now. I don’t want you here anywhere near the deadline. I don’t want any of us here then. You should take Samantha and Ollie and leave now.”

Samantha and I debated him for a bit but eventually agreed. Samantha packed overnight bags for herself and Ollie. After I cleaned myself up, I scooped Ollie out of her bed, hating to disturb her yet again from her slumber.

As I lifted her, I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, Ollie,” I whispered. “You saved my life tonight. But don’t you ever do something like that again.” I hugged her to me, so incredibly grateful to this child. She had seen me, accepted me, loved me, and saved me. Time and time again.

Ollie remained asleep, even as I lowered her into the back seat of the Silverado. The Maserati had little back seat to speak of, so William and Jed engaged in an almost immediate negotiation over who’d get to drive my sports car back to New York. Their good humor was welcomed.

Henrietta came with us in case Ollie needed her assistance in the night. Griffin kissed her good-bye and then shook my hand. “We’ll be right behind you, old friend.”

“Thank you, Griffin. There aren’t words.”

“You are family, Lucien. None are needed.” Then he nodded, waved to Henrietta, and jogged back to Samantha’s house.

Soon we were turning off Frederick Street. I was once again en route to the interstate. The similarities ended there.

Whereas before, I’d been filled with grief and despair and rage and self-hatred, now I was filled with hope and love and intense gratitude. Before, I’d been broken, and now I was whole. Before, the future appeared bleak and empty, but now the future seemed full of possibility and potential. Now there was a future worth living.

And the difference?

The difference was Samantha and Ollie, here with me.

The difference was love.

Epilogue

It was the first May 13th in one hundred fourteen years I wasn’t wracked with guilt and grief. I hadn’t forgotten—I would never forget. But life moved on. And for the first time, I moved with it.

Samantha even helped me mark the anniversary. She’d shyly asked if she could go out to visit my family’s graves. She took huge bouquets of flowers she cut with her own hands and then spent an hour on her knees talking to Lena.

At her request, I’d stayed far back, wanting to give her privacy for her conversation. But I was curious beyond belief. Whatever she’d said, the very fact of the conversation further cemented my love for Samantha and endeared her to me impossibly more.

After the morning trip to the cemetery, we drove out to our house. Or, what would be our house whenever we were done building it.

On the way to Milwaukee so many months before, we’d had a long discussion about what her ideal house would be. After a month of living in Orchard Hill’s guest suite, I’d surprised Samantha with blueprints for a new house, designed entirely around the things she’d specified in that conversation. We adjusted the designs once she had a chance to consider them and broke ground in early April as the soil thawed.

Samantha was intent on helping with the build, wanting the house to be the result of both of our efforts. For that reason, she’d yet to return to work. She regretted leaving her job at the children’s hospital in Detroit, but knew she could find work in Ithaca when she was ready.

The upside was how much time we had to spend together. We made good use of it and got to know one another in ways we couldn’t as long as I’d hidden myself from her. The time off also allowed her to be available to help Ollie adjust to the move.

Although, of course, she adjusted better than we could’ve hoped. I didn’t know why we were surprised.

And so, on that beautiful May morning, we stood at the edge of the construction site and stared longingly at the big hole in the ground, the one that would literally and figuratively become the foundation of our life and love.

The future lay bright and open in front of me, in front of us. But I’d become a big fan of focusing on the here and now. The past was gone. The future was only an idea. It was now that mattered.

And right now, I had Samantha, warm and soft, her back pressed against my chest as we tried to envision the way the yellow farmhouse with the wrap-around porch and green shutters would look nestled amongst the New York trees.

I spun her around to face me and captured her throaty laugh with my lips as I kissed her over and over and told her I would love her for all time.

She said it back.

And I was freed, finally, forever.

Acknowledgements

The story of my writing begins with Lucien, Sam, and Ollie in the summer of 2008. So much has happened since and there are so many people to thank. First, I must thank Eilidh Mackenzie, my editor at The Wild Rose Press, who saw something in an unusual male first person point of view story that made her willing to take the chance. Without Eilidh’s belief in Forever Freed, it’s hard to say what the trajectory of my career might’ve been.

Next, I have to thank my best friend and YA paranormal author Lea Nolan, who critiqued many early drafts of the book and helped me plot and brainstorm along the way. This journey wouldn’t have been the same without her.

I must also thank my husband, Brian, and daughters, who supported me in my frenetic need to get this novel out of my system and down on paper when I had no guarantee of ever getting it published. That support is something I’ll never forget.

Finally, I want to thank all the bloggers and readers who have read Forever Freed, loved Lucien, Sam, and Ollie, and let me know how much you want more. Lucien and Ollie remain very lively characters in my imagination, so I cannot rule out that one day I’ll return to their story. It’s on the list!

Thanks to each and every one of you for going on this incredible journey with me. It means the world. ~LK

Want more Vampire Romance from Laura Kaye?

Vampire Warrior Kings Series

IN THE SERVICE OF THE KING

Kael, Warrior King of the Vampires, loathes the Night of the Proffering. He needs the blood of either his mate or a human virgin to maintain his strength, but hasn’t enjoyed the ritual since he lost his mate centuries ago. Kael doesn’t want a new companion, yet his resolve is tested when he lays eyes on his new offering, Shayla McKinnon.

He is drawn to Shayla’s beauty and poise... and the submission she offers. She is eager to give him anything he wishes, including her innocence, to please him. Will Kael give in to their overwhelming desire—even if it means risking Shayla’s life?

SEDUCED BY THE VAMPIRE KING

American exchange student Kate Bordessa has fled to Russia to escape her family’s hopes that she’ll become one of the Proffered, human women who feed and mate with elite vampire warriors. But when she stumbles upon a wounded vampire in the streets of Moscow, she’s instinctively driven to protect him—and feels an undeniable spark of desire.

Grieving over the deaths of his brothers, Vampire Warrior King Nikolai Vasilyev has thrown himself into battling his enemies, focused only on vengeance. Until the attack that brought him to Kate. Their sexual attraction explodes into a night of uncontrolled passion—a night that marks them as mates. Is their connection strong enough to convince them to embrace a destiny neither of them was expecting?

TAKEN BY THE VAMPIRE KING

Henrik Magnusson is supposed to be immortal, but a mysterious ailment leaves the vampire king near death, and not even the blood of the Proffered, human virgins trained to serve the elite, can sustain him. Then he rescues a beautiful young woman from his enemies, and is filled with blood lust and desire he hasn’t felt for centuries.

Photographer Kaira Sorenson’s life takes a nightmare turn when she’s attacked by blood-thirsty creatures—and saved by a vampire. She should be afraid of Henrik, but she can’t deny her intense attraction to this regal, enigmatic being—nor the fact that her blood may be his only salvation. Now she must decide if she’s willing to be his forever…

Other Books by Laura Kaye

Hearts of the Anemoi Series

NORTH OF NEED

WEST OF WANT

SOUTH OF SURRENDER

EAST OF ECSTASY

HEARTS OF THE ANEMOI BOX SET

Vampire Warrior Kings Series

IN THE SERVICE OF THE KING

SEDUCED BY THE VAMPIRE KING

TAKEN BY THE VAMPIRE KING

VAMPIRE WARRIOR KINGS BOX SET

Hard Ink Series

HARD AS IT GETS

HARD AS YOU CAN

HARD TO HOLD ON TO

HARD TO COME BY

HARD TO BE GOOD

Heroes Series

HER FORBIDDEN HERO

ONE NIGHT WITH A HERO

Stand-Alone Titles

HEARTS IN DARKNESS

DARE TO RESIST

FOREVER FREED

JUST GOTTA SAY

About the Author

Laura Kaye is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of nearly twenty books in contemporary and paranormal romance. Laura grew up amid family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses, cementing her life-long fascination with storytelling and the supernatural. Laura lives in Maryland with her husband, two daughters, and cute-but-bad dog, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.

Visit Laura Kaye at www.LauraKayeAuthor.com

Follow Laura on Twitter at @LauraKayeAuthor

Like LauraKayeWrites on Facebook

Sins of the Flesh

by,

Caridad Pineiro

She never expected that she would become someone’s lab rat . . .

World renowned musician Caterina Shaw is losing her battle against an inoperable brain tumor. Her one chance to beat the disease stealing her life is a risky experimental gene therapy. It’s a risk Caterina is willing take to save her life, but now she’s something she doesn’t understand. Extraordinary powers and abilities have made her something other than human. As she tries to understand what she has become, she finds herself accused of a vicious murder and on the run for her life.

He’s the kind of man who’s hired to take care of problems . . .

Even if it means eliminating them. Mick Carrera is a hired gun and gifted at dealing with the most difficult of situations. He’s been hired to hunt down a woman who is nothing like he expects: Caterina is vulnerable, injured and inhuman. But hidden beneath the weird powers she’s exhibiting is a determined and strong woman whose beauty tempts Mick and makes him think about things that can never be. As passion erupts between them, danger threatens from those who would eliminate Caterina’s existence to safeguard their secrets.

Prologue

The day the music died, Caterina Shaw did as well.

Not physically, although she understood the death of her body was inevitable. She had come to terms with that reality some time ago. She had even managed to deal with the blindness caused by the tumor eating away her brain. But then the pain had become so great that it had silenced the music, stealing away the only thing that had made life worth the anguish.

“You understand this treatment is new and uncertain,” Dr. Rudy Wells explained, his voice smooth and comforting. The touch of his hand, warm and reassuring, came against hers as it rested on her thigh.

“I understand,” she said and faced the direction of that calming voice.

Another person abruptly chimed in, his tones as strident and grating as a badly played oboe. “We’ll begin with laser surgery to remove the bulk of the tumor followed by two different courses of gene therapy.”

Two? she wondered and sensed Dr. Wells’ hesitation as well from the tremble that skated across his fingers. He removed his hand from hers and said, “Dr. Edwards believes that we can not only shut down the tumor growing in your brain, but possibly regrow the portion of your optic nerve that the tumor damaged.”

Caterina’s only wish when considering the experimental treatment had been to stop the pain so that she could play her cello once again. So that her last months would be filled with the vitality her music provided.

It was through her music that she lived.

That my mother had lived, Caterina thought, recalling the passion she had felt as a small child when her mother had played the piano for her; the way her mother’s fingers had coaxed life from the keys much like she now did with a stroke of her bow and the deft touch of her fingers on the strings of her cello.

Or at least like she had up until the cancer had put an end to her music, bringing her life to a close. Except now she was being told something different.

Caterina had never thought about eliminating the tumor. Every prognosis so far had been that she was terminal. Now these new doctors were telling her that she might not only live, but that she might actually see again too. She didn’t dare believe that she would be able to get her old life back completely, as well as her sight but . . .

“You think I’ll be able to recover? To see again?” Caterina asked, needing to be sure she had understood correctly.

“The risks are great, my dear,” Dr. Wells urged gently.

“But you qualify for the human trials because of the advanced state of your illness, Ms. Shaw,” Dr. Edwards added, annoyance at his partner evident in the staccato beats of his voice.

Her advanced state which could possibly bring death even with this treatment, Caterina thought. Not that she feared death. What she did fear was letting the pain in her head rob her of the one thing she could not live without.

Her music.

She knew without hesitation that it was worth any risk to regain that part of her. To drive back the illness so she could play her cello once more and reanimate her heart for as long as she had left if the treatments couldn’t stop the tumor.

“What do you need me to do?”

Chapter 1

Six months later

Mick Carrera understood what kind of man he was.

Ruthless.

Determined.

Skilled in the art of killing.

People came to him when no one else could handle their problems because Mick either solved their problems or eliminated them – if Mick thought elimination was justified. Some scruples remained buried in his soul, a secret he closely guarded. In his line of work, having scruples equated to weakness.

Dr. Raymond Edwards had presented him with the kind of job that possibly ended with elimination, although Edwards hadn’t come right out and said so during their short telephone conversation. The doctor had skirted around the subject with the skill of a ballroom dancer, insisting time and time again that all he required were the services of a security specialist to assist with a problem at their facility.

Mick’s initial misgivings made him wonder why he had even come to the doctor’s office for this additional discussion. His typical clientele preferred meeting places that were much less public, but then again, maybe such transparency meant that the doctor had been truthful about the nature of this assignment.

He scoped out the office as he entered, taking note of the fact that there was only one entrance in and out. Not good in case of the need for a quick escape.

As he passed a credenza located beneath a wall filled with diplomas, framed news articles and photos, he noticed a small bronze statue of a horse mounted on a heavy marble base.

The size and weight of the statue would make it a handy weapon for either cracking open a man’s skull or breaking through the plate glass windows which lined one long wall of the office. The clear windows were now darkening, the color becoming as deep and dense as squid ink and likely for the same reason – concealment.

Mick had noticed all the high tech security on his way through the entrance of the building. He had expected it even while worrying about it. He knew his image would end up saved on a hard drive somewhere from the assorted closed circuit cameras, but if Dr. Edwards was on the up and up, this was one job that was too good not to consider.

“I thought you might like some privacy,” the man behind the desk said as he rose and offered his hand.

“Dr. Raymond Edwards,” the man said.

Mick shook his hand and nodded. “Mick Carrera.”

As Mick sat, he caught a glimpse of another security camera behind the desk, aimed directly at his chair. When Edwards tracked his gaze, he said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Carrera. I’ll make sure all traces of you are erased from our systems.”

“I appreciate your understanding,” he said, even while wondering again why a supposedly distinguished scientist like Raymond Edwards seemed compelled to seek out the services of a man like him. He wondered what else the good doctor had erased from the company’s security videos.

Dragging his attention to the man seated behind the desk, he listened as Edwards offered a rather lengthy introduction about the work that his biotech company did and their many accomplishments. Edwards’ manner was outwardly confident and business-like, but Mick couldn’t help but notice how the doctor kept his right hand on the face of the file on his desk and fiddled with one corner of the thick folder, thumbing it again and again. The curled corner of the papers confirmed that Edwards had opened that file more times than the good doctor wanted him to know.

When Edwards paused for a breath, Mick seized the opportunity. “Your mission is clear, Dr. Edwards. Your company specializes in developing gene therapies for the terminally ill.”

The man stiffened and immediately corrected him. “Our present group of patients is terminally ill, but we hope that what we learn from our current research – “

“Will help all of mankind in the future. So why do you require my services?”

Edwards thumbed the edge of the folder again before he laced his hands together on the face of the file. He leaned forward slightly, as if he was about to share something more intimate. A furrow of worry developed over the bridge of his nose, but the remainder of his thin face remained passive.

“I’ve been told your specialties are corporate security and discreet investigations,” he said.

The dance had commenced, Mick thought. He was almost amused by the way the man was twirling his way around the true nature of Mick’s work. “My experience – “

“Is rather extensive. Army Ranger. EMT. Security consultant for one of the nation’s top companies before you decided to go out on your own.”

It hadn’t really been a voluntary decision, but in the end it had worked out well for all involved. Except the two civilians who had been killed during his last assignment.

“You’re background check seems to have been quite thorough which makes me wonder just why you need my ... special skills.”

A sly smile slinked across Edwards’ face as he finally pushed the folder across the desk, but another thicker file still remained beneath the doctor’s manicured fingers.

Mick opened the slim manila folder. On one side were copies of preliminary police reports on a murder which had occurred in the company’s labs the day before. He recalled hearing about it on the early morning Philadelphia news and had immediately made the connection last night when Edwards had telephoned.

Dr. Rudy Wells, a top researcher and co-owner of the biotech company, had died a grisly death. The officer’s notes and photos inside the file detailed the many injuries he had suffered.

Wells had been ripped apart. One arm and leg torn from his torso. The sharp point of a broken chair leg jammed through the foramen magnum at the base of his skull.

Mick flipped through all the pictures, imagining the kind of strength it would take to do that to another human being. Gauging the rage that must have been behind such a personal kind of attack since no professional would have done such a messy job.

The bruises visible on Wells’ body in the photos would likely yield finger or hand prints. With the kind of battle that might have gone on between Wells and his assailant, a treasure trove of DNA, fibers, and other evidence had probably been transferred to the dead scientist or left behind in the lab.

As he finished reviewing the last of the photos, he risked a quick glance at Edwards to study his reaction. The other man’s lips had stiffened with displeasure, but there was nothing else to give away what Edwards was thinking.

“This is the problem you wouldn’t discuss last night on the phone? Aren’t the police already investigating this murder?” With a quick flip of his wrist, he tossed the file back onto Edwards’ desk.

The clear gray of the other man’s eyes chilled at Mick’s apparent dismissal. Lines of tightness bracketed Edwards’ thin lips before he said, “If the police get wind of what actually happened here, everything we do could be in jeopardy. That’s why we need a man of your caliber for this assignment.”

Mick motioned to the file. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want the police to solve this crime?”

“There’s nothing to solve.”

Edwards finally handed him the second thicker file. “We know who the murderer is – Caterina Shaw. One of our patients.”

As he opened the folder, Caterina Shaw’s engaging smile and intense blue-eyed gaze peered at him from the photo within the folder. A beautiful woman, he thought. A wealth of midnight hair surrounded a delicate face with pouty lips and contrasted nicely with her perfect, creamy skin, captured for posterity by the professional photograph.

The photo was clearly intended for business purposes as Ms. Shaw was dressed in what looked like a sedate black gown, a motherly string of pearls at the long elegant line of her throat. Mick couldn’t help but notice that the low cut of her gown provided a delicious glimpse of her other endowments as well.

It took all his willpower to battle the very visceral response that just the photo created. He definitely had been without a woman for too long and with good reason.

Women seemed to find him physically attractive, but he always felt it was his bad boy aura which really drew them. Neither reason generally lead to anything of lasting value. Relationships based on such shallow motives lacked the kind of trust necessary for a permanent relationship.

Reviewing the short bio on Caterina Shaw, Mick realized that permanence was something she was used to. Caterina had been born in the Philadelphia area and had stayed there for most of her life. The only breaks from the city had been for schooling, but each time she had returned home to Philly. Even her employment record screamed of stability. She had been with the local orchestra for several years.

He gazed at her picture one last time before turning his attention to the final entry in what appeared to be a lengthy medical history.

Patient has recently developed uncontrollable seizures leading to episodes of memory loss and rage combined with full expression of the implanted gene sequence.

Medical mumbo jumbo for she’s a raving psycho.

As Mick flipped back to the photograph of the woman, he was struck again by her beauty – not that beauty wasn’t capable of the kind of violence perpetrated on Dr. Wells.

“Why is Ms. Shaw one of your patients?” he asked as he closed the file and returned it with greater care than the one before.

Edwards flipped open the folder and removed the photo, glancing at it almost wistfully before he said, “She was beautiful wasn’t she?”

“Why is she here, Dr. Edwards?” Mick pressed, annoyed by the man’s almost staged theatrics and his use of the past tense for a woman who was still very much alive as far as he knew.

“Sad sad story,” the physician said with a tsk and dramatic shake of his head. “About three years ago, Ms. Shaw was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Slow-growing at first, but then some switch must have flipped and the tumor became more aggressive.”

“So she came to you?” he asked, wondering just what state the young woman had been in when she arrived at Edwards’ facility.

“Not at first. The only patients we are allowed to admit are those with no other recourse.”

“Which means?”

“Ms. Shaw went blind from the tumor’s invasion of her optic nerve, but she managed to deal with that. Laser treatments kept the growth confined for about another year.”

“But then it spread and she came to you for help.” A note of disdain escaped with the comment, obviously irritating the man across from him.

Edwards jerked Caterina Shaw’s photo into Mick’s line of sight. He jabbed at the image of the woman. “Just twenty-eight and already at the height of her career. Her brain was rapidly being destroyed. Even if our treatments were untried, Ms. Shaw understood the possible reward. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Mick would have probably put a gun in his mouth and blown what little brains remained out the back of his skull, but he suspected the doctor sitting across from him wouldn’t appreciate hearing that solution.

“What do you want from me?”

Edwards picked up both files and thrust them across the width of the desk. “After killing my partner, Caterina escaped the confines of our facility. Find her. If you can, bring her back so that we can get her under control before we turn her over to the authorities.”

Something about the tone of Edwards’ voice didn’t ring true.

As Mick met the other man’s icy stare, he got the sense that the seemingly proper physician was much like he was.

Determined.

Ruthless.

And possibly not above breaking a few rules to accomplish his goals.

“What if I can’t bring her back? What if – “

“Caterina resists? Chances are she will. She’s quite dangerous in her current state. My partner found that out the hard way.”

Mick glanced at the files in his hands, debating if he would take the assignment. As if sensing his hesitation, Edwards leaned forward once again and passed him a check with too many zeroes to refuse.

He examined the check for only a second before folding it and slipping it into the pocket of his black leather jacket. As he rose, Edwards held out his hand to seal the deal.

Mick ignored the man and walked to the door, certain of one thing as he exited.

If Edwards wasn’t telling the truth, what happened to his buddy Wells would seem like a cake walk compared to what he would do to him.

Chapter 2

Caterina struggled to contain the thoughts rampaging through her brain. Scattered ideas and images collided there, creating a convoluted maze which kept her a prisoner of her own mind. The images surprised her, prompting other vague memories of unending darkness.

Unwelcome darkness that had lasted for too long. Darkness that had been accompanied by pain only . . .

Little pain remained anymore and the darkness was gone, replaced by the bright images swirling around in her brain, a weird melding of colors reminiscent of a Peter Max painting.

Peter Max.

She forced herself to focus on that concept, remembering other pictures and artists. Lots and lots of paintings and artists while people gathered together at some kind of event.

Had she been an artist as well? she wondered, confused about who and what she was as she gazed around again at the multi-hued shapes surrounding her. As unnatural as the colors were, she was grateful she could see, suddenly aware that she hadn’t been able to do so in some time.

Trees.

Bushes.

The cool dirt beneath her feet.

Birds twittered overhead. A tiny flash of brown and white scurried into the underbrush.

She was outdoors which meant . . .

She was free.

She had escaped.

Escape, she realized, honing in on that idea as she tried to make sense of the thoughts and memories creating havoc in her brain. Finally a picture formed in her mind of a hospital.

No, not a hospital. An office maybe? Or a lab? Yes, a lab.

I escaped from one of the cells in the lab the night before, she realized as she skirted the edge of a stand of scraggly pines, their fragrant needles soft beneath her feet.

A step later, Caterina stubbed her toe on an exposed root.

Fearful of discovery, she contained her cry of pain and examined her foot. Like everything around her, the colors were off.

Bright yellow-green blood at the tip of her stubbed toe glowed against the darker browns of dirt and leaves along the rest of her foot.

Caterina forced herself to focus on that appendage, gathering her thoughts. Reality momentarily returned, restoring with it the peachy hues of her healthy human skin, although something else was odd.

The nasty stub at the end of her toe was already healing.

The only thing that remained from the injury was a bit of phosphorescent yellow-green on the ragged wood of the root where she had stubbed her toe.

Yellow-green blood?

Impossibly wrong. Her toe should still hurt. And her blood should be red.

Try as she might to connect her thoughts to understand, what was happening to her – within her – made no sense.

A sudden loud thumping noise came at her, like the insistent beat of a tympani drum. At first it beat at a regular pace but soon became a rapid roll as the sound came closer.

Wump, wump, wump, quickly and persistently. Over and over as the sound approached, battering the air viciously. The noise strong enough to become a physical pulse against her body.

I have to avoid the noise.

Caterina hunkered down beneath the lower branches of one of the more thickly needled evergreens in the Pine Barrens.

The sound intensified as did the wind which whirled fallen leaves and needles around and around the base of the tree. The helicopter making the din paused overhead and the branches of the pine whipped wildly against her naked body, but Caterina remained immobile, hugging the trunk of the tree. Digging her fingers into the wood to hold on.

The tree trunk gave easily beneath her fingers, surprising her, but providing her with a firm grasp as she tried to blend in beneath the branches of the evergreen.

Danger was near.

Danger from the helicopter kicking up the air and foliage around her.

Closing her eyes and letting out a soft mewl of fear, she burrowed deeper against the thick trunk of the pine, hoping she wouldn’t be seen.

She couldn’t go back to the lab.

After long minutes, the helicopter moved on with a loud screaming whir, but Caterina remained in her protective squat, waiting. Fingers dug as deep as her knuckles into the tree trunk until she extracted them, sticky with sap.

It’ll be night again soon, she thought as she looked around.

She glanced at the fingers she had sunk deep into the trunk of the tree. Tacky fingers with an odd cast to the skin. She tried to make sense of her actions and the strange color, but couldn’t.

Immediately after came the vision of those fingers rapidly shifting against strings. Pressing against smoothly shaped wood, producing sensually rich sound.

Producing music.

Her music.

She grabbed a hold of those ideas, hoping the fragmented ideas would finally come together to make sense.

She didn’t know how long she remained there, rooted to the spot, trying to collect her thoughts, but the strain in her legs grew steadily until her muscles screamed in agony.

Caterina finally gave into the call of her body, rose, and stepped away from the protective embrace of the evergreen. But even as she did so, the deep green of the pine needles remained wrapped around her skin as she walked out into the open.

She studied her hands and feet. Her skin had assumed the color of the verdant woods around her.

I’m human, but my skin isn’t, she thought as the full impact of her condition hit her.

Shaking her head to clear the illogical vision, she then noticed something familiar despite the odd colors which had returned to her vision, creating almost a kaleidoscope blur. Locking her gaze on one spot in the distance, the images sharpened.

Lights.

Those were lights up ahead.

The lights meant something good. Something better than the woods around her.

That recollection triggered a string of other ideas which finally coalesced into a more complex understanding about herself.

She had been at the lab because she was sick, but had escaped to be safe.

With that realization immediately came another.

She was naked.

Or at least she thought she was, gazing down at herself.

Her skin had that odd color. When she touched her stomach, the sap sticky pads of her fingers met the softer skin of her midsection. The deep green of the pine tree covered most of her body, but near her ankles the tone of her skin blended to the color of the earth at her feet.

Impossibly wrong, she thought.

As wrong as the now fully healed stub of her toe and the way she had been able to shove her fingers into the trunk of the evergreen.

She had to hide until she could make sense of what was happening, but she couldn’t walk around naked.

She should have grabbed some clothes when she had made her escape only . . .

Visions battered her brain, driving her to her knees.

So much blood.

On the floor and walls.

All over her hands.

All over Dr. Wells.

There hadn’t been time to take any clothes.

She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth for a moment as she forced away the disturbing memories and marshaled her thoughts.

She would have to find some clothes once she went . . .

Where am I going? she asked herself, standing and examining the bloodstains on her body.

The realization rushed through her, surprising her with its clarity and bringing immense joy.

I’m going home.

Chapter 3

The whole thing smelled rotten and not even the possibility of becoming a rich man could make the odor go away.

Mick refused to think about why he still had not cashed the check tucked into his wallet. A job was a job, he told himself, and this assignment was paying way better than most. The money was why he had opted for this way of life years earlier, needing to help his family. A fire had nearly destroyed the restaurant which had been their livelihood since arriving from Mexico over twenty years ago. The money the insurance company had provided as a settlement had not been enough to repair the damage and without his assistance, it would have been impossible to re-open the restaurant and for his siblings to finish their schooling.

But they don’t need your help anymore, the voice in his head challenged, urging him that there were other jobs he could do. Jobs that were not as risky and where he could use his skills to help and not hurt.

The way he might have to hurt Caterina Shaw if he couldn’t control her.

Images of the destruction wrought on Edwards’ dead partner came to mind, warning him about what Caterina had supposedly done. But apprehension filled his gut as he stared at the nervous young woman seated across from him, Caterina’s best friend.

“I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, Ms. Rogers,” he said in an attempt to alleviate the woman’s obvious distress.

“At the door you said you were hired by – “

“Wardwell Biotech,” he said, providing her the name of Edwards’ and Wells’ company much as he had when she had been shutting the door in his face. It had been his warning about her friend being hurt and his big booted foot in the door which had gained him access to the tony Rittenhouse Square townhouse.

She nodded, but continued to wring her hands over and over as she said, “I was so worried when Cat told me about the treatment only . . .”

“She would have died without it.”

After a precise nod of her head, Ms. Rogers finally stilled the motion of her hands, splaying her fingers against her tailored navy blue slacks. “Cat knew she might die even with the treatment, but she had to have her music back.”

Mick recalled the video he had watched earlier that day which had been taken months before Caterina had signed onto Dr. Edwards’ little science experiment. Anyone viewing the performance would be hard pressed to realize that the vibrant young woman creating such wondrous music was terminally ill.

Caterina’s legs had been wrapped around the cello as she fingered the strings and her bow stroked the profoundly rich tones from the instrument. Every movement seduced yet more from the musical piece, imbuing each note with emotion and passion.

The music had clearly been her life.

With a curt nod, Mick reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and removed a small pad and pen. Flipping through his notes, he continued with his questioning.

“I’ve spoken to a number of Caterina’s acquaintances. Everyone says she was pleasant and caring. Dedicated to friends, family, and career. Would you say it was in that order?”

A confused look danced across Elizabeth Rogers’ flawless features. “Meaning?”

“Which was more important to Caterina? Her career or her family or – “

“Cat didn’t have any family. She lost her mother when she was six, although there were some distant cousins in Mexico. She and her father were estranged. He never really approved of her chosen profession. He died when Cat was in college.”

“So her father never knew about her success?”

“No, not that it mattered to Cat. She wasn’t about being a celebrity.”

Caterina had come across as humble, even possibly shy in the interviews Mick had seen. But he wondered how it must feel to be one of the world’s premiere cellists and perform for kings, presidents, and other dignitaries and have no one with whom to share that success.

“What about men?” he said. Caterina had been elegant. Refined. Passionate. Physically beautiful.

Elizabeth shook her head and her blonde ponytail swished back and forth from the force of the movement. “Cat was too involved with her friends and career. In that order,” she clarified. “There was an occasional man every now and then, but nothing significant. Especially not in the last several years thanks to the cancer.”

He nodded, imagining that the illness might have made relationships difficult.

Had that made her resentful? Had the loss of her parents angered her? he wondered as he flipped the pages in his notepad.

It would take a lot of rage to cold-bloodedly rip a man apart and pith him the way one might a mouse before vivisection.

“Did that bother her? Was she upset?”

Elizabeth’s rough laugh stopped him. “Upset? On the contrary. Cat never let it get to her. With each setback, she found a way to continue. When she went blind, she learned to play the pieces by ear.”

He sensed something behind her words. Disapproval? “You were Caterina’s best friend.”

“I am Cat’s best friend,” she immediately clarified.

He leaned back in the delicate wing chair and it creaked with the weight of his body. Considering the other woman as she nervously fingered the thick gold chain at her neck, he said, “You’re angry. Jealous, maybe? She was first chair and yet she relied on you.”

Elizabeth’s voice escalated with each word. “You mean because I helped her prepare her pieces after she went blind? While playing second fiddle, literally.”

He shrugged, prompting her to rise elegantly from the sofa, her hands clasped tightly before her. “Cat and I are best friends. I’d do anything for her and she would do anything for me.”

He rose from the chair as well, understanding that she was done with his questioning, but he pressed on. “Including giving her a place to hide?”

“I don’t believe what they said about Cat on the news,” she answered, reaching for the thick gold chain again with a trembling hand.

“Your friend is the main suspect, Elizabeth. These treatments – “

“Wouldn’t change Cat. This is all a lie,” she said and walked out of the parlor and down the short hall to the door of her townhouse, clearly intending him to follow.

At the door, he paused and handed her his business card. She wouldn’t take it and so he leaned over and left it on a carved mahogany table near the entrance. “In case you have something else to tell me,” he said and walked out.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet of the night.

A block away lay Rittenhouse Square. It would be nearly empty at this time of night. A good place to think.

Mick shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down 18th Street to Walnut, crossed over and at the corner, strolled down the diagonal path to the center of the square. He stopped to listen to the sounds of the fountain, assembling his thoughts, and then sauntered to a bench located close to a street light.

He sat and contemplated what he had learned about Caterina Shaw. He was worried that he had let all that he had discovered about Caterina’s background influence him, something he rarely did. Usually all that information just amounted to raw data used to track his target. Determine its strengths and weaknesses. Prepare for the capture or kill.

During the course of his brief investigations, it had become difficult to be so clinical about Caterina Shaw.

He could kid himself and say that he didn’t know why, but it would be a lie. He knew why without a doubt.

His search had revealed Caterina’s painful past as well as her tragic present. Neither had kept her from what she had wanted to do.

He admired courage and perseverance. They were traits he had relied on more than once to keep himself safe. To keep safe the men in the Army Ranger unit he had once commanded.

Although he didn’t know Caterina in the real sense of the word, Mick had gotten to know more about her than was good for him to complete his assignment. He forced himself to remember that the most important thing he had to recognize was what she was now – a dangerous murderer.

Or at least that’s what Edwards wanted him to believe.

He was having trouble buying into that, but then the last entry on her medical history played through his brain for what had to be the hundredth time since his meeting with Edwards earlier that morning.

Patient has recently developed uncontrollable seizures leading to episodes of rage combined with full expression of the implanted gene sequence.

Mick’s early life hadn’t allowed for extensive schooling, but he had more than made up for that during his time as an Army Ranger. He had devoured whatever manuals the Army had tossed at him in addition to finally obtaining not only his college degree, but becoming certified as an EMT.

The medical information in Caterina’s file was therefore clear. Coupled with the information he had gathered on the good doctors Edwards and Wells, he once again tried to imagine the real life results which would occur from the last statement in her medical history.

Patient ... uncontrollable seizures ... episodes of rage ... full expression . . ., he repeated to himself before turning to the notes he had made from her medical history and his own research.

Apparently, Edwards and Wells had been able to identify beneficial gene sequences in nearly half a dozen creatures. Using modern cloning techniques, they had isolated those sequences and replicated them in sufficient quantities to be able to combine them with viral carriers.

Although the idea of intentionally letting a live virus loose in someone’s body made him nervous, apparently it was a common practice. Once those altered viruses were injected into the subject, the natural viral process took over, replicating and insinuating the DNA into the subject’s genes.

As Mick reviewed his scribbling by the light of the street lamp, he realized that Edwards and Wells also appeared to have found a way to not only target where the recombination occurred, but to control the replication process and expression of the implanted gene sequence.

Or at least they thought they had learned to control the replication and expression.

The seizures from which Caterina had supposedly been suffering together with the weird activity caused by the gene clearly meant their control wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

If that entry in her medical history was even true. The entry could be the start of the groundwork for framing Caterina for Wells’ murder.

He put aside his pad and leaned back against the stone balustrade which surrounded the center of the square and formed a back rest of sorts for the nearby cement bench. He laced his fingers behind his head while he imagined what kinds of behavior the foreign genes might cause as well as how desperate someone might need to be to try such a risky procedure.

Once again it occurred to him that he would have chosen to blow out his brains, but . . .

He surged forward and pulled out Caterina’s photo from his jacket pocket. Ran the pads of his fingers across the glossy surface, intrigued not only by her beauty, but also by her tenacity.

Such strength.

Passion.

Intelligence.

Hard traits to resist, he thought until he remembered the check he had folded and slipped into his wallet.

Quite a lot of money.

Enough to make him set for a couple of years and help out his family. Maybe even enough allow him to leave this nasty life for another one. Possibly even an honorable one with simpler demands and easier decisions to make.

He risked another glimpse at Caterina’s photo. It was a damn shame that the sole decision he would have to make about her was whether to take her in dead or alive.

* * *

With the light of a full moon guiding her, Caterina moved from the safety of the Pine Barrens and slipped through an unlocked door into one of the buildings along the edges of Camden.

Inside she kept close to the outside wall, plastering herself to its rough cinder block. When she heard a sound, she paused and held her breath.

Someone was coming her way. The footsteps were soft, regular as a metronome as the person approached.

A night watchman?

A flashlight beam swung back and forth, back and forth in a determined arc. Swept across the unlocked door and then in her direction. For one heart-pounding moment, the light tracked across her midsection, but then moved on.

Why hadn’t the guard seen me?

The light had been directly on her. She glanced down at her stomach, recalling where the light had hit her body.

Grey mottled with specks of black had blossomed across not only her midsection, but all of her torso, making her nearly invisible against the cinder block wall.

Wrong.

I am so so wrong, she thought again.

She raised her hand and stared at it. She couldn’t understand the color of her skin any more now than she could the earlier forest hues which had covered her flesh.

She focused on her hand until slowly, the mottled color faded away leaving behind the tones of normal human skin. But almost immediately after that, the odd vibrant colors from the night before reappeared, painting everything around her with a bold impressionistic brush.

She didn’t understand the colors.

On her skin.

In her vision.

They weren’t right. I’m not right, she remembered.

She was sick. Only a sick person would hurt . . .

The memories pounded at her brain again, creating a crater of pain in the center of her skull.

So much blood on the floor and walls.

All over her and the pieces of Dr. Wells.

Soft wet pieces beneath her fingers.

Control, she urged and leaned back against the wall to stabilize herself. Her fingertips sank into the cinder block, grounding her as she tried to focus.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

She repeated the word like a mantra until the reminders of blood and death receded, replaced by scattered recollections of people and pictures and music.

Music, she thought, imagining the black and white of notes on the page. The rough bite of metal strings beneath her fingers. Smooth wood and cold varnish.

I love music, she recalled and with that came the picture of a building in her mind’s eye.

A building filled with welcome.

She had to get to that structure.

The music would be there. Music and happiness.

Retracting her fingers from the cinder block, she carefully kept to the outside wall, following it around the edge of the building until she came to some lockers. Slightly rusty and battered, they nevertheless might hold what she needed.

She quickly found a grey t-shirt in one open compartment and slipped it on. It hung on her, overly large on her slender body. A musty smell clung to the thin cotton.

All the other lockers had locks dangling from their handles, protecting their contents.

With a sharp twist of one lock, however, it sprang free and inside she found a pair of men’s jeans and shoes. Both were immense. She effortlessly opened the other combination locks, the metal bending like putty beneath her fingers.

Within a short time she scrounged together more clothes and a pair of sneakers she could wear. Dressed, she hurried toward the open back door, ever vigilant for the presence of others. She listened for a hint of any approach, the sounds of the night exceptionally loud.

Only no one came.

At the exit, she paused, hesitant. She felt surprisingly strong and energized, but still unfocused. Her vision drifted from the surreal colors which came unbidden to those familiar hues of reality.

A reality which she had struggled to maintain since escaping the lab. A reality which seemed to elude her more often than she wanted.

As she escaped into the night, she knew she still had some distance to go until she reached anything familiar. Until she got to the building with the music, certain that once she got there, things would make more sense. Maybe even go back to normal, but more importantly . . .

Instinctively she knew that once she got there she would be safe.

Chapter 4

Mick stared at the bright yellow police tape and evidence seal on the door of Caterina’s town home which was located a block off trendy South Street. No matter how much Edwards wanted to avoid police involvement, they were clearly already on the job. He would have to hurry and locate her in order to curtail any further investigation. He wouldn’t try to guess why Edwards didn’t want the police poking around. His job wasn’t to question; only to acquire his target.

Or so Mick told himself, hating that the scruples he still possessed insisted that he had to find out why Edwards wanted Caterina so badly before turning her over.

As he examined the evidence seal, he realized that someone had carefully slit it open. The razor-fine cut wouldn’t be visible to a casual observer, but upon a more thorough examination someone would discover the break-in.

With a quick look down the street to make sure no one was watching, he easily turned the knob, slipped beneath the caution tape, and entered the town house.

He stopped short at the mess within.

Someone had knocked over bookshelves, tables and chairs, and knifed open the sofa and cushions. In the upstairs bedrooms, drawers and closets had been rifled, the contents strewn carelessly on the polished wood floors. The linens tossed and the mattresses slashed.

The deception with the evidence seal and the devastation in the home were not the kind of action he expected from an everyday burglar. Damage of this nature was intended to deliver a personal message. A message that warned about either evening a score or scaring someone off.

I’d put my money on the latter, he thought as he glanced out through the front windows to check the street outside before exiting into the night.

At a brisk pace, shoulders hunched and head tucked down to conceal his face, he walked toward South Street where it would be more populated and he could get lost in the crowd just in case anyone was tracking him.

As he considered the wreckage of Caterina’s home, it was clear that someone didn’t want her to stay there, not that she would anyway if she had a lick of sense remaining in what was left of her tumor-laden gene-invaded brain.

A common criminal would avoid any places they regularly visited, knowing that the police would look for them there first. But someone like Caterina might head to familiar things where she likely felt safe and would know where to hide. Maybe even to people she could trust, like her best friend Elizabeth Rogers.

He contemplated immediately heading back to the Rogers residence, but didn’t believe Rogers was covering for her friend. She had let him into her home too quickly and there had been nothing suspicious in her manner, only concern.

If Rogers was not hiding her friend and Caterina had already come by her home and seen the destruction, she would either head toward Rogers or another safe haven.

The Rogers home was a far walk from Caterina’s townhouse while his second targets were closer – the Kimmel Center and nearby Music Academy.

At the corner, he turned onto South and walked toward Broad, all the time keeping an eye out for either a tail or anyone who fit Caterina’s general physical description since she might have had the sense to try and disguise herself.

In the shiny windows of the Whole Foods Market on South Street, he thought he caught a reflection of unusual activity behind him and paused, seemingly to peruse the sign listing their specials. Instead, he focused on the reflection of the few people walking by, trying to pinpoint what had snagged his attention.

A minute or so passed, but whatever he had seen was long gone.

Or maybe he had only imagined it.

He continued onward, hurrying down past the more residential section of South Street until he hit Broad.

It was nearly midnight, but a fair amount of vehicular traffic still traveled along the street as well as some stray pedestrians, mostly twenty something students by the University of the Arts. Heading down Broad, he crossed the street and hustled toward the Kimmel Center. The rounded arches of the center’s vaulted glass ceiling radiated shards of light into the murkiness of the night sky.

The marquee by the ticket office indicated there had been a performance of the philharmonic that night, but now only a few people lingered in and around the periphery of the building.

He had calculated that Caterina might return here because she would know where to hide within the performing arts complex, but given the event that night, there would be too many people around for her to enter undetected.

He wouldn’t find his target here, but he also suspected she would not be far away.

He continued down the section of Broad known as the Avenue of the Arts until he stood in front of the plain red brick facade of the Academy of Music.

The building was quiet tonight. The only life was the muted glow of the gas lanterns glimmering light onto the empty sidewalks surrounding the building.

The gated entrance near the front of the building was too conspicuous, even though the recessed stage door lay in the shadows, providing some protection from prying eyes.

Mick had downloaded the blueprints for the building from the Internet and knew just where to go. Turning onto Locust, he proceeded to a narrow alley behind the building. The light from the street lamps illuminated the mouth of the alley, but beyond that only darkness lingered.

He looked around.

The cobblestoned street was empty of any pedestrians, so he slipped into the narrow alley and paused a few steps in to allow his eyes to adjust to the lack of light and to check for signs of anyone else.

The long slender alley was also empty.

Time for him to move in.

He stole down the alley while hugging the wall, the ground uneven beneath his feet. The area lit only by the small beam from a flashlight he pulled from his pocket. He moved quickly, every action efficiently cautious, until he located the entrance shown on the blueprints.

Pointing the flashlight at the door, he prepared to jimmy the lock but found that someone had beaten him to it. A shit job for sure. Large sharp gouges along the seam of the door and at the lock gleamed silvery bright in the beam from his flashlight.

He reached behind him, pulled out his 9 mm Glock from beneath his leather jacket, and released the safety. With a gloved hand, he slowly opened the door and risked but a sharp glance inside before he cleared the entrance.

The interior was almost as gloomy as the night outside, but since his eyes had adjusted already, he could make out the tangle of shapes before him.

Large lockers and an assortment of equipment lined the edges of a hallway, but there was a clear path down the center. Slowly he inched along, pausing well before the low light cast by an illuminated exit sign so that he would remain hidden.

He recalled from the building plans where the stairs would be that led to the manager’s office and dressing rooms, as well as the stairs to the basement level and trap door area. Crouching, he rushed past the dim circle of light cast by the exit sign.

As he did so his foot brushed against a cable housing on the ground. It slithered and shook like an angry rattlesnake. The rattle echoed loudly off the walls in the quiet of the hall and he stilled, waiting to see if anyone would respond to the sound.

Only silence answered.

Mick released a low grateful sigh and proceeded, decidedly more careful of the objects littering the floor and sides of the hall. More cables. A Klieg light. A box brimming with colored gels for the spotlights.

Muscles tense, every inch of him on alert, he skirted all the items until he neared the stairs to the basement level.

Pausing, he peered down the darkened stairway, watching for any signs of life.

Like before, the space was empty and the area down below was deadly quiet.

He took the first step down the stairs.

A muffled thud sounded in back of him.

He whirled on the stair, stepped back up, and took cover behind one of the large gray metal lockers lining the hall, his hand tight on his pistol grip.

Listening, he heard the squeak of a sneaker against the tiled floor. Soft footfalls immediately came, followed by the thud of heavier steps.

Two people.

Somewhere dead ahead in the dark.

Coming toward him as he hid by the stairway.

He lifted his gun and trained it on the area. Waited patiently for any additional movement.

A sudden flash of muzzle fire erupted in the dark followed by the familiar pop from a silencer.

Cautiously he eased from behind the locker and made his way closer to the spot where he thought he had seen the flash, ducking in and out from behind the equipment along the hall for protection. He was several feet away from the location when he heard the sound of light footsteps racing away again, followed quickly by the flat-footed pounding of the heavier body.

Another silenced shot rang out and the shooter carelessly stepped into the dim light from the exit sign Mick had avoided earlier, giving him a clear view.

“Stop or I’ll fire,” he called out while sizing up the man in the illumination from the sign.

The shooter was middle-aged and dark-haired with a pronounced scar above one brow. Tall and thickly muscled, the man was fairly fit, but with a midsection that was starting to turn to flab. His easy stance with the gun spoke of training and the silencer on the weapon confirmed he was a professional, but he had made a totally careless mistake by exposing himself in the light from the sign.

The man peered into the darkness toward Mick, searching for him in the shadows. His face was flush with embarrassment – or maybe from the red of the sign – and gleaming with sweat.

From a chase? Mick wondered.

“Identify yourself,” Mick said, but then shifted farther back behind the protection of the locker and closer to the wall so that the shooter couldn’t place him based on the sound of his voice.

“This is none of your business. Stay out of it,” the man said and moved as if to shift away from the light, but Mick shouted out a warning.

“Move another step and you’re dead.”

At that command, the man finally did as he was told, remaining in place, but still ready to fire.

“Shaw is my fuckin’ capture,” the other man threatened while peering into the dark for any sign of Mick.

The big metal locker provided great cover and Mick took advantage of that. Reaching down, he picked up a heavy metal hook wrapped with rope. With his free hand, he tossed the hook up ahead of him and toward the wall opposite both him and the shooter.

The hook landed with a noisy clatter against a pile of lighting equipment.

The other man turned and shot in the direction of the sound, exposing his gun hand as he did so.

Mick fired, the reverberation of the gunshot loud as it echoed along the hallway.

The shooter grunted in pain and dropped his weapon, but he was already reaching for it with his uninjured hand when Mick charged him. With a strong shove of his shoulder into the man’s thickening midsection, Mick sent him careening into the far wall, where he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

While keeping his gun trained on the shooter, Mick bent and retrieved the weapon the other man had dropped and tucked it into his waistband by the small of his back.

“Who sent you?” Mick asked.

“Like I would fuckin’ tell ya,” the gunman said as he cradled his bleeding forearm against his chest.

“Get on your stomach.” He urged the man on with a wave of his gun. When the man complied, he placed his knee in the middle of his back.

Working quickly, he grabbed some cable ties from his jacket pocket, pulled the man’s arms back one at a time, and trussed them together with the ties. When he was done, he stood and nudged the man with his foot.

The man rolled over and there was no mistaking his anger.

Mick bent and grabbed the front of the shooter’s drab olive military jacket, lifting him off the ground a bit. Not an easy thing to do since the man was solidly built. He shook him roughly.

“You’re too stupid to be working on your own. Who sent you?” To stress his point, he brought his weapon to the man’s temple and repeated his earlier question.

“Franklin Pierce,” the man finally replied, unable to hide the quiver of fear on his lips. His gaze jumped back and forth from Mick’s face to the gun pointed at his head.

Franklin Pierce, his ex-Ranger buddy who now ran his own private security firm. It had been years since he had talked to his old friend. He would definitely have to pay Franklin a visit and find out what was up, but first . . .

“Tell Franklin that I don’t appreciate him sending in the second string. Tell him he needs to stay out of this.”

The flush along the man’s face deepened and he stuttered with resentment as he tried to sit up. “You d-d-didn’t have t-t-o shoot me, man.”

Mick had no doubt that if the situation had been reversed, the gunman wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him. He seemed like the kind to shoot first to avoid asking questions later, which was why he had made sure to tie him up. Wanting the man to have no doubt about his earlier warning, he pointed his gun at the man’s groin.

“If there is a next time, I’ll shoot something you’ll really regret losing.”

For good measure, he once again grabbed hold of the man’s jacket and shoved him away forcefully. The other man rebounded against the wall with a thud, and then lay there moaning, but relatively uninjured.

Mick raced in the direction in which he thought the gunman had been shooting.

Nothing but empty hallway greeted him.

He hoped that the time spent interrogating Franklin’s goon hadn’t allowed his target to escape.

Gun drawn, he crept along the edges of the hall, the narrow beam of his compact flashlight sweeping the area in front of him and along the walls as he searched.

Just the shadows and equipment.

He pressed forward, continuing his hunt and suddenly something gleamed back at him from the ground before him.

He trained the flashlight on the floor.

Bright droplets of yellow-green phosphoresced into luminous life. Bending, he inspected them for a moment.

Memories came speeding back of hot summer days and the twinkling of hundreds of lightning bugs in the woods behind his home. His cousin Ramon had used to trap dozens of the fireflies in a rusty-topped old Mason jar. When Ramon tired of watching the insects crawling around the inside of the jar, their asses shining light against the glass, he would spill out some of the insects and squish them against the sidewalk.

The drops on the ground reminded him of those squashed bugs, their guts glistening in the night.

He removed his glove and stuck his index finger into one small glob. The phosphorescent yellow-green liquid was warm and grew sticky on his finger as it slowly dried. Bringing his finger up to his nose, he inhaled.

Shock filled him as he smelled blood.

Human blood.

He rose slowly, examining the area around him. Flashing the light more closely into the equipment to try and find what had left such blood behind.

The shadows and hidey holes were devoid of life.

With one eye on the ground and what he now realized was a trail of blood, he kept on the lookout for his buddy Franklin, or any other unwelcome visitors, and hurried down the hall, constantly swinging the beam of light and the muzzle of his weapon in front of him.

Ready to fire.

The trail of blood droplets led him to a stairway.

If he recalled correctly from the blueprints, it went to the areas beneath the trap door in the stage.

On the jamb by the stairs a bigger splotch of lightning bug color gleamed as he shone his light on it.

Had Franklin’s man hit something? Make that someone, he thought as he neared and realized the splotch looked too much like a partial human palm print.

Too weird, it occurred to him as he headed to the lower level. Much like the floor above, scattered bits of equipment lined the hall.

Gun ready, he examined the floor for any telltale signs.

A few steps away from the bottom of the stairs, the iridescent droplet trail stopped.

He paused, his movements cautious as he considered what he might find at the end of the trail. The words from Caterina’s medical report flashed through his brain, suddenly becoming more urgent.

Full expression of the gene.

Could that be the weird looking blood? he wondered as he slowly panned the flashlight along one wall, but found nothing.

Seizures, he recalled a second after something fell behind him and landed with a faint thud.

Rage. Rage. Rage, he warned himself as he swung the beam of the flashlight to the opposite wall and trained his gun on the space.

An even bigger blotch of firefly green caught his eye.

The bright radiant color stained a large area on a commonplace gray t-shirt. What wasn’t routine was how the shirt seemed to be suspended against the wall and above a pair of jeans.

A jolt of adrenaline raced through him as his brain communicated that what he was seeing was illogical. That something almost beyond belief was staring him in the face.

Steadying the flashlight and gun on the glowing green, he took a step closer.

Sneakers peeked from the legs of the jeans which possessed too much shape and bulk to be empty.

A body? Mick thought, only as he trained the flashlight above the neckline of the shirt, he saw nothing but the duller gray-painted brick of the basement walls until . . .

A pair of startling blue eyes popped open suddenly and glared back at him in the midst of all that dim deceiving gray.

Human eyes.

Caterina Shaw’s eyes.

Just the sight of them made him catch his breath and he jumped back before reason returned.

This wasn’t possible, he thought.

With a hand that now shook a bit, he targeted a spot smack between those amazingly human, but haunting eyes.

“Don’t move,” he said and kneeled beside one of the legs of the jeans. He laid his hand on the denim to confirm that what he was seeing was actually real.

Beneath his fingers came the feel of a human body, but he was still having trouble believing his eyes when a hand of that indeterminate gray stained with yellow-green covered his.

A woman’s hand beneath the inhuman skin.

A warm soft hand that squeezed his gently as the thing that he believed to be Caterina Shaw finally spoke.

“Help me.”

Chapter 5

Even in the murky light, Caterina perceived the battle of emotions on his face.

Confusion.

Disbelief.

Disgust.

But she had to try to reach him.

The blood on her palm and fingers had grown tacky as she moved them over the top of his hand and gently squeezed. A shudder shimmied across his big body before he pulled his hand away.

He wasn’t going to help her, but would he send her back?

Back to the lab.

Back to death.

She surged to her feet, knowing she had to get away from him, but a wave of wooziness weakened her knees, forcing her to lean against the rough brick wall.

“Easy,” he said, holding up his left hand the way a cop might while directing traffic as he kept his gun trained on her.

“Can’t go back,” she warned, but then he urged calm with a slow dip of his hand and said, “I know you can’t go back.”

Did he know? she wondered, battling for purchase against the wall as her knees wobbled. She dug the tips of her fingers into the soft brick wall and stabilized herself.

His gun snapped up at her action and he muttered, “Holy shit.”

He didn’t understand.

How could he when she didn’t understand?

She had to do something to make things right with him. She had to focus.

As she had more than once during the long night, she began that mantra, fixing her gaze on the barrel of his gun. Experiencing relief as a moment later, he finally lowered the weapon.

“You’re Caterina Shaw,” he said.

She lifted her gaze and met his. His earlier emotions lingered there along with a new one.

Pity.

Steely determination strengthened her knees. She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her.

She had never wanted anyone’s pity, she remembered, along with another word.

“Cat.”

He surprised her, lowering the gun. With a gentling motion with his free hand, he took a step forward as he said, “Your friend Elizabeth calls you Cat.”

An image flashed through her brain of bright blonde hair and icy blue eyes. A smile that came quickly and honestly.

“I’m Cat,” she repeated, but mewled with fear as he took another step toward her.

He recognized her distress and paused with his approach.

“You’re hurt. I want to help you, Cat.”

I’m hurt, she repeated in her brain and finally permitted herself to recognize the agony in her shoulder. A deep burn combined with a pulling pain whenever she moved. Wooziness when she tried to walk.

“He shot me,” she said, dragging the words from untrustworthy memory.

“Yes, you’ve been shot, Cat,” he said, the tones of his voice surprisingly kindhearted as he took another half step toward her. “I will help you,” he added with a conviction that penetrated the last remnants of her fear.

“Okay.”

Mick heard the word come from what he suspected was Caterina Shaw, although the only things which seemed arguably human were her intense blue eyes and her hesitant voice. It was as if she was a young child searching for the right words to say. Unaware of who she was.

What she was, he thought and heard her whisper, “Focus.”

Focus? he wondered, but immediately realized what she was attempting to do and joined in.

“That’s it, Cat. Focus.”

Her head dipped down in what he suspected to be a nod and then in gradual stages, all that indistinct gray faded and was replaced by the pale tones of human skin.

He controlled his reaction to jump away at the unbelievable change, taking a moment to examine her. He had no doubt she was Caterina Shaw although she was paler and thinner than in the photo he had been given. Her hair was the same deep ebony, but tangled, with bits of leaves and dirt caught in the thick curls. A purpling bruise marred one cheekbone, as if she had been recently struck.

Someone had hurt her, but that’s not my problem, he thought as he reminded himself of why he was here.

He had an assignment to complete.

He had to return her to Wardwell’s labs.

But then she pulled her fingers out of the brick wall and held out her bloodstained hand to him once again. Repeated her earlier plea.

“Help me.”

He almost wished she had attacked him instead. Gone into one of those rages warned about in her medical history.

He could deal with violence. He considered himself a master in how to respond and protect himself and his men.

Sympathy and compassion? Normally not within his skill set and yet that’s exactly what was needed here.

Fuck.

Chapter 6

Mick raised his gun hand and she flinched as he did so, obviously assuming he intended to use force.

“Easy, Cat. I’m just putting it away. See,” he said, held the Glock loosely before her, and then tucked it into his waistband beside the gun he had taken from Franklin’s man.

Slipping off his jacket, he took the last step to stand before her as she leaned precariously against the wall, the effects of her blood loss taking a toll on her.

“I’m going to put the jacket over your shoulders to keep you warm. Do you understand?”

A bobble-headed nod confirmed it and he moved quickly, helping her slip into his lightweight leather coat to both provide warmth and hide the weird luminescent blood from prying eyes. His car was only blocks away, but he doubted she had the strength to make it that far. Hopefully she could make it out onto the street where they could hail a cab.

Aware that any sudden movement might frighten her, he once again explained his actions.

“I’m going to put my arm around your waist. You can put yours around mine to help you walk out of here.”

He didn’t wait for her consent, fearful that each passing second created the risk of discovery. Easing his arm around her waist, he experienced the fragility of her body beneath his hand.

Caterina was way too thin and it made him wonder just how Wells and Edwards had been treating her while in their care. She mimicked his actions, wrapping her arm around his waist, her grip surprisingly strong.

Turning her away from the stairway leading up to where he had left Franklin’s man, he urged her down the hall, keeping his pace measured since her every woozy step warned of her weakness. Her body trembled beneath his hand and he admired the effort she was making to keep up with him.

At the next set of stairs, he paused, uncertain she could make it up even with his assistance and fearing how slow their progress had been so far.

Meeting her gaze, he noticed that she was struggling to hold onto consciousness. He cupped her jaw with his hand and she jerked back even though his touch had been gentle.

“I’m going to carry you up the stairs and to the exit. You need to stay awake because I’ll need your help once we’re on the street.”

Another wobbly nod of her head confirmed her understanding, but he worried for a moment if he was reading too much into her actions. Even animals seemed to nod on occasion, prompting him to consider that there might not be much left of Caterina’s brain. He tamped down the odd sense of loss that brought and bent, eased his arm beneath her knees, and swung her up into his arms.

With his carrying her, the trip up the stairs and to the back door where he had entered was much faster. As he exited into the back alley, he peered into the darkness, but detected no other presence there. Lucky so far, he thought as he eased her upright once again.

He took a step toward the mouth of the alley and she stumbled, but he urged her on. “Come on, Cat. I know you can do this.”

She straightened beside him and tightened her hold on him.

“I’m trying,” she said in a pained exhale as she took a step and he moved with her.

Together they made it to the curb and luck did seem to be with him since an empty cab made the turn off Broad. He hailed the cab and it pulled up in front of them. The cabbie rolled down his window and said, “Lady had too much to drink?”

Perfect, he thought.

“Way too much. We need to go to South and 11th.”

“Hop in,” the cabbie said and popped the locks on the car.

Mick eased her into the back seat and climbed right in beside her. He had barely closed the door behind him when the cabbie peeled away and with a few sharp turns, they were headed down South Street.

Mick counted the blocks and the minutes, shooting an occasional look back to see if they were being followed.

They weren’t.

Caterina’s head sagged forward as her body collapsed against him and his gaze collided with the cabbie’s in the rear view mirror.

“She’d better not yak in my cab, mister,” he warned.

“She won’t.” He tucked her head close in case she decided to go all camo on him again.

She murmured an indistinct protest and released a warm sigh that bathed his skin. A human breath with a slight chemical smell warning that she might be in some stage of ketosis, possibly due to a lack of nourishment.

Anger rose up in him once more as he considered the treatment she might have been receiving in the Wardwell labs. Had such treatment caused the rage that had made her attack? he thought as he kept a firm, but non-threatening hold on her.

It took only a few more minutes before the cab reached their destination and he played up the role of a solicitous date.

“Come on, babe. Time to head home,” he said as he handed the cabbie a twenty and slid to the door, pulling her along with him.

He opened the door and with all his strength, extracted her from the car and as her feet hit the ground, she roused. Her body tensed, clearly ready for flight mode until her gaze lifted to his. Then calm settled on her features, unsettling him.

Mick hadn’t expected any kind of trust so quickly.

I’m not quite sure I deserve it, he thought as he bundled her over to his Jeep.

With little wasted motion he had her in his SUV and buckled in. Once within the car, however, he took a moment to peel away the one shoulder of his jacket to examine her wound.

Still bleeding, but substantially less than before. The wound even appeared more healed than it had at the Music Academy. Enough that he could transport her without worry on that count, although her condition troubled him for a number of other reasons.

First, the “Is she human?” question.

Second, there was no exit wound which meant the bullet and any stray bits of cloth were still in her body. Both could cause more serious physical complications if they weren’t removed.

A hospital was out of the question.

So was his office/apartment and any of the regular contacts he used for medical emergencies which he wanted to keep private. With Caterina in her current state, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t morph before a stranger. Plus, Franklin was too familiar with all of those places and would be sure to come after him there if his old friend was that intent on securing the reward for bringing in Caterina.

Mick couldn’t risk either of those two things which left only one choice.

With a last quick tug on Caterina’s seat belt to make sure she was secure, he retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket and speed-dialed the number.

His sister immediately picked up. “Hey, big bro. What can I do for my long lost brother?”

It had only been a month since his last attendance at a family gathering, but he knew that for Liliana, a month was far too long to be without family.

“I need a big favor, Lil,” he said and shot a look at Caterina as she slumped against the side passenger door.

“You name it,” Liliana said easily. Family always came first with his little sister.

“Meet me at the shore house. I’ll be there in about an hour and a half. Bring your medical bag.”

A heavy sigh came across the line.

“I should have known a call at this ungodly hour wasn’t because you missed me.”

Damn. His sister had sure learned the guilt trip well from their mom.

“You should know by now how much I love you, Lil, but if you don’t want to help, I’ll understand.”

“You’re my brother. Of course I’ll help.”

A rare smile broke out across his face. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Always, Miguelito,” she said, using his boyhood nickname as she usually did when she wanted to annoy him.

Little sisters, he thought, his smile broadening as he turned his full attention back to the road and the drive home.

Home. He contained the pang of longing at that thought.

Home was not a place for a man like him. He didn’t deserve that kind of life when he had been responsible for others never making it to their homes.

Hands tightening on the wheel, he shot a quick look at his target. From what he had gathered in his investigations so far, Caterina had also known little of a home life.

Mother dead at an early age. A cold and distant father who had not approved of her.

With the exception of Elizabeth, most of the people with whom he had spoken had been more acquaintances and business contacts than real friends.

Could she count on them the way he relied on his family? Did they bring her the same sense of joy and belonging?

He suspected not and reminded himself of his one objective – return Caterina to Edwards. But as he shot a quick look at his target once again, the niggling voice inside his head warned that he needed to do more while the voice of the realist warned, “You can’t be everybody’s hero.”

Chapter 7

At that hour of the night, the trip across the Ben Franklin Bridge was quick. The roads through New Jersey and up to Bradley Beach were free of any kind of volume, but not completely deserted. Even in this part of the state there was always a fair amount of activity from cars and trucks which tonight was both good and bad.

Bad because it made any kind of tail harder to notice.

Good because it also gave him a way to get lost in case there was a tail.

Mick had been vigilant for the first twenty miles or so, always checking the rear view mirror for any telltale signs that he had been made. The roads had been clear of any suspicious vehicles and it had remained that way for the entire trip.

Occasionally he checked on his passenger, who had barely moved in all that time.

Caterina was battered, hurt, and possibly undernourished.

Exhausted judging from the nearly blue-black circles beneath her eyes illuminated by the bursts of light from a passing car or street light.

He let her rest, hoping that with rest would come some greater mental clarity than what she had displayed at the Music Academy. Of course, maybe that was all that was left of her brain after the tumor and treatments.

Once again, he didn’t know why that possibility upset him.

Maybe it was because of the woman he had come to know through his investigations. The determined, but pleasant and intelligent woman who had not let anything get in her way.

Not even a life-threatening illness.

Not even the good doctors Wells and Edwards.

He wondered what they would make of her condition. Whether they would find it routine or if they would even care?

Edwards certainly had seemed more worried about how his partner’s murder would hurt the business rather than his violent death.

A death caused by the woman beside him, the voice of the mercenary cautioned, reminding him that emotion could play no role in the job he had been hired to do.

Up ahead on the road was his exit off the parkway and once again he paid careful attention to the cars around and behind him as he pulled onto a smaller county road. For the few miles on that thoroughfare there were barely any cars, making it extremely easy to see if someone was following.

No one was.

Relief filled him that the existence of his home – a temporary safe house for tonight – remained unknown for the moment. Neither his old friend Franklin nor any of his other current associates knew the whereabouts of it. The deed was recorded in the name of a business he had set up, lessening any connection to him. That made it a good location for dealing with Caterina for the moment, although he didn’t like the idea of bringing work to his home and near his family.

He had always tried to keep his business life away from his family life. Caterina would be the first business he had ever brought home. For that matter, he had never brought another woman to this house. Caterina was also a first in that category and under different conditions, he suspected that might have been a good thing given all that he had learned about her so far.

The turn off from the county road to the side streets came quickly and barely a few miles later he was pulling into the driveway for the large old colonial located a little more than a block away from the ocean.

He pushed the button on his visor for the garage and the door rumbled open, the sound low enough that he hoped none of his neighbors would hear at this fairly late hour. He drove into the garage and then shut the door behind him.

With the car in the garage, his neighbors and others would be less likely to notice he was back.

For good measure, he flipped the switch he had installed by the door into the house to disable the remote open. Entering his home, he punched in the code to shut off the security system and returned to the Jeep for his captive.

Caterina didn’t rouse as he lifted her from the SUV, carried her into the house and up the stairs to the larger of the two guest bedrooms.

After laying her on the bed, he rushed back down to close up the Jeep and the house. He was about to enable the security system once more when he caught a glimpse of headlights on the street in front of the house.

A second later his sister pulled up in her dependably boring mid-sized sedan. An old person’s car, but then again, his sister had an old soul. Luckily for him, a reliable old soul.

He walked to the door and opened it, and as her face brightened with a wide smile as she saw him, he felt the smile erupt on his own face.

She hurried up the cement walk, medical bag in hand, and embraced him tightly at the door.

“Missed you, bro,” she said as she buried her head into the middle of his chest.

“Missed you, too, sis,” he replied as he hugged her petite body tight to his.

When Liliana stepped away, she inspected him up and down with motherly concern, but sisterly sarcasm in her tone. “You’re not hurt?”

“I have a ... guest upstairs. She – “

“She?” his sister said, one brow flying upward with interest as she pushed past him, wasting not a second in her quest to discover the identity of his female visitor.

Mick chased after her, wanting to warn her about Caterina’s rather unusual abilities, but he was relieved to see that his guest was still conked out in much the same position that he had left her earlier.

Liliana stopped by the side of the bed, perusing Caterina before she turned an accusing eye in his direction.

“Please tell me you’re not responsible for the bruises.” She flicked her hand at the obvious damage to Caterina’s face.

He raised his hands in surrender, although he was slightly annoyed that his sister didn’t know better than to ask such a question. “Found her after she’d been hurt. She’s been shot as well. I’m sure the bullet’s still in her shoulder.”

He joined Liliana by the edge of the bed, gently removed his jacket from Caterina, and tossed it to the side to reveal the bullet wound. Caterina murmured another soft protest as he moved her, but otherwise did not stir.

With the jacket gone, the odd iridescent blood splotch was fully visible as it stained the shirt surrounding the injury to her shoulder.

An injury that seemed even smaller than when he had inspected it in Philly.

Liliana bent to peer at the wound and then reached for the bedside lamp, removed the shade and turned up the bulb as high as it could go.

“What’s with the glowing green paint?” Liliana asked even as she placed her physician’s bag on the nightstand and removed a pair of surgical scissors.

“It’s not paint. It’s blood.”

Liliana shot him a disbelieving stare, but then reached out and touched the splotch on the shirt. Picked up her finger and smelled it, her reaction much like his had been earlier.

“Definitely blood. How’s that possible?”

“Wish I knew, Lil.” He leaned over his sister’s shoulder, watching as she carefully slipped the surgical scissors beneath the sleeve of the T-shirt and began to cut away the fabric.

Caterina immediately roused then, her eyes wide with fear as she noted the scissors and realized what was happening.

“No,” she said and jerked away from Liliana. The motion must have caused her pain because she moaned, grimaced, and screwed her eyes shut.

“She’s here to help, Cat. Do you understand? Help,” he repeated the way he might speak to a young child.

Caterina shook her head and whispered “no” before passing out once again.

Liliana pressed forward despite her patient’s protest, her movements efficient and so capable that the shirt was cut away from the damaged shoulder without her patient noticing. As his sister revealed the damage caused by the bullet wound, she muttered a curse. “Damn, this is almost closed up, but I can see there are still bits of cloth in there.”

“And the bullet. Can you clean it up?”

Liliana nodded as she placed the scissors on the nightstand. “Definitely have to get it clean, otherwise she might go septic. We can admit her – “

“No hospital, Lil, and don’t ask me why not.”

Liliana turned and planted her hands on her hips, head tilted up defiantly, and the lines of her small body vibrating with tension. “You can’t expect me to cut her open here.”

“I can. It’s not life-threatening.”

“It could be if infection sets in. Plus I’m obligated by law to report any gunshot wounds,” his sister warned, obviously hoping she could convince him on a different course of action.

Which left only one thing he could do.

“If she’s discovered, she could be killed. And how would you explain the lightning bug blood? It’s her blood, Lil, and when I found her . . .”

He looked away and dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s almost too weird to believe,” he admitted.

* * *

Sensing the truth and frustration in her brother’s words, Liliana reached out and laid a hand on his arm. She had never seen him this upset, not to mention that he had never reached out to her for help on a case before. That he had done so now said a lot, but she wouldn’t be quick to judge what his actions were saying. And if what he said was true about the young woman’s life being in peril, it justified not reporting the shooting.

At least, not for the moment.

“If I’m going to deal with the wound, we’ll have to sedate her. Then you’ll have to monitor her carefully for any signs of infection.”

Mick nodded and she reached into her medical bag and removed a vial of sedative that she kept in case of an emergency. It would take very little of the powerful drug to keep Mick’s guest knocked out while she cleansed the wound and stitched her up.

She prepped a syringe and then picked up the young woman’s arm to administer the medicine. The woman’s eyelids fluttered up and down as she responded to the movement, then immediately flew open at the sight of the syringe.

“No,” Caterina protested, stronger than before and suddenly, the pale blue of the sheets spread across every visible inch of her body.

Liliana glanced down at where she held the woman’s arm, just to make sure she was seeing right. The olive tones of her own skin clashed with the sky blue hue the woman’s skin had taken on. Shock tightened her grasp on the woman, who attempted to break free by wrenching her body away.

“Easy, Cat,” Mick said, immediately at her side, grabbing hold of the woman’s shoulders in an attempt to pin her down. That only made her react even more forcefully.

The woman thrashed in earnest, heaving her shoulders up off the bed. Bringing her knees up so she could try to kick at Mick.

Mick climbed up on the bed and wrestled his captive back down until he was straddling her. He pinned her arms and legs down with his body, but she continued to twist and buck upward in an effort to free herself.

“Hurry, Lil. She’s damn strong.”

As one powerful surge of the woman’s body nearly upended her much bigger and supposedly stronger brother, Lil didn’t hesitate.

She jabbed the needle into the woman’s bicep and pushed down the plunger to administer the sedative.

When the woman reared up again, nearly snapping off the needle in her arm, Liliana withdrew the syringe and stepped back to count down until the medicine took effect, watching as Mick attempted to keep her contained.

He was tempering his force she could see, while softly murmuring to the woman, “We’re not going to hurt you, Cat. We’re here to help.”

Liliana waited anxiously since the sedative was taking much longer than she expected. So much longer that it occurred to her she might have to administer another dose of the medication, although she feared too much of it might present another round of complications.

Finally the woman calmed down and as she did so, the blue of the sheets receded from her skin, leaving behind the normal tones of her pale white skin.

Mick slipped off the woman, but he paused by her side, gazing down at her. The emotions on his face a mix of confusion and concern.

Liliana stepped close to him and asked, “How does she do that? The skin thing.”

“Don’t know. Her medical history mentioned a complication from a full gene expression and maybe this is part of it. It was some radical kind of treatment.”

“Someone’s used her for a guinea pig?” Liliana wondered aloud.

“A damn strong guinea pig. I’m going to have to tie her down,” he said.

Liliana didn’t much care for forceful restraints and as she considered doing so to this injured young woman, she unconsciously rubbed at her own wrists, almost lost in recollection.

The movement of her hands snared Mick’s attention and he finally noticed the bruises on her forearms. Reaching out, he tenderly took hold of her wrist. Raised her arm up higher so that he could inspect it.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, the anger in his voice barely contained.

Liliana shook her head and yanked her arm away. “No one. I hurt myself doing some chores.”

A lie and they both knew it. “Did Harrison do that to you?”

Harrison had done that and more she wanted to say, but worried about how Mick would react. She worried that no one would believe her. After all, Harrison was successful. Head of his department at the hospital and well-known in his field.

Who would believe that such a man – her fiancé – was capable of abusing her?

“I got banged up doing some gardening this weekend,” she offered up, but Mick wasn’t buying it.

“If he’s hurting you, we can put a stop to it.”

“I’m okay. Better than you are, obviously,” she said, pointing back to the injured young woman who needed their immediate attention.

A muscle ticked along the hard strong line of Mick’s jaw before he reluctantly said, “When this is done, we’ll deal with Harrison.”

She left it at that, hoping that by the time this problem with Mick was finished, she’d have found her own way to deal with Harrison. For months she had been contemplating leaving him, but had delayed, fearful of what he could do to her career at the hospital where they both worked. He was better connected politically and she feared his vindictive nature.

But no career was worth what was happening to her.

For now, however, she had to help her brother.

She handed Mick the scissors. “Cut away the rest of her clothes and get her restrained, but not this shoulder. I’ll start – “

She stopped as Mick held up the young woman’s wrist, drawing attention to the raw spots and ligature marks on her arm.

She gazed down at the wrist on the young woman’s wounded arm and noticed similar injuries.

“Someone’s already restrained her. Repeatedly.”

Mick gently laid the young woman’s arm back down and with the scissors, cut away her socks and jeans, revealing additional bruising and ligature marks along one ankle.

“Fuck,” he said, his head hanging down as he braced his hands on the bed.

When he raised his gaze to meet hers, Liliana detected anguish in the depths of his dark brown eyes. Laying a hand on the hard muscles of his arm, she said, “Go get a basin with warm water. We’ll clean all those areas and get them bandaged.”

He immediately did as she asked and while he was gone, Liliana tackled what remained of the young woman’s clothes, cutting them away. With each piece she removed, it became apparent just how badly Mick’s guest had been abused.

Her tall body had previously been lean she suspected, but now was even thinner, the edges of her ribs and hip bones prominent. Assorted bruises marred her body and fearing her brother’s reaction, she worked quickly to remove the clothes and cover the injured woman with a light sheet before his return.

Liliana would take care of sponge bathing her once she had finished dealing with the wound to the young woman’s shoulder.

Mick returned a moment later. As he set a plastic bowl filled with water on the opposite nightstand and pulled a washcloth from his back jeans pocket, she reached into her bag and removed a tube of ointment and roll of gauze.

“Wash her wrists and ankles. Once they’re dry, apply this,” she said and tossed him the tube and then the gauze.

Mick did as he was told and she went to work, carefully cleaning the bullet wound. Picking out pieces of fabric and finding that the bullet was not all that far in. If she didn’t know better, she would say it was almost like the injured woman’s body was expelling it the way a human defensive response might contain a splinter.

But a bullet was no splinter and Liliana had never seen this kind of behavior before.

As she worked and more luminescent green blood slowly seeped from the wound, Liliana wondered just was happening with this woman. Especially since with the bullet and bits of cloth removed, the injury appeared to be healing even more quickly.

For a moment she considered that it might not even be necessary to stitch the wound closed, but decided not to risk it.

Working quickly, she made a series of neat tiny stitches to finish, hoping they would not leave much of a scar.

As Liliana straightened, her back protested how long she had been bent over while she worked on the woman.

Placing one hand at her waist, she stretched out the kinks and watched as her brother fashioned restraints from what remained of the gauze she had given him earlier.

“Are you sure that will hold her?” she asked, recollecting the force of the woman’s earlier struggles.

* * *

Mick examined his handiwork and tugged on the lengths of gauze he had braided for extra strength and tied to the legs of the bed. Recalling how Caterina had fought him, he had contemplated using handcuffs, but the sight of the ligature marks on her wrists and ankles had guilted him into finding a kinder way to confine her.

The guilt was not good.

It was affecting his judgment about Caterina and he couldn’t afford that.

He also couldn’t afford not knowing what was going on with his captive, from the weird blood and healing to her decidedly limited mental capacity.

“Do you think you could run some tests for me?” he said, shooting a sideways glance at his sister.

“I’d be a shitty doctor if I didn’t. Blood test. DNA analysis. Maybe even a full tox screen because something is definitely not right with your friend.”

A friend she was not, but his sister didn’t need to know that. “I’d appreciate anything you can do only it needs to be on the down low.”

“I get it, Mick,” she said with sisterly exasperation.

He nodded and placed his hand on Liliana’s shoulder. Gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I need you to be extra careful, Lil. Don’t come back to the house without checking in with me first.”

Liliana gestured to Caterina. “Are you sure you can handle her?”

Chapter 8

Mick was sure he could, but possibly not in ways in which his sister would approve.

“She’ll be fine,” he reassured, but worried whether he could ultimately keep that promise.

This mission was turning to have too many unexpected complications. Never a good thing when the only contingencies you had anticipated where whether your target would end up dead or alive.

Caterina wouldn’t end up dead if he could help it.

But he also didn’t know whether he would come to regret keeping her alive.

After Liliana had left to return to the hospital, he gave a last tug on the makeshift restraints and with Caterina sedated, hurried from the guest room and to the smallest of the bedrooms at the end of the hall. He had converted that room into an office where he kept a desk loaded with an assortment of computers which monitored the perimeter of this house, his office/apartment in Philly, and any location he had decided to bug. On the wall opposite the desk was a large lateral file cabinet holding a varied collection of cameras and microphones he used for surveillance, as well as first aid materials.

The closet beside the file cabinet had once been roomy, but now housed a built-in vault home to a collection of guns, weaponry, and ammunition. The vault could only be opened with his fingerprint and a complex security code.

Mick sat down at the desk, powered up the monitors, and checked out the feeds from the various locations.

The infrared cameras detected nothing unusual around the perimeter of the house.

The remote video from his office/apartment areas showed it was still in one piece and the control panel on the security system didn’t indicate that the area had been breached. The only activity anywhere had been his entry into this safe house hours earlier.

The last monitor was blank until, with a few quick keystrokes, Caterina’s image appeared as she lay on the bed, her arms and legs tied to the bed frame legs and the headboard. A light sheet covered her, hiding the thinness of her body and the bruises.

His sister had tried to keep that from him, but he had seen them as Liliana had bathed his captive, much as he had taken note of the purpling marks on his sister’s forearms.

Definitely not bruises from gardening contrary to her assertions.

He recognized the signs of someone being manhandled. Since as far as he knew Harrison was the only man in Lil’s life, he had to assume Harrison had been the one to hurt her.

His stomach tightened with anger at the thought of anyone harming his sister. That it was Harrison doing it only made him angrier.

He had never like Harrison Williams. He had always found the supposedly brilliant surgeon to be rather pompous and slow-witted. No match for his smart and effervescent baby sister who deserved much better, as far as Mick was concerned.

Why would Lil put up with such treatment? he thought, gazing at Caterina’s image on the monitor. Another seemingly smart and capable woman who had been overpowered. Trapped by a system in which she had once had faith.

Did Lil feel the same way? Did she consider herself imprisoned by who she was at the hospital – a newbie resident? One who couldn’t challenge an older, better-established surgeon like Harrison?

He was going to find out what was happening with Lil and put an end to it much like he intended to do with Caterina.

No, not Caterina. Shaw, he reminded himself, needing to create distance because she was rousing emotions in him that would only complicate the assignment.

Shaw was his target.

Just another job.

He couldn’t let sympathy for Shaw and admiration for the strength she had shown during her illness get in the way of the mission he had been paid to complete.

How about justice? the voice in his head challenged. Could he let justice get in the way?

He flipped away from Shaw’s image to one of the front door.

All quiet and dark in the dead of early morning.

Dead as he would be if he didn’t get some rest too, so he could stay sharp for what he needed to do tomorrow.

Mick walked out of his office and past the room with Shaw, stopped at the door to his bedroom. The large king-sized bed called to him, but he glanced back at the room holding his captive.

With a muttered curse, he tore off the black knit Henley he had been wearing which still bore scattered traces of Shaw’s oddball blood. He whipped the two guns from the spot where he had tucked them into the gap at the small of his back and tossed them on his comforter. His jeans soon followed, but fell from the bed and landed in a heap on the floor.

In the master bath, he washed up, removing all traces of Shaw from his hands and arms and returned to his room to slip into comfortable sweats.

He retrieved the two guns from the surface of the bed, placed them on the nightstand beside him, and lay down on the comforter.

Just a few hours nap before he got back to work.

Sleep eluded him, however, as images of Shaw’s and Lil’s bruises juxtaposed themselves in his brain.

Giving up hope of sleep after about an hour, he rose, slipped the two guns beneath the waistband of his sweats, dragged the comforter off his bed, and stalked to Shaw’s room.

A comfortable over-stuffed chair and ottoman were tucked invitingly in a far corner of the bedroom. His mother’s handiwork when she had helped him decorate this house, hoping that its purchase was a sign that he intended to settle down into a more sedate life. Maybe even take up his cousin Ramon’s offer of a spot on the local police force.

My mother had been sadly mistaken, Mick thought as he dropped the comforter at the door and walked to the chair and ottoman. He dragged them to the side of the bed where he could both keep an eye on Shaw as well as the stairs and bedroom door.

Once the chair was in place, he picked up the comforter, settled himself into the welcoming cushions, and propped his feet on the ottoman. For safety’s sake, he removed the guns from his waistband and tucked them into the gap between the cushions and seat of the comfy chair.

Within easy reach.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes to shut out the soft light cast by the table lamp by the bed. Lil had replaced the linen ivory shade and turned it to a low setting. Listening to the measured cadence of Shaw’s breathing, he let it lull him into a light sleep.

* * *

He walked past the rooms the way a zoo keeper might, checking his prisoners in the early morning hours to make sure they were properly locked away in their cells.

When he reached the last room, he paused and glared at the empty bed through the small glass panel at the door, angry with himself that he had underestimated his Shaw’s abilities and determination.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Pivoting on his heel, he stalked back toward the first room and peered within.

Santiago was beginning to stir. His head lolled from side to side as his lips twitched and twisted.

He hit the intercom by the patient’s door to listen, but the words, if there were any, were indistinct. The sounds more like the warning grunts of an animal than that of a person. Maybe because in his current state Santiago was more feral than human.

Smiling, he thought about turning Santiago loose on Shaw. Pictured the way the fight between them would ensue, pitting one set of supernatural powers against another.

Santiago had physical strength, but he was slow both physically and mentally, unlike Shaw. If it hadn’t been for the death sentences imposed by both nature and New Jersey’s legal system, he wouldn’t have urged Wells to accept the career criminal into the study. But the state had offered to release Santiago into Wardwell’s care if he participated in the experiment and the nature of Santiago’s illness – a virulent form of diabetes that modern medicine couldn’t control – had sealed the decision.

Finding a gene therapy that would help Santiago might have resulted in a cure.

And a cure would have been very profitable for Wardwell.

Unfortunately, the gene strain implanted into Santiago had produced erratic results in controlling his insulin levels. It had, however, yielded a mechanism for burning off all the excess sugar in a way that created immense energy and inhuman strength.

Such possibilities when combined with Santiago’s criminal traits and violence . . .

The smile broadened on his face as he remembered how Santiago had taken care of Wells.

If necessary, he would turn Santiago loose on Shaw to end the threat.

Once that happened it would be back to business as usual and no one would be the wiser about what Wardwell had done.

* * *

Caterina woke with a sharp cry which brought him to instant alertness.

Her captor whipped his Glock from between the cushions, trained it on the door to the room, but soon realized that there was no one else there.

She’d had another nightmare filled with images of blood and death. Fear lingered in her mind and she tossed fretfully on the bed, yanking and twisting against the restraints. Grimacing as one strong tug brought pain through her injured shoulder giving her one more reason to wish the man would give in and set her free.

Instead he tucked the Glock back between the cushions and slipped onto the ottoman. Leaning forward, he reached out as if to comfort her, but stopped halfway. Pulling his hand back, he rubbed both hands on his sweats, clearly uncertain.

His hesitation made her pause in her struggles and with that fragile calm he finally placed his hand at the top of her arm and applied slight pressure.

“Don’t hurt me,” she said softly.

He stroked his hand across her skin tenderly. In patient tones he said, “No one is going to hurt you.”

Caterina glanced at his hand and tried to move away, but the bindings made it impossible.

“Let me go,” she pleaded, wanting to be free.

He kept up his slow caress, as if trying to gentle her the way one might an injured stray. His cocoa brown eyes filled with a mix of emotions which perplexed her.

She hadn’t expected kindness. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated her with anything other than contempt or clinical detachment.

“Where would you go, Cat?” he asked, shifting even closer to the edge of the ottoman, his presence surprisingly comforting.

“Home. I want to go home.”

Guilt flashed across his features, warning her that home wasn’t an option he was considering at the moment.

“Maybe later, Cat. When it’s safe,” he urged and shifted his hand up her arm until he was at the binding. “I don’t want you to reinjure your arm. I’m going to loosen it a little so you don’t hurt yourself.”

Caterina warily tracked the movement of his hand as he slackened the ties. Then he surprised her by tucking his hand into hers, his touch compassionate, creating a sudden and silent understanding between them which dissipated the remaining tension in her body.

She finally relaxed against mattress and her captor nodded. “That’s it, Cat. Rest and get better. Maybe then you can go home.”

Home, Caterina thought, wondering at his actions. Baffled by the kindness he was exhibiting that was so at odds with what she had seen of him so far, namely the guns and violence.

He didn’t release her hand as she continued to stare at him. His palm was hard and calloused, but the touch was light. Soothing as he covered her one hand with both of his and once again said, “Rest. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Somehow she knew he was capable of protecting her from the others. But as she met his gaze and saw the continued puzzlement there, she sensed that he wasn’t sure if he could protect her from himself.

“Will you hurt me?” she asked and his gaze darkened and became shuttered before he pulled his hands away.

“Go to sleep, Cat. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Chapter 9

Liliana didn’t know who to trust with the blood sample.

Certainly not her fiancé Harrison. If he thought there was anything of value in the findings, he would be the first to broadcast them to the world for his own benefit. He cared nothing for family or friends, just himself.

It only reinforced her belief that she had to find a way out of their relationship. For months now she had been contemplating it, especially as Harrison’s actions in private became more and more violent.

As she entered the hospital lab, she spotted Dr. Carmen Rojas, a pathologist who was a good friend. The two of them had helped each other through their boards and the maze-like routes of hospital politics.

She hoped Carmen could help her again.

The pathologist lifted her head from the microscope where she had been examining a slide as Liliana approached. Carmen held her arms out wide in invitation as she said, “Dr. Carrera. What brings you to my dungeon?”

Liliana smiled as she came to stand by Carmen’s lab bench, but her hand tightened on the test tube in the pocket of her white hospital jacket. She looked around the rest of the lab to make sure they were alone before she said, “If I said a science experiment, would you believe me?”

“A science experiment?”

A deep furrow formed between Carmen’s manicured brows as Liliana extracted the glowing test tube from her pocket and held it up for Carmen to see. “Somehow a dollar store glow stick isn’t my idea of a neat science experiment, Liliana.”

“You’ve got to promise this stays between the two of us.”

“Seriously? You want to me to keep a glow stick secret?” Carmen questioned even as she held out her hand and wiggled her fingers in a request for the tube.

“It’s human blood.”

Carmen gingerly took hold of the sample and brought it beneath a table lamp she had at her work station. She placed the vial beneath the lamp and turned it on. In the beam from the lamp, the blood glowed more brightly than it had with the ambient light.

Carmen punched another button, switching the regular incandescent light in the lamp to blue light. Beneath the blue light, the liquid in the tube phosphoresced into a much more brilliant yellow-green.

“Cool. Is this what Harrison has been up to?”

“This has nothing to do with Harrison. In fact, I’d rather he not know about it. Or anyone else for that matter,” Liliana cautioned, needing her friend to understand the importance of secrecy with the sample.

Carmen peered at her with worry before extracting a small amount of blood from the tube and placing it on a slide. As she plopped on a slip cover, Carmen said, “No need to worry. I won’t spill the beans about this to anyone.”

“Thank you.” Liliana watched silently as Carmen shifted the slide around and fiddled with some knobs on the microscope. Within just seconds, however, her friend shook her head and shifted away from the eyepiece.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. It may take me a day or two to investigate. Find out what could cause this.”

“I understand. Could I trouble you for a DNA analysis and full tox screen also?”

Carmen chuckled. “Not asking for too much, are you?”

Liliana jammed her hands into her pockets, slightly uncomfortable with having to ask, but her own expertise lay in bones and not blood. “If it’s too much, just let me know.”

“Just kidding, Liliana. Actually, it’ll be an interesting break from the mundane day-to-day, only ... “

Her friend paused, then rose from her lab stool and rested her hand on Liliana’s forearm. “If you were in trouble, you’d let me know, right?”

While Mick and his friend might be in their share of hot water, Liliana had no such fears about herself. Except maybe for her issues with Harrison. As her gaze connected with Carmen’s, she realized that was exactly to whom her friend had been referring.

“Harrison and I are a complicated thing.”

Carmen’s hand snapped up to stop her. “If you don’t want to tell me, I’m good with that.”

“No, I need to get it out. For months now ... he’s changed and not in a good way.”

“Rumor has it he laid into one of the young residents yesterday. Reduced her to tears and then physically pushed her out the door during rounds.”

Physically pushed?

At home, what she thought had been a funk had escalated into anger and violence, turning her fiancé into a man Liliana no longer knew. That his behavior was now spilling over into his professional life created even more worry within her. She just shrugged as she wrapped her mind around it, hesitant about providing more fodder for the hospital rumor mill.

“I’ve been thinking for some time that it’s time to end our relationship,” she finally said.

“Those of us who know you would understand and support you,” Carmen said, but Liliana knew there were others in the hospital who could not imagine why she would break it off with Harrison.

For now, however, she had other worries. She gestured to the tube resting on the lab bench and said, “How long do you think it’ll take?”

“Couple of hours on the tox screen. DNA analysis will take a few days at least.”

“Thanks.” With a nod, Liliana turned and walked toward the door of the lab, Carmen in step beside her.

At the door Liliana paused, glancing at her friend who said, “If you’re ever in trouble, with anything, you know I’m here for you.”

Liliana understood that, which was maybe why she had come to Carmen for help. Nevertheless, it was good to hear her friend reinforce that she had made a wise decision.

“I know,” she said and hugged the other woman.

When Carmen released her, she hurried up to the surgical wing. As an orthopedic surgery resident, she had to make rounds with the chief surgeon and other residents in less than fifteen minutes. She generally enjoyed rounds since they provided an opportunity to become involved in a series of different cases and she liked meeting the diverse group of patients at the hospital.

Unfortunately the surgical wing was also within Harrison’s domain and this morning she dreaded it, their fight the night before still fresh in her brain.

The bruises glaringly evident on her body.

As she reached the surgical floor and noted the group of residents already gathering for rounds, she braced herself, wondering if any of them would ask about the incident Carmen had mentioned. Liliana walked toward them, aware of how some of their heads were bent together in discussion until they saw her and broke apart.

Clearly they had heard the rumors.

Straightening her spine, Liliana approached, determined to not let hospital gossip and her association with Harrison weigh her down.

* * *

From the stairs, Mick was able to see that Caterina had not yet gotten up that morning. Of course it was still early for most. Barely seven.

He had already been up for hours, his butt planted in his office chair to search for additional information on Wardwell and its two founders. Waiting to call his old buddy Franklin.

Franklin Pierce might have been his friend for nearly a decade, but if Franklin was being paid anything close to what he was, that old friendship might not count for anything. Especially since they hadn’t really seen each other very much in the last couple of years.

Taking one of the prepaid burner cell phones from his file cabinet, Mick dialed the personal cell phone number he had for Franklin. If his ex-Army Ranger buddy answered there, he might be one up on him, assuming Franklin hadn’t shut off the GPS tracking on the phone.

Leaning back into his leather office chair, Mick waited while the cell phone rang.

With each ring, he wondered if Franklin had changed at all over the years. If his old buddy was still as trustworthy as he had been during their days in the military and after?

His old friend answered with a sleepy, “Hullo?”

In the background a baby cried, possibly awakened by his early morning call. That didn’t stop Mick from engaging the GPS tracking service from the phone company he had hacked.

“Don’t tell me you’re a dad now, Franklin,” he said, the tenor of his voice friendly as he waited for the website to return a location for Pierce’s signal.

“Man, oh man. Is it really you, Carrera?”

A muffled voice said, “Who is it, honey?” as the wailing sounds of the baby grew louder.

A second later, the GPS identified the location of the cell phone – a building in a residential section of South Philly. Probably Franklin’s home judging from the area and the clear signs of family in the background noises of the call.

“An old friend,” Franklin answered the woman and then the ambient sounds in the room faded.

Franklin was leaving the woman and child behind in the room as he walked away to make their conversation more private.

“Old? Hell, Franklin. I’m not as ancient as you are,” he said playfully, prompting his friend to chuckle and reply, “But this old man can still kick your ass.”

Mick doubted it, but didn’t say. “I know you’re on the Shaw job, old man. I need you to back off.”

A heavy and tired sigh drifted across the phone line. “Can’t do. I need the money.”

“You need it enough to have your goon kill a helpless woman? She was shot by your em-ploy-ee,” he said, injecting each syllable of the last word with sarcasm.

Franklin’s words were hushed as he spoke. “My man says she attacked him. That she wasn’t human.”

Mick forced himself to laugh to attempt to dissuade his friend from such thoughts. “Come on, Franklin. She’s just a frickin’ musician. Tell your man to stop using the crack. If you give Edwards his money back and quit the job, we’ll be five-by-five.”

“Can’t do. Seriously. It’s my kid, Mick.”

Chapter 10

“Is something wrong?” Mick asked, concern for his old friend rising up.

“My daughter’s sick and I need the cash,” Franklin replied.

Mick surged forward in his chair, planting his boots firmly on the ground as he dragged a hand though his short-cropped hair in frustration. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“No bullshit. Some kind of anemia and the insurance doesn’t cover all that much for the treatments. I’m going broke from the medical bills.”

In his days as a Ranger, Mick had understood the meaning of trust. So had Franklin. They had survived more than one hairy mission together by relying on each other.

He decided to rely on that trust. Well, trust and a little fear.

“There won’t be anywhere for you to hide if you’re not being square with me.”

“I am telling you the truth. I’ll give you the doc’s name if you want.”

He didn’t want and it occurred to him in that moment what to do. “Give Edwards his cash back. Tell him you didn’t bargain on Shaw being a psycho.”

“Is she? A psycho?”

Mick supposed that was as good an explanation as any. “Definitely a major EDP. Anyone who manages to catch up to her needs to watch out.”

“But I gotta get the money somehow,” Franklin said, the tones of his voice holding a desperation Mick had only heard once before – during their last mission together when everything had gone to hell.

“Just tell me how much you need and I’ll wire it to your account. You still have the account, right?” he asked, thinking that Edwards’ check in his wallet would go a long way toward helping his friend.

“Still have the account, although it’s virtually tapped out,” Franklin readily admitted.

Franklin had always been good about keeping that safety account with a nice amount of cash, much like he did. Enough money to last for a couple of years if he needed to disappear. Things had to be pretty bad for his friend to dip into that emergency stash.

“The money will be in your account in the next few days.”

“I can’t take the money for doing nothing,” Franklin replied, pride evident in his tone.

Mick laughed to ease his friend’s ego. “Who said you were getting it for nothing? I need you to help me out with some things. Are you game?”

“I’m five-by-five with that. I’d rather work for you than Edwards.”

“Good. Do you still have that secure e-mail account?”

When Franklin confirmed that he did, Mick said, “I’ll send you some instructions and a cell phone number where you can reach me. Keep your ear to the ground on this case. If you find out anything, send a message to my secure account or call me. Roger that?”

“Roger, Mick. I’ll be watching your back.”

“I’m counting on it. Don’t disappoint me.”

Mick hung up and rose from the chair, needing to stretch his legs after the many hours of sitting at his desk. He hurried to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for his captive and then returned upstairs.

As he reached the door to the bedroom, he paused when he realized Caterina had somehow made a tangle of the sheets which had once covered her body. The shapely length of one leg was now exposed along with her breasts.

Rather nice, perfectly shaped breasts, he thought, dragging his gaze from them because to continue looking would create too many problems.

He couldn’t think of her as a woman. Especially not an attractive and strong woman who someone had obviously abused.

She was his assignment.

She was a violent murderer.

Best to keep those two thoughts first and foremost, he reminded himself as he tightened his hands on the edge of the tray and walked to her bedside.

Placing the tray on the nightstand, he grabbed the edge of the sheet and with his eyes turned away from those too womanly breasts, he carefully raised the sheet back over her upper body.

Not carefully enough.

Caterina snapped her eyes open and seeing him, strained against her bindings, yanking on them and twisting her body from side to side, the calm of the night before lost.

He held up both hands in a gesture meant to calm her and crooned, “Easy, Cat. Remember. I’m not going to hurt you.”

* * *

Caterina recalled that voice, offering peace and comfort in the dark of the night. The deep timbre of his voice resonated calm within her and slipped into her consciousness. It was a pleasing tone, reminding her of something musical.

Focus. Focus, she urged herself even as she tugged at the bindings keeping her prisoner.

His words in that musical timbre finally penetrated into her brain.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Something else registered as well. The smell of food.

Her stomach grumbled loudly and she stopped tugging at the bindings.

She was hungry. Incredibly so.

Caterina dragged the words into her consciousness and said it aloud.

“Is that food?”

He chuckled and smiled. “Yes, it’s food. If you stop struggling, I’ll help you sit up so you can eat.”

She did as he asked and he became all action guy, bending to allow her greater slack on the ties on her left arm. When she moved that appendage, the motion brought a painful reminder that she had been shot the night before.

She glanced at her shoulder, noting the clean white gauze bandage taped to her skin.

A second later, the ties loosened on her other arm and she tried to sit up, but the room spun and tilted unsteadily as she did so.

He was immediately there, providing a solid place for her to rest her head until the wave of dizziness passed.

He took a moment to drag the sheet upward so she could hold it to her and cover her nakedness before he was in motion once again, returning to the other side of the bed and the chair that sat there.

The sight of the chair stirred a recent memory.

Him sitting in the chair, the dim light from the lamp casting harsh shadows across his face, making him look too fierce and too scary. But then she remembered his gentleness as he held her hand and calmed the fears that plagued her.

Who was the real man? she wondered, but that thought was immediately replaced when a fork laden with scrambled eggs came into her line of sight as he began to feed her.

She snapped forward, removing the bite of food from the fork, but then he offered another and another until the final clink of metal against china.

With the retreat of the fork came a second desire.

“I’m thirsty,” she rasped, suddenly aware of how parched she was and how long it had been since she had drunk or eaten anything substantial.

He raised a bright red plastic glass. “Can you handle this on your own?”

The ties were loose enough for her to drink with the cup, which prompted her to realize that he hadn’t trusted her with the fork because it would make an effective weapon.

Considering that she had risked so much to be free of the lab, he had probably been right not to trust her with the fork. She wanted to be free. Wanted to be safe from Wardwell so she could find out what they had done to her. Why someone had killed Dr. Wells.

But first, she needed to get control and regain her strength.

She bopped her head up and down emphatically, incredibly thirsty, and when he offered up the glass, she took it and peered at the liquid within.

Bright white milk.

She must have seem confused to him since he said, “I know you’re probably used to champagne, but – “

“I like milk,” she said as a memory popped forth in her mind. One of her as a child sitting beside her mother and eating wonderfully nutty cookies with ice cold milk.

She drank down the milk almost greedily, and then returned the empty glass to him.

He placed it on a small tray sitting on the nightstand, then braced his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together.

He had large hands. Nicely shaped with elegant fingers. Along the knuckles of one hand were a series of scars from old nicks and cuts. He wore no rings or other jewelry. Only a large black watch with lots of buttons.

She watched him, uncertain.

* * *

Mick watched her, equally puzzled. She had eaten like a bird, literally pecking the food off the fork. The action instinctive.

The milk, however, had created some kind of thought process within her. A small smile had inched across her lips and her eyes – those amazing cerulean blue eyes – had widened with remembered pleasure.

“Do you know who you are?”

“Cat,” she immediately answered but with a hint of question in her voice. It made him worry that the response was merely a repetition of what she had been hearing from him since last night.

“Do you know what you did?”

Her eyes narrowed and she looked away from him, down to where her hands clutched the sheet to her body. After a quick shake of her head, he pressed forward.

“Do you remember Dr. Wells?”

She nodded and began to pluck and wring the sheet with her fingers.

“Do you remember what happened?”

He leaned forward until she couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze, confronting her with his presence and the question she needed to answer.

“No,” she said and closed her eyes. She mumbled something unintelligible before she started a rhythmic rocking.

She had used his last ounce of compassion last night and this morning he didn’t have time for a Rainman act. Grabbing her forearms, he lifted her toward him as far as the restraints allowed and brought his face close to hers.

“Open your eyes, damn it.”

She did as he commanded, but averted her gaze, only glancing at him from the corner of her eye. As she did so, the blue hue of the sheets immediately bled onto her skin.

“What happened that night? Why did you kill Dr. Wells?”

She shook her head and struggled against his grasp, surprisingly stronger than the night before.

He held on tightly, bracing his legs on the ground. Maintaining his balance and control even as she attempted to break free.

“Please let me go,” she finally said, but he held on, needing to break her and get an answer to her questions.

“Who killed Wells?”

“I don’t know,” she cried and fought him, twisting from side to side as she attempted to break free.

A sharp piercing trill broke into their battle.

His cell phone.

He tossed her onto the bed, so forcefully that she bounced up for a moment before turning onto her side and curling up into a fetal position. Small, indistinct noises escaped her lips as she nearly became lost on the sheets, blue on blue, except for the dark wealth of her hair.

He looked at the caller id and mumbled, “Shit.”

Liliana. Hopefully with some news.

Chapter 11

“Tell me you’ve got something. Anything.”

Mick had expected sisterly chiding. That none came was worrisome.

“DNA analysis will take a day or two, but the tox screens came back. She’s been medicated with an assortment of hallucinogenic drugs, including some dissociative ones.”

Meaning that maybe she wasn’t a raving loon, Mick thought. Maybe something was scrambling the signals to her conscious mind from other parts of her brain accounting for her erratic behavior.

“I’d ask why, but unfortunately I think I know why – someone wanted to control her,” he said.

“As in mind control?” his sister asked.

He shot a quick glance at Shaw. Her knees were drawn close to her chest, her arms around them as much the restraints would allow. Her earlier cries had subsided, replaced by incoherent mumbling. Some parts of her were beginning to lose their camouflage, returning to the normal color of human skin.

Interesting. A fight or flight response?

He shook his head, wondering, and left the room to keep the discussion with his sister private. Leaning against the wall in the hall he said, “CIA experimented with LSD and other psychedelic drugs in the fifties and sixties. The MK Ultra Project. Maybe someone took a cue from that.”

“If that project involved an assortment of alkaloids, that’s a possible scenario. The tests showed small traces of LSD, larger amounts of ketamine, and some other spikes of unknown origin, although they contained nitrogen, like most alkaloids.”

Mick walked back to the door and examined Shaw as she rested fitfully on the bed. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Shaw could have coded last night when we medicated her. The sedative together with all that crap might have clobbered her heart rate and breathing.”

“We can’t administer anything else until these other drugs are out of her system,” Liliana said.

Another voice intruded from a distance. “Dr. Carrera. You’re needed in the ER.”

When his sister replied, her words were muffled, as if she had covered the mouthpiece with her hand. Then she came back on the line. “I’ve got to go.”

“Roger, sis. Call as soon as you’ve got anything else,” he said and hung up.

He stalked back to the side of the bed and glanced down at Shaw. She had quieted somewhat, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t become agitated again, especially considering the mix of drugs someone had pumped into her.

The LSD alone could have residual effects that might linger for some time depending on how much of it she had received and for how long. He’d even heard of cases where people went tripping years after receiving the drug. Since Liliana had mentioned that the traces of LSD had been small, he hoped the effects might be gone within a few days.

With the drugs out of her body, Shaw might become more coherent and cooperative, although doubts lingered about her condition. And about the weird traits she was exhibiting.

Extra-human strength.

Skin that went all camo when she lost control.

Which she did often, but was it only due to the drugs? he wondered. And had she committed Wells’ murder during one of those incoherent and possibly violent times?

As if on cue, she began to mumble and rock back and forth. When her eyes opened, they widened in fear as she saw him there. Almost immediately, the pale blue color of the sheets spilled onto her skin, blurring the lines between animate and inanimate objects.

Forcing him from the room.

He had to figure out what was going on.

And he had to figure out what had actually happened with Wells before he turned Shaw over to Edwards.

Shaw might be a drug-crazed lunatic, possibly even a murderer, but that still put her higher on his list than the urbane Dr. Edwards. Even if the physician hadn’t actively participated in what had been done to Shaw, he’d had a hand in it as the owner of the company.

He didn’t much care for people who took advantage of those who were weaker.

* * *

Mick tossed down his pen, frustrated by his enforced confinement.

Although he had taken care of more than one wounded comrade and enjoyed his time as an EMT, being a nursemaid was an entirely different thing. Especially when combined with the continued outbursts from his captive.

He’d been listening to them for the better part of the morning as he attempted to obtain more information on Wardwell.

He surged from his office chair, determined to put an end to the noise when he spotted his IPod sitting beside the computer.

Music quiets the savage beast, he reminded himself.

Maybe it could accomplish something, especially considering that Shaw was a musician. If she connected with the music, she might also make some kind of association with who and what she had been which in turn might trigger more recollections about the night of the murder.

He snagged the IPod and bounded down the hall to the guest bedroom.

As she had before, Shaw immediately reacted to his presence, her skin transforming before his eyes. He tempered his actions, measuring his pace as he neared the bed. Keeping his actions non-threatening and his voice even.

“I won’t hurt you, Cat.”

He slipped the IPod into the unit on the nightstand. Turned on the system and with a push of a button, Shaw’s music spilled from the speakers.

Dvorak’s Cello Concerto in B minor. She had played the piece at the Kimmel Center last year.

“That’s you, Cat. You playing the cello,” he said in soft tones and crouched down so that he would be eye level with her.

“Do you remember? Do you remember what you were? Who you are?”

* * *

Who she was? Caterina thought and suddenly knew.

“I’m Cat,” she said brightly, but her answered seemed to displease him.

“My name is Cat,” she repeated more forcefully and tapped a spot close to her heart with her fingers.

He reached out and took hold of her hand. His hand was hard, the pads of his fingers calloused, but as he had been the night before, his touch was surprisingly gentle.

“I wish I could believe that you weren’t just repeating what you’ve heard. I’m Mick,” he offered and tapped a spot above his heart, mimicking her actions, but then seemed to regret the gesture.

He shot upright, his manner hard once more. “You’ve been drugged, Cat. It may take some time for the drugs to wear off.”

She recalled the young woman with him. The one who had stuck her with the needle. The one who had drugged her, only . . .

The music coming from the machine by the bed was so beautiful. The tones rich and melodious.

Soothing.

A smile came to her face as the music wrapped itself around her. Tangled with her thoughts to drive away some of her fear.

The man beside her – Mick – grudgingly smiled as well.

“Glad to see that you like it,” he said and then walked out of the room.

She did like it. Something about the music was . . .

Comforting. Familiar.

She closed her eyes and fragments of images spilled from her brain, filling up her limited consciousness. The black and white of notes on paper. Honey-gold wood, cold and smooth against her skin. Coarse hair, sticky with rosin.

His words repeated in her brain.

“That’s you, Cat. You’re playing the cello.”

Like two pieces of a puzzle coming together, the pictures in her mind joined with the words.

A cello. She used to play the cello and it had brought her joy. It had to have made her immensely happy before because it was bringing her a great deal of peace now.

She shifted her position, turning on the bed. Yanking on the restraints to get closer to the music.

With the notes embracing her, she released herself to the melody washing over her.

* * *

“You left the condo very early this morning or maybe it’s more accurate to say late last night,” Harrison said. From the corner of his eye, he shot a look around to see who might be in the hall in the surgical wing before he laid his hand on her sleeve.

Easing his index finger beneath the edge of her jacket, he inched it up to reveal the first hint of a bruise. “Was it because of our fight? I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, leaning toward her and speaking in hushed tones, the gesture seemingly non-threatening.

Unfortunately, Liliana knew what would usually follow.

He used his size, coupled with his proximity, to intimidate. When that failed, his fists reinforced who was lord and master in his domain. In their relationship.

It hadn’t always been that way. At first he had been a caring and solicitous fiancé. Then a few months ago, he had withdrawn, seemingly worried about something. Not that he had revealed the source of his concern to her no matter how hard she had tried to reach him.

The depression had cemented itself in him and with it he had become more possessive and increasingly angry and prone to violence. She had considered leaving him more than once recently, but feared his reaction and that of his fellow colleagues in the hospital.

Her colleagues. The people who would decide whether or not she could remain on staff as a doctor.

Needing distance from him, she took a step back and inched her head up to meet his gaze, refusing to be cowed. His light blue eyes chilled at her actions and the muscles of his jaw clenched tight. She knew she needed to avoid confrontation at all costs. Especially now when Mick and his guest needed her help, but she would not let him control her with fear any longer.

“I wanted to check up on one of my patients before rounds,” Liliana finally answered.

“Is that right?” He took a small step toward her, the tightness of his body causing an instinctive response in her to avoid the threatening gesture. Unfortunately the wall was at her back and he had effectively cut off any forward retreat.

Stiffening her spine and pulling back her shoulders, she tilted her head and defended herself in the only way she could at that moment. Calmly she said, “Do you really want to do this here and give the hospital even more to gossip about?”

He narrowed his eyes, considering her.

“What do you mean? Gossip?”

The squeak of a rubber-soled shoe on the gleaming tile floor intruded.

Chapter 12

Harrison’s head snapped around and as the nurse turned the corner and came into view, he took a step away from Liliana. With that step, his entire persona morphed.

“See you at home later, honey,” he said, the tones of his voice light and cheerful. A movie star bright smile on his face.

She barely controlled the flinch when he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead and sauntered away with that phony smile.

“Morning, Nurse Edmonds,” he said, his tones almost too friendly.

The nurse nodded curtly and shot a chill look at Harrison. As Liliana stopped at the nurse’s station to slip the patient’s chart into the chart rack, the nurse offered her a warmer greeting. “Good morning, Dr. Carrera.”

When the nurse’s gaze met hers for one brief second, understanding blossomed there.

“Good morning, Sara. How is Mrs. Rodriguez this afternoon?”

“Better than you are, I suspect,” she said beneath her breath, removed the Rodriguez chart from the rack, and handed it to Liliana.

Liliana buried her gaze in the papers, reviewing the patient’s vitals and progress. “Looks good. I’m going to pop in and check on our patient.”

“By the way. Dr. Rojas was looking for you. She came up to the floor about half an hour ago.”

With a quick nod, she walked away, chart in hand to see to her patient, but all the time wondering what Carmen could want since her friend hadn’t been expecting the results of any of the other tests any time soon.

At the patient’s door, she stopped to see if Mrs. Rodriguez was awake. The hip replacement surgery had gone well, but had taxed the older woman.

When Mrs. Rodriquez noticed her waiting by the door, she grinned happily and waved her in. “Come in, niña.”

The welcome on the older woman’s face filled her with satisfaction and confirmed yet again the reason why she had gone into medicine.

Something which whoever had worked on Mick’s friend seemed to have forgotten.

* * *

Continuing his investigation was being hampered by having to babysit the unpredictable Ms. Shaw.

Luckily his sister’s schedule had some freedom for the next few days. In the meantime, Mick had figured out what to do to keep Caterina contained which was why he was waiting for his cousin Ramon. Sheriff Ramon Gonzalez now that he was all grown up. Head of one of the local police departments.

Ramon had agreed to meet him at the Dunkin Donuts in Belmar which was buzzing with an assortment of the resident clam-diggers and the Bennies who rented shore homes in town during the summer months, inflating the town’s population and filling many of the local shops along Ocean Avenue.

The Dunkin Donuts was crowded, but far enough away from his usual haunts that it was safe to meet Ramon there.

At Mick’s request, Ramon was dressed in civvies to avoid attracting attention. His cousin slipped onto the cement bench opposite him at the outdoor table where Mick had settled down to wait for him. On top of the table – Ramon’s favorites: black coffee with a chocolate frosted donut.

As his cousin noted the treat, his eyes lit up with joy, reminding Mick of a younger Ramon when they were children.

“Thanks, mano.” He picked up the paper cup and took a sip, wincing at the heat of the coffee. His hand was headed for the donut when Mick stopped him.

“Did you bring what I asked?” Mick said.

Ramon rolled his eyes. “When you called me, I thought, Miguelito is finally going to do the right thing and join the force.”

Mick shook his head. “You know that I can’t consider joining the force – “

“On account of your parents? Because of the money they need?” Ramon immediately challenged. He braced his hands on the edge of the thick cement tabletop and leaned forward. “They’re almost finished paying off that bank loan. You don’t need to keep on sacrificing what you want – “

“No sacrifice, Ramon. It’s what I like to do,” he replied and picked up his own cup of coffee to take a sip.

“Bullshit, mano. You were always a White Hat. You can’t have changed that much over the years.”

A White Hat, he thought, clenching his jaw to contain a retort. If he was, that hat was way muddied and grey in spots. Life had taught him nothing was ever black or white.

“Did you bring what I asked?” Mick repeated.

Ramon looked from side-to-side, clearly cautious. Then he plopped a plastic bag from a local grocery store on top of the table. “Everything you need is in the bag, but if you get caught – “

“I’ll explain how I stole it from your police station. Does Mabel still leave the women’s bathroom window open so she can sneak a smoke?”

Ramon shook his head and in a chiding tone said, “Mabel retired last year. You might have known that if you came to visit more often.”

Mick knew that Ramon wasn’t just talking about visiting the people he had befriended while working as an EMT for the town. Ramon was guilting him about visiting his family more often.

He raised his hands and held them out in a now you see me gesture. “I’m here.”

Ramon rolled his eyes again, picked up the donut, and took a big bite. Gesturing to him with the half-eaten confection, he said, “You’re here and I bet you haven’t called your mom. You know that the last thing you want is to have your mom show up at your door uninvited.”

Mick could well imagine it. His loving, but demanding mother descending on his home in the midst of this mess with Shaw. He could picture his captive going all camo in front of his mother. Hell, he wished he could hide out when his mother was on one of her missions.

Snagging the plastic bag from the middle of the table, he opened it and peeked within. Inside was the electronic monitoring device he had requested as well as a small piece of paper. He didn’t need to look at the paper to know it held information on how to access the system to activate and track the ankle bracelet he planned on clamping on his captive.

“Thanks. What do you know about McMahon and Hernandez?”

Ramon took another sip of his coffee. “The two detectives manning the Wells murder?”

Mick nodded and Ramon continued. “Straight-up guys. Capable, but they’re stuck waiting for the state lab guys to process the evidence.”

“So they can’t release the crime scene yet?” Mick said with a smile.

“Not for another day or two. What’s your interest in the case?” Ramon asked, not that Mick intended to answer.

Instead he stood, grabbed the bag and jiggled it as he said, “Thanks again. Could I ask you to do me one more favor?”

Ramon grew serious and once again perused the area around them before he said, “You name it.”

Mick nodded, leaned forward and whispered, “Keep mom away for the next few days.”

* * *

He hadn’t been gone for long. Not more than an hour. The beep beep beep of the alarm system announced his return.

Caterina wondered where he had been while she lay tied to the bed, the soft strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing in the background. Her one hand moving against imaginary strings, recalling how to play the piece.

Summer was playing. Somehow appropriate. She couldn’t remember how long she had been in the Wardwell facilities, but recalling the heat and humidity after she had escaped, she definitely knew it was summer now.

Noise came from downstairs. His voice. Muted from the distance between her room and where ever he was on the lower floor.

Then silence.

A few seconds later she heard his tread on the stairs. Surprisingly light. She caught a glimpse of him through the open doorway as he climbed up the stairs and then he was at the entrance to the room.

He said nothing as he entered, walked to the chair and sat, a plastic bag in his hand. Opening the bag, he slipped a small piece of paper into the pocket of the button-down shirt he wore and then removed a coil of something thin and metallic-looking.

He rose, stepped to the foot of the bed and roughly grabbed hold of her heel. Held it steady as he slipped the coil around her ankle, joined the two ends and then twisted them to secure it to her leg.

“What is that?” she asked.

“An electronic monitoring device. If you attempt to leave the area, it’ll warn me. If you continue beyond the perimeter of the house, I’ll still be able to track you down and I will.”

Caterina stared at him hard, anger vibrating through her body at his threat.

“I’m not a monster,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

“Prove it. Let me go.”

Chapter 13

Surprise and a pleased smile flickered across the harshly chiseled lines of his face before he reined himself in. “No can do.”

He returned to the chair, stared at her intently as he said, “I have to go, but I won’t be gone long. Don’t think of running away.”

She watched him leave and immediately tugged at her restraints. Futile. The bindings held, softer against her skin than those that Wardwell had used, but no less confining.

She was imprisoned again and judging by what she knew of the hard-faced man so far, escaping him would not be easy.

And still she tried, pulling at the restraints and imagining how far she could run before he caught her again.

* * *

Mick parked the Jeep in the visitor section, taking a moment to survey the three different wings of the Wardwell facilities.

The center wing held all the corporate staff and security. It was where he had met with Edwards the other day.

The wing to the left of that housed the sterile lab areas responsible for creating the cloning products and tests Wardwell manufactured while the wing to the right held the medical complex where Caterina and the other patients were housed.

He left his Jeep and entered the center wing where he stopped for a moment to check out the guards at the security desk. As he had hoped, a different set of guards was on duty in the later afternoon hours than had been present when he had visited the other morning. If not, he would have returned to his Jeep before approaching and added a disguise.

He sauntered up to the desk and waited for the guard to acknowledge him.

The ill-fitting suit was tight across Mick’s shoulders and the starch in the collar of the shirt had chafed a spot on his throat raw, but the outfit certainly screamed underpaid cop.

When the guard finally looked up from his papers, Mick reached into the suit jacket pocket and flashed a fake badge from the local police department. Fake, but good enough to pass scrutiny.

“Detective Ramirez,” Mick said and tucked the badge back into his jacket pocket.

“I thought you guys were done already,” the guard asked even while he was pushing forward the log book for him to sign.

Mick scrawled a name in the visitor book along with a time as he answered, “State lab boys needed another sample. Asked me to come down and get it so they can finish up their investigation and release the crime scene.”

He held up a briefcase as if to confirm that he intended to put the evidence within it.

The security guard nodded and handed over a visitor’s badge. “Third door on the right. Then go through the breezeway into the next wing and follow the hall to the very end. You’ll need the badge to open all the doors.”

Mick shot him a quick salute and did as the man said, swiping the badge at the door to access the breezeway before he walked down to the end of the hall. Even if there hadn’t been crime scene tape everywhere, a quick peek through the glass panel in the door would have confirmed that something major had gone on in the room.

Blood spatter marred the walls and a larger splotch stained a spot in the center of the floor. Pieces of lab furniture, shattered beakers, microscopes and other equipment, littered the room. Across the room, large pieces of plywood closed off what had once been a large plate glass window.

Mick slipped beneath the crime scene tape, swiped the card to open the door, and entered the laboratory where he took photos with a camera and made mental notes of everything in the room, including the destruction in various areas. Then he strode to the lateral file cabinets along the far wall. The doors of the cabinets were dented and blood-splattered.

He cracked open the first drawer. Lots of files, but with very few papers. The second drawer was more of the same.

The next lateral file was locked.

He removed a locksmith’s pick from his suit jacket pocket, slipped it into the opening. A few pokes and twists and the lock on the cabinet popped out with a ka-thunk.

Patient files filled the top drawer. Files with red labels which read “Terminated” took up the bulk of the space. The name on the last file in the cabinet was Jenkins.

He closed the drawer and opened up the second one.

Bingo. Shaw’s file was smack in the middle. He removed it and for good measure, grabbed two of the nearby files with the troublesome “Terminated” stickers.

He tucked the files into the briefcase and locked the cabinet, returning it to its original state. He hurried back out into the hallway and as he did so, a woman in scrubs turned the corner and headed toward him.

When she realized he was by the door to the lab, she paused, clearly uncertain.

“Detective Ramirez,” he said, reached into his jacket and extracted the badge.

She nodded and he said, “Do you work here? In the lab?”

“I did until Dr. Wells was murdered. They’ve closed up the facility for now,” the woman said, fingering the hem of her shirt nervously. She motioned to another door further up the hall. “I was just going to pick up some samples in there.”

“Where are the patients?” he asked.

The woman shrugged. “Gone. Dr. Edwards thought it would be better to move them away from the violence.”

And away from anyone who could question them about what really went on the night Wells was murdered, he thought. Edwards was certainly trying to cover up the incident. Since it had been two days since they had met, he wondered why his client hadn’t already called him about the progress he was making on the case.

“Thank you for your time,” he said and with a polite bob of his head, he exited the Wardwell facilities.

Outside the building, he hurried around the exterior of the structure to the spot where Caterina had supposedly made her escape by tossing a heavy piece of lab equipment through the glass. Several large pieces of plywood sealed off the damage.

He bent down and examined the base of the makeshift plywood barrier and bits of broken window glass glinted in the sunlight.

Very little glass.

Someone might have cleaned up, but if the glass had shattered as badly as indicated in the police reports, he would have expected a fairly large area where bits of the window glass would have been broadcast by the force of the blow.

He stood and surveyed the area in a six foot or so radius from the window.

Nothing, which didn’t seem possible to him even if someone had cleaned up. Human nature being what it was, they would have focused on the area close to the window and likely missed the farthest most pieces scattered by the impact.

The lack of glass raised another possibility in his mind – that the window had been broken from the outside, spewing bits of window glass inward.

He made a note to review the police reports again when he returned home.

The files in the briefcase were heavy, dragging at his arm as he rushed back to his car. Dragging on his conscience as he recalled how many red “Terminated” labels there had been in the two drawers.

If either he or Franklin had completed their mission, would Shaw have been the next patient with the “Terminated” designation?

He intended to find out just what that status meant and who it was that responsible for the deaths of so many.

* * *

Mick paced the length of the living room in his home, his booted feet sounding loudly on the polished wood floors, making him wish for once that he had put carpet down. The carpet would have muffled the sound, but then again, it would also provide stealth to an intruder.

Not that he had ever meant for his chosen profession to intrude in this place, even though he had secured this home as thoroughly as he had his apartment/office.

A car door slammed outside and he went to the door and peered out the spyglass.

Liliana was hurrying up the walk, medical bag in hand once again together with a white paper bag with the familiar logo for his family’s Mexican restaurant. His stomach growled in anticipation of what was in the bag, although acknowledging his hunger was tempered by his responsibility for the young woman tied to the bed upstairs.

At the door he disarmed the security system and admitted his sister. Re-armed the system once she was safely inside.

“You’ve got news – “

“And nachos in addition to some other goodies,” she said, holding up the bag. Inclining her head in the direction of the stairs, she said, “How’s the patient?”

He tracked her gaze up the stairs as well and shook his head. “Determined to get free and luckily, more coherent than yesterday.”

“Considering the dissociative properties of some of the drugs she’s received, that’s surprising.”

Liliana walked down the hall toward the kitchen and Mick followed. She placed her medical bag on a kitchen chair and went to the oven. After she turned it on, she placed the contents of the bag there.

It occurred to Mick as he watched her that his baby sister had the mom act down pat.

“We can eat and talk about the test results after I check out ... You said her name was Cat? Any last name?”

He hesitated, unsure of just how deeply to involve his sister. He had never brought home any risks and hated that he’d had to do so with this case.

Because of that, he said, “Let’s leave it at just Cat.”

“Justcat? An unusual surname wouldn’t you say, bro? But it seems appropriate for such an unusual woman.” She grabbed her doctor’s bag and brushed past him on her way to the guest room, but she stopped short at the foot of the stairs.

“Has she had a chance to relieve herself? Or to move about to avoid the risk of DVT?”

“About an hour ago, although she was none too pleased with my company in the john. Also gave her some of my sweats to wear.”

Seemingly satisfied, his sister went to check on her patient.

At the door to the room, Liliana stopped, surprised by the sight of the cello in the corner and the music playing softly. “Is that – “

“Tony’s old cello. I snuck by the house and borrowed it. Left him a note that I needed it for a friend.”

“I can’t remember the last time our baby brother played it,” Liliana said.

“That’s why I figured it wouldn’t bother him. Thought it was worth getting the cello since Cat responded favorably to the music.”

Liliana nodded and walked to the bed. As she had the night before, Caterina grew fretful at the sight of her.

His sister placed her medical bag on the ottoman by the chair where Mick had slept the night before. Then she sat down and placed her hand on Caterina’s pale blue forearm. In her best bedside manner, her voice soothing, she said, “How are you feeling today, Cat? How is your arm?”

Caterina eyed Liliana up and down before her movements quieted and, as they did, the camouflage staining her skin receded like the wash of a wave along the shore.

“My name is Cat,” she said.

Mick muttered a curse under his breath, growing frustrated by Caterina’s apparent lack of progress.

His sister glared at him. “Why don’t you go get some dinner for Cat?”

Caterina looked from the young woman sitting beside her to the man who had earlier identified himself as Mick. Her captor, since she recognized that she had escaped one prison merely to end up in another.

Mick shot an annoyed look at them, but did as she asked.

The woman scooted to the edge of the chair and patted her arm reassuringly. “Don’t mind my brother. He means well.”

Brother? she thought and examined the doctor more carefully.

She and the man shared the same dark brown hair and eyes. Mick’s skin was a darker color, like the burnished wood of her cello.

Yes, my cello.

She had remembered that during the many hours that she had lain in the bed, listening to the music that continued to play softly. Recalling how her fingers would shift along the strings while her bow worked against them to bring forth the strains of a symphony.

When the man had brought in the beat up old instrument, she had known it wasn’t hers, but even despite that, had twisted on the bed until she could touch the wood. Feel the cool of the varnish beneath her fingers. Pluck a string or two only to wince at its out-of-tune sounds.

“My name is . . .” she started to repeat, but then her mind processed another thought which yanked a wide grin to her face. “Caterina. Caterina Shaw.”

Chapter 14

The young woman seemed taken aback by her revelation.

“Caterina Shaw, the cellist?”

She nodded and said, “I play the cello. I’m a musician.”

The young woman whispered, “OMG,” before recovering her poise.

“I’m Liliana. Mick’s sister and a doctor. May I look at your arm?”

Her arm. The one where she had been shot. She moved it and experienced a slight pull, but little pain. Feeling an unexpected sense of security with the other woman, she nodded and permitted her to check the wound.

“It’s knitted closed and almost completely healed,” Liliana said with some surprise in her voice. “I’m going to take the stitches out so it may feel a little weird.”

As the doctor cut the stitches and then pulled them out, it felt like someone tracking a thin string over her flesh, but there was no pain. When she finished, the young woman placed a fresh bandage on her arm and returned to her seat.

“Are you feeling better? You seem more alert.”

Amazingly she was feeling almost ... human. The long periods of rest had allowed her to focus and with that focus had come more and more memories. Despite that, there were still some ideas that failed her and she was frustrated that communicating her thoughts remained difficult.

“I feel ... well, but ... confused at times.”

Liliana nodded and grasped her hand, the gesture comforting. “Someone drugged you.”

“You. Dr. Wells. Dr. Edwards,” she offered, remembering that they, too, had regularly injected her during her stay in their lab.

“Did Wells and Edwards hurt you?” Liliana asked even as her brother walked back into the room with a tray.

“Dr. Wells was my ... friend.”

“We’re your friends also, Caterina,” Liliana said.

“Caterina?” Mick immediately chimed in.

Liliana shot him a sisterly look filled with condemnation. “Caterina Shaw. The world famous cellist. She seems to finally have remembered who she is.”

As Caterina glanced at Mick, she caught part of a look between the two siblings, but like so many things, she had trouble understanding the meaning of it.

Mick stood by his sister, holding the tray of food, but he shifted his attention to her. “If I undo the ties so you can eat, do you promise not to put up a fight?”

The idea of being free, if only for a short moment, firmly pushed away any ideas she might have been having about how to get away from this place.

“Promise,” she said and held up her bound wrists.

With an annoyed exhale, he handed his sister the tray. “Hold this.”

He went to the legs of the bed and one ankle at a time, he untied the restraints. Then he shifted to her arms, removing them as well.

“Thank you,” she said, relieved at even the small liberties.

A second later, he placed the tray over her lap and the aromatic smells teased her nostrils, creating a deep loud rumble in her stomach.

The scents kindled memories from the deepest recesses of her brain. Suddenly she was a child again, her mother beside her.

Mick sat on the edge of the bed, examining her as she contemplated the food. “You remember something.”

“My mother,” she said, straining for more and he helped her along.

“Your mother was Mexican. Did she cook food like this for you?”

She had, Caterina realized, only it had been a long time since she had eaten similar food. Since she had seen her mother. With that realization, a wellspring of sorrow rose up, bringing tears to her eyes.

“My mother is dead.”

Liliana squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

With the barest hint of sympathy Mick advised, “It happened a long time ago. When she was six.”

“If anything that makes it harder,” his sister scolded.

My dad is dead as well, she remembered, but that knowledge brought only a scintilla of the pain of her earlier memory.

Mick motioned to the food on the plate. “Eat up. You need to build your strength.”

She dug into the meal with the plastic fork he had provided.

An enchilada she recalled. The corn tortilla was filled with flavorful cheese and covered with a delicious chili pepper sauce. Beside the enchilada rested refried pinto beans and yellow rice with vegetables.

With each forkful she ate, her hunger grew until the plate was clean.

“Hungry?” Mick asked, arching a brow as she contemplated the empty plate.

“Sorry, but it was good. Can’t remember eating anything so good. Long time ago.”

Once again, Liliana reached out and offered a reassuring pat on her arm. “Don’t be sorry. My mother will be happy that you enjoyed the food.”

“Drink,” Mick commanded and she did, gulping down the sweet grape juice in the plastic glass he handed her.

When she was done, he tied her back up. She wanted to protest, but at her first chirp, Mick silenced her with a threatening glare.

“We’ll be back later,” Liliana said and grabbed hold of her brother’s arm, dragging him out of the room.

Caterina lay back against the sheets, the music relaxing once again. The fullness of her stomach satisfying until the tastes that lingered on her tongue elicited more memories of her mother.

She did something she knew she had not been able to do before.

She cried for her mother’s loss until the pain emptied from her body, leaving behind only the memories of the precious times they had shared.

Then she curled up into a ball, her hand outstretched until her fingers touched the curve of the cello, and waited for her captor to return.

Chapter 15

In the kitchen, Mick placed the dirty dishes in the sink and said, “Can you fill me in while we eat?”

“Trying to get rid of me so quickly?” Liliana challenged as she set the table while Mick removed the aluminum take-out plates from the oven.

He paused, faced her, and leaned his hands on the edge of the counter. “I was hoping you could stay the night just in case I need help with Cat.”

His sister hesitated, then surprised him by saying, “Actually, I was hoping you’d let me crash here for a little bit. Just until I can find somewhere else to live.”

He walked to her side and cupped her cheek, applying gentle pressure to raise her gaze upward.

“You’re doing the right thing. If you want me to take care of him for you – “

“I appreciate the offer, big bro, but I need to handle this on my own.”

He nodded. “Use my bedroom. It’s more comfortable and I need to keep a close eye on Cat.”

“Caterina Shaw,” she challenged. “The famous cellist and according to the local newscasts, a murderess.”

He remained silent, which prompted his sister to ask, “You’re not denying the latter?”

“Don’t have enough information to either deny or confirm.”

He returned to the counter where the take-out containers rested as his sister said, “Lose the military speak.”

“Yes, sir,” he teased as he placed the aluminum containers on the trivets his sister had laid out on the large oak kitchen table.

Liliana chuckled, sat down, and quickly served them a sampling of the food their mother had prepared. It steamed on their plates and the aroma enticed. The first few minutes at the table were quiet as they took the edge off their hunger, but then Mick said, “When you called you said you had more news.”

She nodded, blew on a bite of tamale on her fork. “Surprising news. My friend wasn’t expecting any results for a day or so, only she was able to get an analysis earlier than she thought.”

Mick paused his eating. “Some new test procedure?”

“Exceptionally fast DNA replication. So fast that she ran the analysis a second time to make sure it was right,” Liliana advised, rose from her seat to take some papers from the medical bag sitting on another kitchen chair. She laid one of the papers on the table beside Mick.

He recognized it immediately as an electrophoresis gel result from a DNA test. A series of parallel columns contained a number of differing bands in each column. Someone had circled several of the bands on the paper.

Liliana ran her index finger along the test results. “These bands here and here are what you would expect to see in a human DNA test.”

She jabbed at the circled sections. “But not these.”

She slipped another piece of paper showing what looked like a graph before him. “So she did an electropherogram using an automated sequencer for determining the DNA series. Same weird results.”

“So you’re telling me we still don’t know what’s going on with her?” he said with frustration.

Liliana whipped out one last piece of paper -- a page print from some website showing a photo of a Petri dish displaying a childishly drawn picture with a number of phosphorescent colors.

“Look familiar?” she said and walked back to her chair, sat down, and resumed eating.

He picked up the paper and read aloud the caption beneath the photo. “This drawing shows the variety of colors available from different fluorescent protein producing bacteria.”

“The GFPs in the bacteria physically show how genes express themselves,” she explained.

“So you’re telling me she’s contaminated by some kind of fluorescent bacteria?” he asked, putting down his fork, but then the answer came to him before Liliana could reply. “They used the fluorescent proteins as trackers for the genes they implanted during her cancer therapy. That could explain what happened to her blood.”

Liliana nodded. “Some scientists have even produced transgenic rabbits and pigs that glow in the dark because of these proteins.”

A glow in the dark animal, only the woman upstairs wasn’t an animal. Although he still wasn’t quite sure what she was right now.

Or what she was going to become.

“I’ve got her supposed medical history up in my office, but I also managed to steal her real file today.”

Liliana placed her fork on her nearly empty plate. Only a bit of beans and rice remained. “You think the scientists at Wardwell doctored the one they gave you.”

“Possibly. I’m going to review the files tonight. Compare them and see what I can discover.”

Mick nodded and rose from the table. He was heading out of the kitchen when his sister said, “Not so fast, bro. I brought the food, so you’re going to clean up before you go to work.”

“You’re a hard taskmaster, Lil,” he said, but returned to the table, wrapped her in a bear hug and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

She returned his embrace, burying her head in his chest. “Tell me this will all work out, Miguelito.”

“It’ll work out, Liliana. I promise.”

* * *

Softly murmured words, spoken in Spanish, awakened old comforting memories.

She fought the urge to rouse, wanting to bask in the newly recovered recollections of her mother. The gentle touch of her mother’s hand as she brushed her unruly locks at night, rousing the scent of the orange-blossom bath water she had dribbled onto her freshly washed hair; the passion in that same touch as her mother’s hands alternately caressed and struck the keys of the upright piano they had owned, playing a difficult symphony or concerto. Playful as she morphed the song into some ragtime or a variation on a mariachi tune.

Her father had said that she had inherited her mother’s ear, but hidden behind the compliment had been censure. Caterina had realized that even as a child.

He might have loved her mother at one time, but he had grown to disapprove of her and the love, if there ever had been any, had died beneath his controlling ways.

When her father had gazed at her, she saw the reflection of her mother in his eyes. A passionate and carefree woman who had made the mistake of marrying a formidably powerful and unyielding man. One who had chipped away at her mother’s spirit with his demands.

As Caterina half-opened her eyes, wanting to return to the good memories in her head, she saw them – brother and sister.

Chocolate brown heads of hair were bent close together as they spoke softly in Spanish.

Was it to avoid her understanding them? Her Spanish was rusty from years of disuse and maybe they were relying on that.

Liliana was crouching down, eye level with her brother who sat in the chair beside the bed. It was where he had been for the last few hours as far as Caterina could tell.

She had woken a couple of times from a fitful rest to find him there.

Mick. The name popped from her brain.

Mick had urged her back to sleep with a consoling touch and a comfortably issued command to rest.

Now his sister was back and seeing that she had roused, she reached out and gently touched her arm. The gesture was familiar – a mother’s touch.

Liliana even looked like Caterina’s mother. Petite. Slender. Olive-skinned with cocoa brown hair and dark eyes, only now as she met Liliana’s gaze, she realized the other woman’s eyes were a deep green, almost emerald.

“You’re awake?” Liliana asked as she leaned forward.

Mick rose from the chair, grabbing her attention.

He was an average-sized man, but with an imposing physique. Lean and hard. Even his face was all hard angles. The face of the Conquistador stamped on the soul of Mexico.

Dressed in black from head-to-toe, he possessed a dangerous aura that awoke conflicting emotions within her.

Fear.

Attraction.

She suspected it would be hard for any female not to respond to his blatant and sexy masculinity. And as she came to that realization, another tagged along with it.

Her brain actually seemed to be working with more clarity than it had in a long time.

“I’m awake,” she confirmed and for good measure added, “And I’m remembering things. My mother and father.”

“The drugs must be wearing off,” he said, the tone of his voice flat. Offering no comfort, but no condemnation either.

She had expected the latter, although her mind wasn’t processing thoughts clearly enough yet to comprehend the why of that expectation.

“I don’t understand what’s happened to me,” she said.

Mick blew out a rough sigh and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He rocked back on his heels for a second, before he said, “That makes three of us.”

Comfort came from his sister once more. With a reassuring pat of her hand as she sat down on the chair, she said, “Mick’s managed to get your real medical file. We’ve been going through it tonight to find out what’s been done to you.”

Done to me? she thought and closed her eyes, attempting to drag forth some kind of recollection of what had happened to her.

She was sorry that she did so when the memories came, lashing out at her with their violence.

The scent of blood, earthy and metallic, filled her nose and mouth. Wet and sticky, it covered her hands and arms.

A face emerged from all the blood.

“Dr. Wells is dead,” she said aloud. “Someone killed him.”

“You killed him,” Mick replied callously.

With an emphatic shake of her head, she said, “He was my friend. I wouldn’t hurt him.”

Mick seemed inclined to argue with her, but Liliana reached out to stop him.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt him or anyone else.”

Liliana’s message was clear only Caterina didn’t have any way of convincing the taciturn Mick who reminded her a little too much of what she had remembered about her father.

For that matter, she might not even be able to prove to herself that she’d had nothing to do with Dr. Wells’ death. The memories she had were like the splinters of color in a kaleidoscope, forming new uncertain images every time she remembered.

She was tired, more tired than she ever been at any time in her life. Not even the days she had undergone chemo could compare to how she now felt.

This kind of tired was soul deep.

Whispering, she said, “I want to rest.”

* * *

Mick controlled the urge to shake her as Caterina closed her eyes and sank back onto the pillows. As he glanced at his sister, she inclined her head in the direction of the hall and he walked out. Liliana followed.

“You’ve got to be patient,” she counseled.

He couldn’t argue, although he was finding it difficult to contain his frustration. Ducking his head down, he said, “You’re right only ... “

Liliana stood right before him, making it impossible for him to avoid her. “Only what, Mick? I mean, you got her to safety. She’s starting to remember. That’s all good, right?”

It was all good for Caterina, but she wasn’t his client.

“I was hired to bring her in, Lil. I’m surprised my client hasn’t already called to find out what I’m doing to earn my money. It’s been a couple of days already.”

“Does it matter? Caterina’s safe. Isn’t that what – “

“I don’t think my client cared whether Caterina came back dead or alive,” he confessed.

Confusion slipped across his sister’s features before she said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that since that he sent someone else after her as well, my client is probably hoping someone might be bringing her in dead.”

“He hired you to kill her?” she hissed and shot an anxious look toward the doorway of the guest room.

He shrugged and eased the tips of his fingers into his jeans pockets. “No, but with the kind of money he was paying – “

“You understood that killing Caterina might be a possibility.” Accusation was thick in her voice.

With an abrupt shake of her head, she whirled on her heel and took a few jerky strides away, before she whirled back and faced him. “You used to be my hero. Not anymore.”

Her words cut him deeply, but she was right. Hell, he had never wanted the responsibility that being a hero brought.

But the nagging voice that remained buried deep within him answered back.

“I don’t eliminate people for money. For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t even going to turn her over without finding out what really happened in that lab.”

Liliana came to stand before him again. “What did happen in that lab, Mick?”

He focused on a spot in the distance, his mind’s eye recalling the pictures Edwards had provided. Recalling what he had seen today – the blood all over the lab and the damage in the room.

“Something awful,” he said before finally facing his sister.

“If Caterina did it ... “ He exhaled roughly. “I need you to be careful until we can figure out what’s going with her. Plus, Edwards hired someone else for this job besides me, but that’s been taken care of.”

“Should I reconsider my request to stay here?” she asked, but her tone was teasing in an attempt to lighten the earlier tension between them.

Mick thought about how it might look to the neighbors that Liliana was coming and going. If anything, it might make it appear that nothing was happening in the house except a visit from his sister.

“If you decide to stay, you need to be extra careful.”

“Promise.”

Knowing Liliana, that promise would be kept. But he also needed something else from her.

“Do you think you could help me review Shaw’s medical history again? Just in case I missed something?”

Liliana nodded, but inclined her head down the hall to his bedroom. “I just need a few minutes to call Harrison. Let him know I won’t be home tonight or for that matter, any time soon.”

“What about your stuff?”

“I’ll swing by during the day while he’s at the hospital and get my things.”

Mick reached out and dragged her into his arms. “Like I said before, if you need me to do anything, I’m here for you, sis.”

“I know and I appreciate the offer, but this is something I have to take care of myself.”

* * *

The call came well past midnight.

He and Liliana had been discussing and researching various experiments and treatments based on Caterina’s file for a couple of hours.

“Tell me this isn’t a BFD,” he said to Franklin as he answered.

“Sorry, amigo, but the camel’s on fire.”

Shit, he thought, but forced a smile on his face for his sister. He motioned with his head that he wanted her to leave the room, needing privacy for the upcoming discussion.

“I’ll go check on Caterina,” she said, rose from the chair, and hurried out.

Mick closed the door behind her and leaned against it. “What’s the SNAFU?”

“Edwards was way too calm today when I told him I was off the assignment.”

Mick processed that comment, but it didn’t take much to realize why.

“We weren’t the only two he hired.”

“Sorry, man. When I was going through security at the end of the day, I noticed some guest names on their list. Mad Dog paid Wardwell a visit also. I tried to get more info only – “

“Fuck,” he muttered and raked his fingers through his hair. Matthew Donnelly, aka Mad Dog, was nothing but trouble.

“But you’re not sure that Edwards hired him?” he pressed.

“This is the kind of job Mad Dog would do for free,” Franklin retorted with a rough laugh.

Beautiful woman.

Big challenge.

Possible death.

Definitely the kind of assignment Mad Dog would relish.

“Do you know what Mad Dog’s been up to lately?”

“Private security black ops. Heard he was doing some time in the Middle East, but got booted. Then he headed down to South America on another assignment. Never really wanted to stay in touch with him, if you know what I mean,” Franklin said.

Mick knew exactly. Mad Dog was a sick miserable fuck. Most people wanted to keep off his radar.

“Thanks, Franklin. Keep me posted on anything else you hear.”

He snapped the cell phone shut and took a deep breath as he considered Franklin’s news.

Mad Dog had probably been spreading mayhem wherever he went, Mick thought, recalling his last mission with the other mercenary. Two innocent civilians had become collateral damage, not that Mad Dog had cared.

Mad Dog had been fired by the large private security firm after that incident and had seemingly disappeared.

Mick had left the firm of his own volition and set up his own agency to deal with different kinds of problems. Not that those problems hadn’t occasionally involved the possibility of death.

But not cold-blooded murder.

What worried him more was that a man like Mad Dog would help himself to Caterina in other ways as well. In her almost-returning-to-normal state, it was hard to ignore how attractive she was in person.

The professional photographs hadn’t done her justice.

But as he had thought in Edwards’ office days earlier, he reminded himself that beauty didn’t preclude violence.

Not to mention that violence had its own beauty.

He was an artist of that kind of beauty.

Raising his hands, he examined them, almost as if they belonged to someone else. They were hands capable of brutality, but not cruelty. Hands which could bestow tenderness, not that he’d had much opportunity for that lately. Hands capable of passion, which he could easily get and give.

Women seemed to be drawn to him or maybe it was better to say they were drawn to the aura of danger around him. Enticed by the prospect of a risky tryst with a handsome man who knew how to satisfy.

That kind of attraction didn’t really make for anything but a passable fuck.

And a sad existence.

Jerking away from the door, he opened it and returned to the guest room where Liliana sat in the comfy chair, laptop on her legs, reading something online.

“You may want to reconsider staying here,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

She looked up, her dark gaze filled with puzzlement.

“You want me to go back to Harrison?”

He strode over to her, kneeled before her, and tenderly took hold of her hands. Strong, capable, loving hands. Hands which could never be violent.

“Someone else has been sent after Caterina. Someone nasty.”

“So? More reason for me to stay and help out,” she said and twined her fingers with his.

“You don’t understand, sis,” he said, shaking his head.

“I get it. He’s the Big Bad, but you’re here. You’ll watch out for us.”

Her trust in him warmed a long lost piece of his soul and yet . . .

“You didn’t think that before. When you said – “

“That you weren’t my hero. I was angry. I wanted to lash out because . . .”

She looked away from him, but it wasn’t enough to hide the tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Because why, Lil?”

She sucked in a shaky breath and bit her bottom lip. “Because for months now I’ve been losing control of my life. I was angry about that.”

He cupped her chin and urged her to face him. With a proud smile, he said, “You are a beautiful and amazing woman. One who can take care of what she needs to do.”

One lone tear spilled down her cheek. She braved a watery smile and said, “Then trust that I can handle myself now. That I can help you with this assignment.”

She was his blood and they had overcome a great deal of adversity together. The early days when they had first arrived from Mexico and everything had been scarce. As children they had faced the challenges of being in different world. Survived the near ruin of their family’s business several years earlier.

He wouldn’t dismiss her abilities when he needed them the most.

Recognizing that she needed to be here and involved to regain what she thought she had lost, he said, “Watch your back when you’re coming and going. If you see anything that seems suspicious, you call me and head to the nearest police station.”

“Copy that,” she said and shot him a playful salute.

Gesturing to the laptop, he said, “Get anything else out of there?”

Liliana’s smiled firmed and broadened.

“You bet I did.”

Chapter 16

Mick nudged the door open and walked in, looking fresh and well rested, but Caterina knew he had spent the night in the chair by the bed again.

Whenever she woke from a sleep packed with fitful images, he had been there, alert as well. Offering comfort. His dark eyes seeming to register every little facet of what was happening, as if to catalogue the events for further analysis.

He had even released her once during the course of that uneven night, escorting her to the bathroom so she could relieve herself. This time he had waited outside the door, sparing her the embarrassment of the day before.

Back in the room, he had tied her back up again, but not as tightly.

Had he come to believe I’m not a threat? Caterina thought.

As Mick approached the bed, Caterina wondered how he could have reached such a decision when she herself still doubted.

The images that had come to her during the night had been violent. Horribly so. A slideshow of blood, destruction, and death. Vividly real in her mind, but with enough gaps that it made her memory inconsistent.

Through every nightmare he had been by her side, providing stability and comfort.

“Good morning,” he said, walking to the foot of the bed. He released the bindings, but didn’t re-tie the restraints.

At the headboard, he did the same, freeing her from her bondage.

She rubbed at her wrists, not that they were sore. She had stopped fighting against the restraints last night after supper, realizing that this man and the young woman didn’t intend to hurt her.

Not like she had struggled at Wardwell.

Wardwell.

She remembered now the name of her captors. Remembered that Dr. Wells hadn’t necessarily been all goodness and light, although he had befriended her.

“They used to tie me down,” she suddenly told Mick.

A flicker of emotion darkened his almost impenetrable gaze as his eyes met hers.

“Edwards?” he asked, seeking confirmation.

She nodded. “Wells, too. And Dr. Morales.”

He plopped down into the chair, but leaned forward, his elbows resting on broad powerful thighs. His fingers loosely laced together.

“Morales is their assistant.” His tone seemed to seek confirmation of that statement.

Caterina searched her brain, trying to remember more about Morales. The name had popped into her recollection last night as she forced herself to try and recall what had happened to her.

Nothing came to her about Morales. She shook her head. “I can’t remember.”

“Dr. Morales isn’t a physician. He’s a geneticist from what we could gather from your files.”

She again tried to place the name. In a burst of intense powerful images that nearly blinded her, he flashed into her mind.

She closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her temples as if that might keep her head from exploding as the visions pounded at her.

A dark-eyed little man.

A thin smile as sharp as the instruments in his hand.

Burning pain in her veins from his needle.

The images came over and over interspersed with agony so real, she needed to escape it. She surged forward, but encountered a hard chest. Buried her head there as he wrapped his strong arms around her.

* * *

“Easy, Cat. They’re just memories,” Mick said softly.

She grabbed hold of his t-shirt, her hands fisted tightly into the fabric as she keened like an animal. Only the press of her body against his was very human and very womanly.

Too much so, Mick realized, fighting his visceral reaction to her proximity.

“Why is this happening?” she murmured against his chest, rubbing her head there as if by doing so she could erase the images.

He cradled the back of her head with immense restraint and tenderness, sifting his fingers through the thick curls. “They gave you small doses of LSD in addition to a bunch of other hallucinogenic drugs. It may take a little while for all that medication to work out of your system.”

“What’s a ‘little while’,” she said and wagged her head more forcefully, as if trying to dislodge the visions.

As he glanced down, he realized she had gone all camo on him again. Her hands were the color of his dark blue polo shirt and the rest of her was beginning to blend into the rust brown of the over-sized t-shirt he had offered her to wear.

“A couple of days or even weeks. It’s hard to tell with LSD, but try to focus, Cat,” he urged, recalling the mantra she had used the day before to regain control.

She listened to his command. She repeated the word over and over and as the tightness left her body, so did the color, but not before she caught a glimpse of herself in her altered state.

She released him and raised her hands. Held them before her and examined them while her skin slowly faded back to normal.

“What am I?” she asked, puzzlement in the stormy ocean blue of her eyes when her gaze skipped to his.

He could have lied. Tempered his words with tenderness, but he had a limited quantity of that and holding her had expended most of it.

“A science experiment,” he said, released her, and returned to his spot in the chair.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered his statement. The soft curls of her hair bobbed back and forth with the motion of her head as she said, “They were supposed to help me.”

“You’re not blind anymore,” he reminded, although he wasn’t sure she would consider that a worthwhile trade-off to becoming someone’s lab rat.

He wouldn’t.

She leaned back against the headboard, raised slender elegant fingers to her temples and rubbed tiny circles there. “Toward the end, when I was sick, I couldn’t see. But it was the pain in my head ... “

Meeting his gaze directly, she said, “It was the pain that stole the music.” Tapping a spot above her heart with one hand, she added, “My music.”

The passion in her words was unmistakable.

He understood it. Admired it.

He couldn’t allow those sentiments to change what he had to do. “Someone killed Wells. Do you know who?”

“If I did, don’t you think I’d tell you so you’d let me go?” she shot back.

“Not if you were the one who did it,” he replied calmly, barely controlling his smile at her show of spunk. He liked feisty Cat much more than the mewling weak Cat the drugs had created.

She threaded her fingers into her hair, pulling it back off her face. Releasing the long locks to fall back onto her shoulders as she said, “Why don’t you turn me over to the police? Let them decide.”

He shrugged and intentionally kept his tone neutral. “Because I’ve been paid to return you to Edwards.”

Her skin paled for a moment before a bit of the t-shirt’s rust color leaked onto her body.

Fight or flight, he thought again.

“You’re afraid of Edwards. He hurt you?”

“Morales. Edwards,” she admitted, looking downward at the sheet covering her body. Plucking at the folds of it nervously before she asked, “Are you going to give me back to Edwards?”

“Do you think that’s what I’m going to do?” he said, perversely intrigued to hear her initial thoughts about him.

She slowly lifted her head and tilted it at a slight angle. She examined him intently, but the look wasn’t one like he generally received from most women. This one reminded him of the look from one of his elementary school teachers.

Exasperated described it best. That brought a disappointment he didn’t understand, so he arched a brow and said, “Well?”

She raised her chin a defiant inch. “I think that if you were going to do that, you would have done it already.”

Her slightly rebellious response roused his smile once again. “So what do you propose I do?”

Her chin shot up another tiny bit, but there was nothing tiny about the determination in her voice.

“Help me find out who killed Dr. Wells.”

Chapter 17

Mick considered her request and the challenge she had presented since the moment he had seen her photo.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, unwilling to admit that her request had him intrigued.

“It’s still early. Why don’t you try to get back to sleep,” he said. Dark circles lingered under her eyes.

“I can’t sleep anymore. Besides when I sleep ... “

She hesitated, afraid to reveal more, but there was apparently little she could hide from him.

“You see too much.”

He nodded and continued. “I know what it’s like when there are only nightmares, but ... If you let them come, eventually they won’t be as scary.”

She couldn’t imagine the visions which visited her in the night not being frightening unless you had somehow shut off your soul. Or worse: Lost it.

As she lifted her face, his deep brown gaze locked on hers. Steady and controlled on the surface, but in the depths of those eyes, she imagined she saw his demons. Realized they weren’t as frightening because he had mastered them. She supposed he had controlled his fears in much the same way he ruled over everything in his life.

Much like her father had dominated her mother until nothing remained of her spirit and passion.

Her father had tried to do the same to her over the years, but somehow she had survived it. Could I survive this man’s controlling ways until I’m free again? she wondered.

“You think I’m guilty, don’t you? You think I – “

He surged toward her on the bed and covered her mouth with his hand. His palm was rough against her lips. His grip hard, but not so hard as to hurt.

“What I know is that someone violated your trust. Violated you. If I had been in the same position, I might have done the same thing, so I don’t care right now whether you did it or not.”

Before she could respond, or even fully process his statement, he was in action.

He stepped away from the bed, back to the door, and with a negligent flick of his hand he said, “We’re having breakfast before Liliana goes back to the hospital. After that, you and I are going to go over your medical files. Understood?”

“Understood,” she replied and resisted the urge to snap off a salute.

Definitely ex-military it occurred to her now, his tone, posture, regimented attire, and haircut screaming it out loud at full volume.

She rose from the bed and stretched, working out the kinks from being bound for so long. When she was done, she took a moment to walk around the room, examining it more fully.

The furniture was simple. Heavy rustic oak pieces. Simple fabrics that would wear well. Above the dresser was a mirror and as she caught a glimpse of herself she was once again shocked by her appearance.

She leaned on the surface of the dresser and peered at her image. So much thinner. Paler. Her face almost swallowed up by the long rebellious locks of her dark hair. But it was still a human face, the strange skin color that came and went notwithstanding. She even tried to call forth the camouflage, focusing on her hand as it rested on the wooden surface, but it wouldn’t come.

She ambled to the old cello leaning against another chair close to the bed and touched it lovingly, the rough feel of the strings and slick varnish ingrained in her memory. She itched to sit down and play, but he probably expected her to join them downstairs for the meal. She was surprised he had released her, but then again, she still wore the bracelet that would allow him to track her.

She walked out into the hallway, feeling amazingly free although the slight weight of the bracelet on her ankle was a constant reminder that she remained his prisoner.

A prisoner and yet one who had been treated very well so far. Liliana had taken care of her injuries which they had both discovered were all healed when she taken a shower the night before. They had fed her. Provided some clothing, she thought, readjusting the overly large shirt that kept on slipping down one shoulder.

Mick’s shirt judging from the size and the smell of it. If she inhaled, she detected remnants of his very masculine scent on the fabric.

The sweat pants he had provided were also large at the hips, but close to the right length. She had tightly knotted the ties to keep the pants from falling off her hips which had been made almost boyish by her weight loss.

In the hall, she took only a cursory look at the one bedroom. It was obviously his office judging from the computer, monitors, and papers strewn on the large wooden worktable.

The room at the head of the stairs was clearly his bedroom.

She paused at the door. A large king-sized bed occupied most of the space. The dresser surface held a few pictures, but not much else. Everything was militarily neat.

Walking to the dresser, she examined the pictures. The people in them had such strong physical similarities that she didn’t doubt they were related. Which meant that besides Liliana there were two other siblings as well as a mother and father.

No girlfriend, she thought as she picked up and looked at the remaining photos in the frames.

She laid the frame back down, making sure she returned it to exactly where it had been. Her father had always insisted that there was a place for everything and everything should go back in its place.

Exiting the room, she paused at the top of the stairs, uncertain of just how much freedom he intended to give her. She should just go downstairs, she told herself. A cold tremor snaked through her gut as she recalled what would happen to her at Wardwell when she disobeyed.

The sensation was so strong that something shimmered along the edges of her vision, creating a weird halo effect over all that she saw. She remembered seeing something similar before. Maybe when she had first escaped into the forest.

She gripped the banister more tightly, disoriented as she discerned the shapes of the real images sporting the unusual and colorful auras.

Her hand on the railing. The steps leading downward.

The images were all there, oddly limned, but there.

She took a first tentative step down the stairs, her knees wobbly from the shock of the change in her vision. Then she straightened her spine, closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. Held her breath as she took one step and then another until she was finally at the bottom of the stairs.

She stopped on the polished wood floor in the living room immediately off the stairs. Heard voices to the right of her, down a small hall that ran beside a comfortably sized dining room.

His voice. Her voice. Talking about her. Their voices vibrating loudly in her brain. More loudly than was normal.

“You can’t turn her over to Edwards. You read the file. You know what they did to her.”

A tired sigh followed, filled with more regret than she had expected. “If she killed Wells, I have to turn her over to somebody.”

Somebody.

The police, Caterina hoped, until it occurred to her that in her current state, the police would not know what to do with her. Or worse, that they would return her to Wardwell.

“How long before they turn her back into a science experiment?” Liliana said, echoing her thought.

Caterina turned to go to the kitchen, but then realized she could see them. Or rather, she could see weird-colored outlines of their bodies through the walls ahead, like some kind of radar.

The irrational images dizzied her as she tried to put things to right and as the room began a slow lazy spin, she fumbled to steady herself against a large oak sideboard nearby.

A terra cotta pitcher on the surface flew off and crashed to the floor as she misjudged the edge of the furniture. Once she latched onto the edge of the heavy sideboard, the wood gave slightly beneath her fingers as she stabilized herself.

The noise of the pitcher smashing against the floor brought the two siblings running, but Liliana paused halfway down the hall, a shocked expression on her face. She raised her hand to her mouth, disbelief on her expressive features.

Mick had no such hesitation.

He plowed forward toward her, his mouth a tight line across his face. His cocoa brown eyes blazing with anger.

She flinched as he neared, only his touch was gentle as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, offering support.

* * *

“You can let go. I’ve got you,” Mick said in soft measured tones, realizing that Caterina was on the brink. That if she lost her balance, he didn’t know what might follow. That maybe he couldn’t handle what might follow if in fact she had been the one to kill Wells.

She sagged against him and her fingers popped free from where they had dug into the hardwood of the sideboard.

“That’s it. Easy,” he said, worried that if the medical file was accurate, rage might follow Caterina’s current state.

Her skin had taken on the colors of the room around her – a deep coral color but with a slight shimmer like diamonds in spots. As he locked his gaze on hers, he detected bits of glowing green in the normally deep blue of her eyes. The GFPs tracking the expression of the genes Wardwell had implanted, he guessed.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, giving him some measure of relief that Caterina remained aware that something unusual was going on. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know, Cat. I’m going to pick you up and take you over to the couch,” he said and at her nod, he did just that, slipping his arms beneath her knees and carrying her.

She eased her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder, the action so trusting that his heart skipped a beat from the emotion of it.

Somehow, Caterina trusted him. Possibly believed in him.

It had been a long time since that had occurred with anyone outside of his family. Not since his days in the Army or maybe the year or so after, when he had been an EMT.

Certainly never with a woman.

And despite the camo and the glow, Caterina was all woman.

It was there in the press of her breasts against his chest as he eased her onto the sofa and held her. In the softness of her hair which tangled with his fingers as he pushed it back from her forehead, offering comfort.

“It’ll be okay, Cat,” he said and she sighed softly, her warm breath spilling against the side of his neck.

Liliana gingerly entered the room, concern etched onto her features. When she saw Mick had it under control, she sat down in the chair across from them, vigilant.

Mick continued his soft caress and leaned his head against the top of Caterina’s as it rested on his shoulder.

He looked across to Liliana and she bopped her head in Caterina’s direction. He knew what she wanted to do.

“Will you let Liliana examine you so we know what’s happening?”

Caterina shivered in his grasp, but nodded.

Liliana popped up from the chair, rushed from the room and then came back with her medical bag. She laid her hand on Caterina’s forearm and stroked it gently. “Let me see your eyes, Cat.”

Caterina turned her head toward Liliana, but her gaze remained downcast. Fearful.

Liliana tucked her forefinger under Caterina’s chin and urged her head up slightly. With her penlight, she illuminated Caterina’s irises, activating the phosphorescent trackers which shot off a bright blue-green glow.

Releasing her chin, Liliana swept the penlight across her skin. Her skin reflected the light as if Caterina had dusted her flesh with body glitter.

“I don’t recall seeing this behavior before. How about you?” Liliana asked Mick.

He thought back to the night he had captured Caterina. There had been the weird fluorescent blood and skin camo, but nothing like this unusual glow.

“Definitely a ‘no’. I’m gathering that’s not good news.”

Liliana shook her head. “Carmen said the cells were replicating at amazing rates. Maybe so much so that they’re overwhelming the true cells in her body.”

Caterina uttered a shocked, “I want to stay human. I want to stop this.”

“Focus for me, Cat,” he murmured, aware that was the one thing that had worked so far to bring her back to reality.

* * *

Caterina gripped his shoulder roughly. His body jerked and a sharp exhalation of pain escaped him. She tempered her hold and concentrated on the gentle tug of his hand against her hair. On the constant heart beat beside hers with its regular human beat.

Before their eyes, the deep coral color and glowing bits on her skin and in her eyes faded while the outlines disappeared and normal sight returned to Caterina.

When Caterina dared to look up at Mick, she tried to explain what she had experienced.

“I wasn’t sure I was supposed to come down.”

“Mi casa e su casa,” he replied.

“When I got downstairs, I heard you, but all I could see were weird auras around everything and all these strange colors.” She shot an anxious look from him to his sister and then back. “I don’t want to be someone’s lab experiment. I want to be normal again.”

A muscle ticked along the line of his jaw and his eyes became flat as he looked at her. “I have no control over that.”

She doubted his words. He seemed to have control over so much, but she wouldn’t push the issue right now. Not when she was relying on the two of them for her safety.

Since Mick’s face had become hard and unyielding, she grabbed hold of Liliana’s hand. “You’ll help me, right?”

His sister squeezed Caterina’s hand, trying to keep her calm and avoid another transformation. “I’ll do what I can.”

Facing him, she said, “Isn’t there anything in my medical file that can help?”

Mick immediately jumped in. “Plasmapheresis was one of the treatments mentioned in your history.”

Liliana let out a low whistle. “Plasmapheresis will be tough. It’s not like I can whip up a cell separator to bring here. The machine is way too big. Plus it’ll require us getting information on what needs to be filtered out of Cat’s blood for the treatment to be effective.”

Caterina glanced back at Mick and asked, “So was there another treatment in the file?”

Liliana answered this time. “Your medical history mentioned an inhibitor drug, but didn’t mention its composition.”

“Inhibitor?” Caterina asked.

“I’m assuming it’s some kind of chemical concoction they worked up that slows down the gene replication going on in your body,” Mick advised.

“But you don’t know what’s in it.”

“We would need to get the medication from Wardwell,” he said.

“You can’t go back there. It’s too dangerous.”

Chapter 18

Mick exhaled roughly and slipped her off his lap and onto the sofa. Jamming his hands on his hips, he considered her, rattled that she seemed more concerned for him than for herself. He wasn’t used to people other than his family caring for him. And he didn’t like that he was starting to care for her in ways that had nothing to do with the job.

He needed distance from Caterina and so he said, “What makes you think I’m volunteering for the job?”

A bright flush of color worked over her cheeks and she looked away, the apprehension apparent on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume.”

Guilt slammed into him, because he knew that no matter what, it was his responsibility to find out what was going on and how to get her the help she needed.

“Let’s get you something to eat. Then I can decide what to do,” he said and with a sharp look at his sister, he urged her into motion. Like the mother hen that she was, she quickly had Caterina moving toward the kitchen.

Once they were there, he scrubbed his face with his hands, glad for the physical distance so he could master the emotions she roused in him. Emotions that were making this assignment much harder than it needed to be.

When he had gotten his guards back up into place, he headed toward the kitchen, but as he entered and Caterina met his gaze, those protections crumbled faster than a house of cards.

Fuck, he thought. Of all the times to actually give a shit about someone, this was the worst possible time.

He needed to get her out of his life and fast, before unwanted emotion made it impossible to do so.

* * *

Mick had been expecting the call from Edwards. It came while he was on his way down to the Wardwell facilities. He held the phone in his hand, tempted to answer and rattle Edwards’ cage, but he held back.

He needed to save any shock and awe tactics with Edwards for when they would be most effective. Luckily the call had reminded him of one thing – to silence his phone.

Half an hour later he reached his destination.

Caterina had traveled for miles after escaping the Wardwell labs and finding refuge at the Music Academy. He guesstimated it was only about a mile from the roadside rest area where he had stopped to the woods nestled against the Wardwell complex. The woods were one of the farthest most edges of the Pinelands. Because of the complex’s location close to that National Park and on top of the state’s largest natural aquifer, the construction of the Wardwell facilities had generated a bit of controversy amongst local environmentalists.

The protests had resulted in quite a number of public meetings which in turn had created lots of information about Wardwell, including various iterations of the physical layout of the facilities in relation to the nearby Pine Barrens, making it easy for him to find a back way toward the labs through the woods.

The ground was muddy.

Not good. It would provide too much evidence that someone had been there.

Not that I should be here, Mick thought. He should have ignored the responsible side of him – the honorable side of him – that said he had no choice but to go back to Wardwell for the inhibitor drug.

He was about two hundred feet away from the first Wardwell building when he noticed tracks in the soil. Booted footprints. They were all the same type and size so luckily that meant only one person had been there, possibly reconnoitering the area.

Given Franklin’s warning, he had an idea who it was.

Mad Dog might be keeping an eye on those places connected to Caterina until he had a better lead on where she might have gone. He might even have guessed that Mick was now possibly working for the other team and would need information from the lab to clear Caterina.

Easing on the night vision goggles, Mick perused the perimeter of the buildings.

Nothing registered, although he picked up the faint signature of a night watchman in the guard booth at the gate to the complex.

Turning his attention to the woods, he caught a sign of motion close to the edge of the broad manicured lawn that formed a barrier between the woods and the edge of the building holding the medical complex where Caterina and the other patients had been kept.

He hunkered down, training his attention on the area. Another short rush of movement came, confirming that someone else was out there in the woods.

A telling flash erupted in the darkness only a second before chips of wood flew off the trunk of the tree beside his head.

Shit, he thought and hit the ground hard. He pulled his Glock from the holster tucked into the small of his back, but he suspected he was out-gunned. The shooter had a rifle with a silencer. A weapon with much greater range than his pistol.

The shooter had also clearly been waiting for him. Maybe he had even known that he had already paid a visit to the Wardwell facilities since he had positioned himself close to where Mick had been checking the area the afternoon before.

He crawled forward hand-over-hand, cautiously propelling himself toward his attacker. The soil was wet and cool against his body. The soft ping of another rifle shot traveled across the night, but the harder thunk against wood which followed sounded far from his current position.

Whoever it was had lost track of him, but that wouldn’t last for long.

He pushed ahead more quickly, his night vision focused on the blob before him that was a person, kneeling in a sniper’s practiced stance. When he was about fifteen feet away, it was time to act.

He dragged off his goggles and reached into his satchel where he pulled out a flare, ignited it, and immediately tossed it forward and away from him.

The shooter rose, clearly following the movement in order to squeeze off a shot, his back to Mick.

Mick charged, plowing forward like a fullback, body low. He connected with the shooter mid-spine at full force and the man flew forward hard, losing his grip on the rifle. The weapon skittered off into the underbrush.

Mick jerked his gun toward the man, but his opponent half-rolled to his side and snapped off a quick chop to his wrist that deadened Mick’s hand. He lost his grip on the weapon and his opponent took advantage to sweep his one arm across and send Mick’s gun flying away.

Exerting force, he once again got the man lying flat beneath him, but the man followed up with a sharp jab toward his face.

Mick avoided it by rolling off and coming to his feet, but so did the sniper, who rose slowly from the ground, hands outstretched in a sign of surrender.

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t be an easy kill, Carrera,” Mad Dog said and took a step toward him.

Mick did a quick look for his gun. It was a few feet away and out-of-reach.

“No need for bloodshed, Mad Dog. I just have to get something from the lab.”

“Guess you found Shaw. She must be really good in the sack if you’re willing to sacrifice the bonus to bag her.”

Bonus? The original check had possessed enough zeroes to tempt a saint and now there was a bonus?

Neither he nor Mad Dog were saints.

“Haven’t found her yet, but thanks for the heads up about the bonus,” he lied, but Mad Dog clearly wasn’t buying it.

“You want something from the lab don’t you?” he said and with a slow careful motion, Mad Dog reached into his pocket. Just as cautiously, he pulled out some kind of card. As the moonlight illuminated the plastic, Mick realized it was a key card like the one he had used the day before to enter the facilities.

“What do you want, Mad Dog?”

A cold smile crept across his face. “What I’ve always wanted, Mick – a piece of you, but I’ll settle for splitting the bonus with you.”

“A piece of me? Some other time Mad Dog. As for the bonus, I have no intention of turning over Shaw until I know what’s really going on.” Besides, considering how many mercenaries Edwards had sent out on this job, Mick suspected that none of them would ever live long enough to get the bonus after returning Caterina to Wardwell.

“You always were too honorable,” Mad Dog replied and with a quick snap of his wrist, he suddenly held a small knife in his hand.

Mad Dog had cut him off from reaching his gun, the knife held out in front of him. With the repetitiveness of a pendulum swing, Mad Dog slashed back and forth, but Mick avoided the razor fine point of the knife, his steps quick-footed and sure. Dodging each feint of the knife as he sought an opening to reach Mad Dog.

Finally Mad Dog pushed him back toward the edge of the lawn with a swift lunge and Mick stumbled on a tangle of roots, but quickly got his feet back under him.

But Mad Dog immediately seized on that minute slip, swinging his hand in a wide arc that caught Mick on the forearm with the knife.

Heat erupted where the blade skimmed across his skin, but he didn’t let that deter him.

As Mad Dog’s arm swept by and he reversed the blade for another swipe, Mick moved in closer and grabbed hold of his opponent’s wrist. He jerked it against his knee and the blow loosened Mad Dog’s grip on the knife.

Mad Dog slapped out with his free hand, trying to get a hold on Mick’s head, but he yanked away. Slipping beneath Mad Dog’s arm, he delivered a punishing blow to his ribs.

His ex-colleague grunted and doubled over.

Mick drove up with his knee, connecting with Mad Dog’s face. Immense satisfaction filled him at the crunch of bone which followed.

The satisfaction was short-lived.

Mad Dog retaliated with an elbow that caught him close to his liver, driving his breath from him. He stepped back to avoid the blow he knew would come next.

He wasn’t fast enough.

A hard jab connected with the side of his face and Mad Dog followed with an upper-cut that had him staggering backward.

“Slowing down in your old age,” Mad Dog taunted and assumed a traditional fighting stance, bouncing on the toes of his feet, his fists upraised. Clearly ready for action despite the blows Mick had landed.

But he was ready as well.

Mick assumed a similar position and when Mad Dog charged, he easily dodged the attack and engaged him in earnest.

The night became peppered with their grunts as fists or legs connected. With the slap of a deflected blow and the scuffling sounds of their boots along the underbrush and fallen leaves in the woods and along the edge of the lawn.

Mick bided his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He would have to win the battle to get the key. He knew Mad Dog would only consider it a win if Mick ended up dead.

The moment came sooner than Mick expected.

Chapter 19

Mad Dog lashed out with a high roundhouse kick, but missed badly and lost his balance on some slick leaves.

Mick took advantage.

He drove an elbow sharply into Mad Dog’s kidney as the missed kick sent him stumbling by.

Mad Dog groaned and dropped to the ground, grabbing at his side. Mick seized that arm, twisted it upward and Mad Dog sagged even further.

With that opportunity, he drove his knee into the middle of his opponent’s back and flattened him against the ground.

“Ready to say uncle, Mad Dog,” he asked, leaning close to the other man.

Mad Dog glanced up at him sideways, one part of his face plastered against the wet leaves and mud. “You know me better than that, Carrera.”

Sadly Mick did know him that well. Some day he would have to kill Mad Dog if was ever going to have any peace of mind.

But not tonight.

With two quick punishing blows to the side of Mad Dog’s head, he knocked him out, and then trussed him up with the cable ties in his jacket pocket. Whipping the key card out of Mad Dog’s front pocket, he retrieved his gun, and headed for the Wardwell facility.

* * *

With Caterina’s permission, Liliana had taken a second sample of blood for a two-fold purpose.

The first was to find out if the abnormally speedy gene replication was still ongoing.

The second was to determine if they could somehow recreate the parameters that her medical file indicated for the plasmapheresis. With that information, they could prepare the cell separator so that they could filter Caterina’s blood.

As Liliana hurried down to the pathology lab during her break, she hoped the latter could be delayed until they had the time to prepare it properly. That Mick would come through as he always did by getting the inhibitor drug.

At the door to the pathology lab, she paused, peering through the glass in the door to see who was inside.

Only Carmen once again, pulling another late shift, head bent over the microscope at the back of the lab.

She walked in and her friend’s head popped up. A welcoming smile blossomed on her face as she approached.

“Girlfriend! Are you going to make my day again?” she asked excitedly.

Liliana shot her a puzzled look. “What did I do?”

“That last blood specimen – major league interesting. High tech stuff. Those GFPs, or should I say, YFPs and other amazing stuff.”

Liliana sat on the lab stool next to her friend, peered back around the lab to make sure they were alone and whispered, “You didn’t say anything to anyone, did you?”

Carmen emphatically shook her head. “You asked me not to, but I couldn’t resist doing further analysis based on the results from the electropherogram.”

She tucked her hand into her lab jacket pocket and fingered the test tube there, worried that she maybe had made a wrong choice to involve Carmen. “Please tell me you didn’t involve anyone else.”

“I didn’t,” her friend reiterated. “But I will tell you that what I found was a mix of human gene fragments spliced together with those from squamates and amphibians.”

“Squamates and amphibians?”

“Lizards. Frogs,” Carmen quickly supplied and then added, “Probably because some amphibians have the ability regenerate the tissues in their bodies in a way that’s identical to the original tissue.”

“So if someone had harm to a particular kind of tissue it could be replaced?”

“You join a little piece of the tissue before it was damaged with the right kind of amphibious genes and you could conceivably regenerate mounds of new injury-free tissue,” Carmen said.

Which might explain why Caterina was now able to see, Liliana thought. If the cancer had left behind even a small part of her optic nerve, it could have been regenerated to possibly restore her eyesight. But that didn’t explain the skin thing or the weird auras that Caterina claimed to have experienced.

“Earth to Liliana,” Carmen said and snapped her fingers in front of her face.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about the possibilities.”

“Revolutionary,” Carmen said in awed tones.

She tightened her hand on the test tube, but then relented and pulled it out of her pocket. As she held it out to her friend, Liliana wondered if it was glowing a little more than it had the last time.

“May I?” Carmen asked as her hand hovered over the sample.

“Would you check this out? See if the replication is still as fast as you thought?”

“That’s easy. Ask me to do something hard,” Carmen quipped, clearly unaware of the importance of what was happening, much less of the real reason behind the request.

Something hard?

“Can you find out exactly what kind of lizard or frog? Let me know what might happen if those non-human genes keep on replicating.”

For the first time, Carmen grew serious. “This is more than some science experiment for you, isn’t it?”

Liliana narrowed her eyes and examined her friend, trying to decide just how much Carmen needed to know. After a hesitation, she finally said, “It’s much more than that. Life and death more than that.”

Carmen leaned against the edge of the lab bench and cautiously placed the test tube on its surface. Leaning forward, she took hold of Liliana’s hands. Carmen’s were smooth and slightly cold from the temperature in the lab, which explained why Carmen always wore a sweater – usually a funky one -- beneath her white jacket.

“I’m sorry, Liliana. I didn’t realize it was something personal. Of course I can try to find out, although it may be a little beyond my expertise,” her friend said.

“I’d appreciate it.”

Liliana hugged Carmen, hard and quick, and then made a hurried escape from the lab, only as she walked out it was right into Harrison.

His presence surprised her since he normally had little to do with the pathology department. He snared her upper arms in a cruel grasp and jerked her to the side.

“Is that why you haven’t been around? Playing both sides of the field now?” he whispered through clenched teeth and shook her hard, rattling her teeth.

“Stop it, Harrison.” She pushed against his chest, trying to break free.

Her actions didn’t deter him. He shook her roughly again. Moved forward until her back was against the wall and he had boxed her in, preventing her escape.

“But that’s where you’ve been. With Carmen.”

She forced her forearms up between them and shoved him back, regaining her space. Recapturing a piece of herself.

It surprised him that she was fighting back. He stepped away and stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Strange considering they had been involved for two years. Engaged for the last six months.

Engaged until right now.

She pulled the ring off her finger and held it out to him. “This is over, Harrison. I won’t be your punching bag anymore.”

He stared at the ring in her hand, then returned his gaze to her face. He placed his hand over the ring, but grasped both the ring and her hand in his much larger one and squeezed painfully. The pressure forced the ring against her palm and as the strength of his grip increased, the sharp prongs of the elaborate diamond ring cut into the flesh of her hand.

She tugged to escape, but he only held on tighter.

With another sharp tug, she finally broke free and the ring dropped to the floor, pinging against the tiles until it came to rest.

Harrison only shot it a sideways glance as he drove her up against the wall once again. Bending down from his greater height, he warned, “I will not let you do this to me, Liliana.”

He surged away from her, gracefully swooped down to recover the ring from the ground, and then head toward the elevator bank. As the door opened and one of the other doctors stepped out, he offered them an engaging smile and warm greeting.

He received a genial response which grew confused when the doctor noticed her standing down the hall.

She forced her own smile at the female physician as Harrison swept by her and into the elevator.

After a steadying breath, she took her first hesitant step to return to her rounds.

Her second step was more certain. Stronger. Imbued with the knowledge that it was a very important step.

It was the first step toward her new life.

Chapter 20

The home was one of welcome, filled with warm vibrant colors that reminded her of Mexico. Imbued with the touch of family which roused more memories of other times.

Happy times with her mother.

Caterina ran her hand over the rough-hewn oak sideboard. Regretted the roundish dents left behind by her fingers. She traced the rough edges of the cast iron candelabras which were crudely elegant as they rested on the wooden surface. They were beautiful even despite the lack of gloss or adornment. Simplistically functional like the man who owned them.

Leaning toward the fat pillar candle on one of them, she inhaled deeply, but only a hint of the fragrance remained.

He didn’t spend enough time in this place to use them or keep them fresh.

If the house was well-maintained, it was by someone else’s hand, she suspected.

The rumble of the garage door opening alerted her that he was back.

She walked to the kitchen and stood just a few feet away from the side door that led into the garage.

He came through a moment later. The alarm began its warning chirp, but he quickly shut it down and as he turned, she realized he was hurt. A bloody slice of skin was stark against the black of the clothes he wore. His face had a multitude of scrapes and bruises as did his hands.

It would have been too stupid to point out the obvious. Instead she grabbed the top rung of a kitchen chair and swung it around. Pointed to it and said, “Sit. I’ll go get something to patch you up.”

His eyes narrowed as he said, “Since I’m the one who knows where everything is, shouldn’t I go?”

“I’m sure I can find the supplies.” She jabbed her index finger at the chair again. “Sit before you bleed all over the kitchen.”

He stalked toward the oven, snagged one of the kitchen towels hanging from the door handle, and wrapped it around the wound on his forearm. When he took two big strides toward her, she controlled the urge to flinch, but miraculously, he obeyed her and plopped down onto the kitchen chair.

“There’s a small linen closet in the master bathroom. Medical kit is in there,” he said and cradled his injured arm to his midsection.

She rushed upstairs and found the kit right where he said. Grabbing the plastic olive green box with the red and white cross, she hurried back downstairs, but stopped short as she entered the kitchen.

He had pulled off his black sweater and the naked expanse of his shoulders was leanly muscled. On the one shoulder he bore a bruise in the shape of a hand – her hand.

Caterina bit her lip and walked around him to the table where she laid the medical kit on the table. While she opened the gear, she glanced at him sideways, slowly inventorying the damage to his body.

On his left shoulder, the vivid imprint of her hand from where she had grabbed him earlier that day.

Further down, a series of reddish blotches sure to turn into more bruises.

She skipped over the sight of his lean sculpted abs, her hands shaky as she took out some gauze and butterfly bandages from the medical supplies. As she removed the pre-packaged alcohol pads, she said, “Let me see your arm.”

He shifted the chair to better face her and it squeaked against the tile floor. Laying his hand flat on the table, he splayed his fingers against the thick wooden surface to allow her to examine the wound.

She winced as she noted the length and depth of the knife cut.

“That looks like it’ll need stitches.”

He grunted in agreement. “Lil can close it later if we clean it up.”

She nodded and ripped open a few alcohol pads. Wadding them together, she faced him to start the clean up, but as she did so she noticed the cuts, scrapes and bruises on his face. Once again she winced, earning an amused chuckle from him.

“Don’t worry. The other guy looks worse.”

His comment, undeniably macho as it was, dragged a chuckle from her before she dabbed at the areas around the wound. Gently she wiped away the dried blood and smudges of dirt. Tossed aside the dirty pads and opened up new ones.

As she gingerly cleaned the knife slice in his arm, he sucked in a breath and his fingers turned white as he pressed down on the table from the sting of the alcohol against the open wound.

“I’m sorry,” she said and guilt rose up even more sharply as she once again took note of her handprint against his collarbone and shoulder.

* * *

Mick tracked her gaze, but shrugged off her apology. “You didn’t mean to do that.”

“Doesn’t make it right or any less painful I suspect,” she said and brushed the tips of her fingers across the bruise.

That touch – innocent and honest – ripped through his body, tightening his gut and creating an unexpected and unwanted reaction.

From the tremble of her fingers a millisecond before she yanked her hand away, she clearly had experienced something intense as well.

When he raised his head and examined her features, he couldn’t fail to notice how her irises had widened and a blush – a very human blush – had blossomed across her cheeks.

Needing to return their interaction to a more neutral place he said, “Can you put some butterfly bandages on it for now? Cover it up for me.”

She shifted away from him and her fingers pecked at the contents of the kit, picking and choosing the supplies she would need. After they were ready for use, she carefully applied the butterfly strips and then covered the area with gauze she taped into place.

“Thank you,” he said, but she clearly wasn’t done tending to him.

“Lift your head.” He did as she asked, amused by the command in her voice that was at odds with the tenderness of her touch.

Carefully she tended to the cuts and scrapes on his face, the look on her face intense as she worked. Concerned and guilt-ridden.

He tried to reassure her as with light strokes she cleaned a scrape on his chin. “Like I said, the other guy looks worse. Besides, the fight had little to do with you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said and leaned one hip against the edge of the table as she worked.

“The guy I fought has a problem with me. We used to work together.”

“In the Army?” she questioned as she started to pick up the dirty swabs and remnants of gauze and tape, shooting him a half-glance as she waited for his answer.

“They’d never take a psycho like him into the Army.”

He rose from the chair and the motion brought him close to her. Too close. Her shoulder brushed against the wall of his chest, creating that skitter of reaction once more.

Her head snapped up. Her eyes were that intense ocean blue once more, the pupils wide. The blush even stronger across the high slashes of her cheekbones. She licked her lips in a nervous gesture and the moisture glistened on her lips.

Very luscious womanly lips.

He dipped his head down, hesitating when he was about an inch away. Warning himself that if he took a taste . . .

He did, barely brushing his lips against hers. Experiencing the hitch in her breath that spoke of surprise. Experiencing shock at the moment where surprise became acceptance.

Chapter 21

Caterina joined her lips to his, the need for human contact overwhelming any caution about the logic of what she was doing.

His lips were warm and surprisingly soft beneath hers. Mobile as they gently explored hers, pizzicato plucks playing at her heart strings.

She laid her hand against his chest to steady herself. That rock hard chest. Too warm beneath her hand. His skin tempting and smooth.

So smooth, she thought as she skimmed her fingers down the length of his body.

He ripped away, toppling the kitchen chair behind him in his haste to be away from her.

Raising his hands, he said, “That should not have happened. I’m sorry.”

She hated that he was right. It shouldn’t have happened. “I’m sorry as well, but I just needed it. I didn’t mean to use you.”

“It’s the satisfaction of surviving. I’ve been through it before. It’s a natural reaction after a battle,” he said and she imagined that he had experienced this same feeling before. The conquering hero coming home to whatever woman awaited him in that place. Celebrating the victory over an opponent. Thumbing his nose at Death.

She understood all too well. Her father had been a warrior in a suit, vanquishing opponents in the marketplace. He would come home, drunk with victory and liquor. Beating his chest and belittling her mother’s accomplishments and joys. Diminishing them to aggrandize himself until her mother had stopped believing in herself.

Until her mother had ceased to exist.

“I understand,” she said, not that she approved. But she couldn’t control herself from reaching up and running her fingers across her lips to savor the lingering feel of him.

His gaze tracked that motion too intently, but then he shuttered that gaze. His face turned stony and his lips thinned into a tight line as he reined himself in.

“I’m going to go get changed,” he said and hurried away from the kitchen.

She watched his retreating back, wondering about the kind of man he really was. If there was anything to him other than the warrior who lived only for his own gain and success.

A gain that had to be substantial, she assumed, thinking that Edwards would be willing to pay a great deal to get her back. Would Mick tire of the challenge she seemed to be presenting and turn her over to Edwards for that bounty? Or was he a man of honor beneath the dangerous and hard persona he insisted on displaying to others?

As she stood there, considering it, she realized either scenario was risky for her. And she realized that just like she had refused to let her father determine where her life would go, she couldn’t just rely on him to get her life back for her.

She had to find a way to take care of it herself.

* * *

The scientist stared at the bloodied and dirtied face of Matthew Mad Dog Donnelly. Examined with annoyance and frustration the leaves and bits of twig glued to him by the drying mud.

“You assured me you could deal with Carrera,” he said and gestured to the cabinet on the wall. One shelf was completely empty. The shelf which had once held half a dozen vials of the inhibitor medication necessary for controlling the gene replication in their patients. It would take only a day to make more of the compound, but with the vials taken, Shaw could easily last another six months or more.

“I can take care of Carrera,” Mad Dog reassured, rubbing at his wrists which still bore the markings from the cable ties Mick had used to secure him.

The man inspected the paid mercenary, circling around him the way a guard might a prisoner, hands held behind his back. Assessing the dirt all along his body and the bruises and scrapes on his face.

“Carrera has Shaw,” he said.

Mad Dog denied it with a quick shake of his head. “Carrera said he was still looking for her.”

“He has Shaw,” he nearly shouted and jabbed at the tell-tale empty row in the cabinet. “He took the medicine necessary to treat her.”

Mad Dog’s gaze flickered to the empty space before he pulled his shoulders back and a steely glint came into his glacial ice-blue eyes. “If he has her, I’ll deal with both of them.”

“I won’t pay extra for Carrera,” he said, but a twisted gleam took hold in the mercenary’s eerie crystal-cold eyes.

“When the time is right, Carrera is a dead man,” Mad Dog said.

The scientist walked up to the hired man and peered at Mad Dog. “Do you know what Machiavelli said about enemies?”

At the mercenary’s hesitation, he said, “The injury that is to be done to a man ought to be of such a kind that one does not stand in fear of revenge.”

Poking a finger into the hard wall of Mad Dog’s chest, he warned, “Don’t play around with a man like Carrera. Eliminate him.”

Chapter 22

Mick controlled his grimace as Liliana finished tying off the last stitch in his arm. Barely a flicker crossed his face and skirted across his skin thanks to his restraint.

He wished he had used such restraint earlier, still berating himself for what had happened with Caterina.

“You’ll need to keep this dry for twenty-four hours.”

“Damn, there goes that bubble bath I had planned on taking,” he teased, but it failed to bring a smile to his sister’s face.

“You okay?” he asked, worried at the troubled look in her deep emerald eyes. He was sorry that he might have placed it there.

“Okay? You want to know if I’m okay.”

With jerky motions she cleaned up the materials she had used for the sutures and stalked across the kitchen to toss them away. Rounding on him, she jammed her hands on her hips. “You’re hurt. Someone named Mad Dog is after you and Caterina. And speaking of Caterina, what are you going to do with her?”

“I got the inhibitor. Several vials of the medication are in my satchel.” He jerked his hand in the direction of the worn black bag resting on one of the kitchen chairs.

She walked to the chair, picked up the canvas bag, and removed a handful of the vials. Weighing them carefully in her hand, she said, “Based on the dosages indicated in her medical file, these should last for some time. Certainly long enough for you to figure out why someone wants her dead.”

The relief on his sister’s face was incomplete. “Something else is bothering you.”

She placed the vials on the table, and then removed the rest from the satchel. As she did so, he noticed the bare spot on her ring finger.

“You broke it off with Harrison.”

Nodding, she replied, “He didn’t take it well.”

He rose from the chair, flinching at the ache in his ribs as he stood. Mad Dog hadn’t broken them, but it still hurt like hell. He closed the distance between them and laid his hands on his sister’s shoulders. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

She shrugged off his hands. “You’ll protect me. And Caterina.”

She whirled on him and laid a hand on the middle of his chest. “Mom and dad. Tony. You’ll take care of all of us.”

She shoved his chest hard enough to make him recoil, tender as the area was thanks to the blows from Mad Dog.

“Who will take care of you, big bro?”

Apparently recognizing that her question had no answer, she grabbed one of the vials and her medical bag, and stormed out of the kitchen. He heard the heavy thump of her footsteps on the stairs, a testament to her anger.

He could have followed to try and reassure her he had things under control, but opted to give her time to cool down. Since Liliana had once again brought home food from the family restaurant, he placed the take-out dishes in the oven. While he welcomed the food, he worried it came with a very large price tag – a visit from their mother.

She was bound to be wondering about what was happening with him and why Liliana was involved in it.

When the food was in the oven and the kitchen table was set, he took a steadying breath and headed upstairs.

Caterina was sitting on the edge of the bed. Liliana was perched across from her in the recliner. His sister had a syringe in her hand which she had plunged into the vial he had taken from Wardwell’s lab. As he walked in Liliana said, “I’m using the dosage indicated in the file.”

Liliana pulled the syringe from the vial and in a fluid move, swapped the vial for the rubber hose sitting on the nightstand. She wrapped the hose around Caterina’s bicep, tapped her arm for a vein, and then injected her with the medication.

Caterina jerked as she did so, prompting Liliana to say, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Caterina shook her head. “It’s not you. It’s burning.”

“That happens with some medications,” he explained and walked into the room.

As he did so, Caterina looked up at him and offered a brave smile. “Thank you for getting the medicine.”

“Hopefully it’ll keep things under control until we can find out what really happened to Wells.”

Liliana withdrew the syringe, placed a band aid over the injection site, and urged Caterina to bend her arm to apply pressure.

Once she did so, Caterina said, “I can help you with the investigations now.”

“Maybe if the meds work, but first it would help if you could try to remember more about what happened that night,” Mick said.

Caterina nodded. “I’ll try. Only every time I do ... “ She shrugged and wrapped her free arm around her waist. “There’s always blood. Lots of it. All over Dr. Wells and me.”

He nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. She averted her gaze, looking away, but he tucked his thumb and forefinger beneath her chin and urged her gaze back to his.

“You need to get past that to try and remember what happened before. To get to the moment when Wells was killed.”

Caterina nodded. “I’ll try.”

He brushed away some stray unruly locks from her face, resisting the temptation to stroke the soft, thick hair. “You can try later. Liliana was kind enough to bring dinner again and I suspect you’re hungry.”

Caterina smiled and it caused a funny hitch in the middle of his chest. “I thought I smelled something tasty.”

“Let’s go get some eats then,” Liliana said and rose from the chair, but as she did so, his sister shot him a bemused look, clearly aware that something had happened between them.

Despite that, Liliana said nothing, only led the way down to the kitchen and the food she had brought.

* * *

With dinner over and the two women sharing an easy conversation as they cleaned up, Mick had felt driven from the kitchen, unable to stand the way the two chatted about everyday things, seemingly without a care to the danger which existed. He had not wanted to burst their fragile bubble with the reality that so far he had nothing to prove that Caterina wasn’t a murderess. But worse, he also couldn’t abide the sense of homecoming he felt sitting at the table with them.

He had long ago given up on the possibility of having a real home of his own.

Locking himself away in his office, he spent the night perusing the Internet for information on Edwards and Wardwell Biotech and discovered more than he had expected.

News from various science sites had confirmed that Wardwell was a leader in developing a number of different fluorescent proteins for use in various applications as well as an innovator in the field of gene therapies. Much had been made of one of their early experiments where they had successfully regenerated nerve tissue using genes spliced from an amphibian.

That would explain Liliana’s comments at dinner about the test results reported by her pathologist friend.

As he sat back, he realized that advances from that simple success might account for the restoration of Caterina’s sight, but confusion remained about the strange halo sight and skin camo she was displaying.

Why implant even more genes to create a human chimera? he thought. Especially one half out of her mind from a powerful combo of dissociative drugs unless . . .

MK Ultra, he thought once again, returning to the CIA experiments with mind control. If Edwards thought he could create chimeras with useful traits and under his power, those altered beings could be quite useful and profitable.

Only nothing in any of the news articles supported such a crazy hypothesis, he thought, leaned over the keyboard, and continued searching.

By the end of the night, Liliana had been called back to the hospital for an emergency and he had unearthed a small article off a financial news site.

Edwards had recently met with the head of Gates Genengineering, a larger biotech company whose new drug application had suffered a rejection from the FDA. The NDA was for a therapy similar to the Wardwell process used on Caterina. The article mentioned possible discussions of a merger. Given the size of the other company, a merger might be worth tens of millions to the Wardwell owners.

Of course if anyone got wind of what Edwards and his researchers had done to people like Caterina and those unfortunates with the “Terminated” stickers, no one would touch the company. In fact, they would be lucky not to end up in jail for the rest of their lives.

If Wells had somehow developed a conscience and had been about to blow the whistle on the entire experiment, it made perfect sense as to why Edwards would want him dead.

It also made sense why Edwards would hire not one but three mercenaries to go after Caterina. He couldn’t take the risk that she would expose what had happened and ruin the multi-million dollar merger.

To prove motive, however, he had to confirm that the merger was actually proceeding. Opening his e-mail program, he right-clicked on one of the e-mails from Edwards and checked the message header. Buried in the header was the IP address for Wardwell’s system. Launching a hacking program a friend had provided years ago, the system started searching for open ports and found several of them in the firewall.

He used one of the open ports, accessed the Wardwell system, and hoped that someone in IT had been lazy and left at least one of the servers with the default settings. Sure enough, one server still had the no password default. Shortly after, he entered the Wardwell servers. He didn’t want to linger long, afraid that someone might eventually catch on to his break-in.

He started a search of “Gates” and within just a few short minutes had located a Word document on the server. Better yet, it was in a directory that appeared to belong to Edwards. He quickly downloaded the document and exited.

When he opened the document, it confirmed the merger had progressed substantially.

Gates Genenigeering had made an offer of 100 million dollars to acquire Wardwell. With that much money at stake, there was no doubt about the motive for Wells’ murder.

He had to warn Franklin.

He dialed his friend who immediately answered.

“I’ve got some information and you’re not going to like it,” he said and explained about the merger.

“I’m liking this less and less every day, Mick. I’ve got a family now,” Franklin said and for the first time ever, Mick heard something in his friend’s tone that he had never expected to hear.

Real fear. The kind that grabbed hold of your gut and made you doubt. Even a scintilla of doubt on a mission was not good.

“I understand, Franklin. So here’s what I want you to do.”

Chapter 23

Mick provided his friend with the basic details about the merger and asked him to try and track down more information as to when it might be occurring. Then he gave him the names and addresses of the two “Terminated” patients whose files he had stolen. He needed to know more about what their families had been told about their progress and deaths.

“What about Donnelly?” Franklin asked, concern resonating in the tones of his voice.

What about Mad Dog? Mick thought, recalling his earlier encounter with the man. At his hesitation, Franklin prompted him again for an answer and he said, “Whatever happens with Mad Dog won’t involve you. I promise you that. It’ll be between him and me.”

Because they had a score to settle.

“Thanks, Mick. I’ve got too much to lose,” his friend said and hung up.

He swiped the phone to end the call, Franklin’s last words digging into his brain.

“I’ve got too much to lose”, but Mick had little if nothing to lose.

He rose, intent on checking on his captive, when he heard the insistent beep-beep-beep of the alarm system signaling that someone had opened a point of entry into the house.

He rushed to the guest room, hoping it hadn’t been Caterina, but she was gone.

Cursing, he grabbed the stair railing, vaulted down to the middle of the stairs, then up and over the handrail to the next level. He landed on the wooden floor with enough force to rattle the minimalist accessories on the nearby furniture.

Ahead of him the kitchen door leading to the backyard was wide open.

He ran toward the door and the cell phone at his hip began to buzz.

A message flashed, alerting him to the fact that Caterina had breached the designated perimeter for the ankle bracelet she was wearing.

He rushed outside, believing he would have to give chase as she ran off the property, but instead he watched as she executed a graceful dive into the built-in pool in the backyard.

Shocked, he was about to go after her when the house alarm increased in pitch, alerting him to the fact it would soon trip and dispatch instructions to the central station.

Since Caterina didn’t seem to be going anywhere and he didn’t need the police coming to check out the call from the central station, he returned inside and shut off the alarm. He answered his phone when it rang a second later.

“I got a warning here at the station about the ankle bracelet. Do I need to send in the troops?” Ramon asked.

Mick walked toward the edge of the pool where Caterina was treading water in the center, her arms wrapped tight around herself, shivering. The violent chattering of her teeth was visible even with the long distance.

Something was wrong, but it was nothing that needed to involve Ramon.

“No, Ramon. Everything is under control here,” he said, but as Caterina’s skin faded away to the bright blue of the pool lining, nothing could have been farther from the truth.

Mick walked to the edge of the pool and crouched down, meeting her gaze. The reflection from the pool water had made it an almost iridescent aqua. Her skin was increasingly taken on the intense hue as well.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Hot ... burning up,” she replied and slowly sank beneath the surface of the water.

Shit, he thought. Liliana would be pissed as all hell if he let Caterina drown on his watch.

He quickly yanked off his shirt, pants, and shoes, placed his cell phone within easy reach on the pool deck, and dove in.

With one powerful stroke he reached her.

Wrapping his arms around her body, he dragged her to the surface where they both gulped in a big breath of air.

To his surprise, she laid her head on his shoulder and once again said, “I’m burning up.”

She was. Even with the cool waters of the pool surrounding them, heat poured off her skin. Her body shivered against his with brutal force, her teeth rattling together until with each second that passed, the chill of the waters penetrated her body and brought some relief.

Relief from the fever racking her body didn’t bring an end to the transformation of her skin. Luckily the high fence surrounding the property offered some privacy for the moment, but not much.

Anyone with a second story window or balcony facing their way would get a good glimpse once they left the water. He had to get her to restore more of her human state before they returned to the house.

He raised his hand and ran it across the slick strands of her hair in a soothing gesture. Bringing his lips close to the shell of her ear, he whispered, “Are you feeling better?”

She nodded and finally relaxed a bit, releasing the tight hold she’d had on her own body to wrap her arms around him.

So not good, he thought at the soft press of her very womanly body against his.

Think baseball, he said to himself as he cupped her cheek and urged her to lift her head. When she did so, he said, “I need you to lose the camo, Cat.”

Realization sank in as she shot a quick glance at her arms.

She screwed her eyes shut and beneath her breath began her mantra. Her lips barely moved as she said, “Focus. Focus. Focus.”

He braced one hand in the middle of her back and joined in the mantra, only it distracted him from safe thoughts of baseball and brought home to Caterina the natural reaction his body was having to her proximity.

“Focus,” she said, more loudly and opened her eyes.

They were back to normal, not that you could ever call eyes that blue and beautiful normal.

She bit her bottom lip, worrying it with her teeth as she raised one hand to steady herself against his shoulder.

The movement only pressed them closer together and revealed another truth – he was not the only one aroused.

The pebbly hard tip of her nipples bored holes into his chest and he would have had to be a saint not to touch.

He was no saint, but somehow restrained himself thereby possibly earning sainthood.

He cupped her cheek, leaned his head close, and asked, “Do you feel well enough to go back into the house?”

* * *

Caterina focused on his warm breath and the hard palm of his hand against her skin. She closed her eyes and imagined it was a lover’s touch. A touch that begged for sweet compensation in return.

Opening her eyes, she inched toward him until her lips almost brushed his and whispered, “Yes.”

His breath hitched in his chest and against her body, his erection jumped in answer. He applied gentle pressure and urged her face upward as she acquiesced to that demand.

Human demand.

The call of male to female somehow reaffirming that she was still a woman. Still so much more than someone’s lab rat.

When she raised her head, he was bending toward her. He paused as his lips skimmed against hers, the warm spill of his breath enticing her to savor his mouth.

She touched her lips to his, telling herself to focus on them. On him. On the pleasure his touch brought her.

* * *

Mick groaned at her consent, certain that it was insanity and yet he couldn’t stop kissing her.

She brought both hands to his shoulders. They were still hot against his skin, but not as hot as before. But way more hot than was right and he knew that as good as this felt and as much as he wanted to part her thighs and drive himself into her, honor demanded that he stop.

Easing himself away, but keeping a steadying grasp on her, he said, “We need to get you back inside. Make sure you’re okay.”

Puzzlement traveled across her features followed by confusion and possibly disappointment. “You don’t want me?”

“I do, but not like this, Cat,” he explained.

He’d had one too many cases of want with little else attached to it.

She was a case of too much want with too much luggage, none of it good.

Until it could be more and be something less dangerous, she was off limits, he told himself.

“Let’s go in,” he said, seeing that her body had returned to normal during their make-out session.

She confirmed his request with a nod and with a kick and one strong swipe of his arm he propelled them from the deeper end of the pool to where they could stand.

Side-by-side they walked to the stairs and stepped out onto the pool deck, the summer night air balmy against their skin. The wet oversized t-shirt clung to her body, shaping every curve. Exposing her long legs and the graceful sweep of her neck and one shoulder as the sodden fabric slipped downward with the weight of the water.

His own state was too obvious through the tighty whities he wore.

A bright flush stained her cheeks as she noticed. With a quick pivot on one heel, she raced back into the house, leaving him to mutter a curse, and hurriedly scoop up his clothing and cell phone.

Inside the house, he re-armed the alarm system before snagging a beach towel from the mud room off the kitchen. He wrapped it around his waist, grabbed another towel, and followed the trail of wet footprints up the stairs.

The door to the bathroom was closed and he knocked on it. Caterina only partially opened the door, but it was enough for him to see that she was now totally naked. He thrust the towel through the opening in the door and stalked to his room, where he toweled off and changed into dry sweats.

With Caterina’s fever, she needed something more lightweight to wear and he located an old cotton robe that would do.

He exited his room and found she was already back in the guest room, sitting in the bed, her knees tucked to her chest and the beach towel encircling her naked body. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself in a defensive gesture.

She had brushed her hair and it was slicked back from her face, bringing to stark notice her wide cerulean eyes and classically perfect features.

He stalked to the recliner, held out the robe to her, and sat down.

She took the robe from him, eased it on, and tied it closed. She then proceeded to do that shimmy thing that all women seemed to learn as some part of growing up ritual, shifting a bit here and there to slip the towel off her without dislodging the protection of the robe.

“What were you thinking?” he said.

She looked away toward the window at the far side of the room and shrugged. “I felt so hot and all that cool water was out there ... “

Her voice trailed off and she faced him once again. “I won’t do it again.”

It was difficult to be angry when she was so damned agreeable and innocent-looking as she sat there, arms wrapped around her bent knees. Head leaning on those knees as those damned blue eyes locked on his face. Skipped over his features with a force as powerful as a kiss.

“When you keep on tripping all the alarms, remember that it may not all be White Hats that answer,” he said, forcing a rough gruff to his voice to reinforce his concern and fight the feelings she stirred.

“Are you a good guy?” she asked, but beneath the innocent tones of her voice lay challenge. She seemed to recognize all too well the line he walked between black and white.

“It depends,” he said and because he was becoming too interested in her as something more than his target, he inched to the edge of the recliner and placed his hand on the crook of her neck. One hand was all it took to almost encircle that fragile column as he placed his thumb over her larynx.

He tightened his grip just a bit, but enough for her to realize his intent. Her eyes widened with apprehension and she grabbed hold of his wrist with both hands.

“You won’t hurt me,” she said.

Chapter 24

“I won’t?” Mick replied, increasing the pressure on her throat and achieving the result he wanted.

Her fight or flight response kicked in. Her skin erupted with the deep maroon color of his cotton robe and her hands tightened on his wrist, almost painfully so.

I can handle her like this, he thought. He could handle her when she wasn’t all soft enticing female and then she said, “You may claim you’re a killer, but you’re not.”

Reason told him to increase the pressure at her throat. To disprove her belief, but he couldn’t because she was right.

* * *

Caterina met his gaze as her heart thumped in quick allegro beats and her skin tingled in response. She held fast to his wrist and as she did so, the weird halo sight she had battled earlier returned, outlining his body in a bright blue while the center of him became a combination of other colors which communicated to her brain the heat of his body.

Like one of those cheap love meters on the boardwalk, she noted the cooler outside edges of his limbs and the increasing warmth moving toward his core.

In the middle of his chest, the brightest of all the colors. The most intense spot of heat.

She shifted one hand from his wrist to that spot. Absorbed the thump-thump of his heart against the sensitized pads of her fingers. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. A steady reliable beat like that of a conductor’s baton.

Splaying her hand against that beat, she closed her eyes, and concentrated on it and as she did so, the pressure at her throat eased until he finally moved his hand away.

But she didn’t move away.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. The color of his dark brown eyes had deepened to almost black. His irises were wide and beneath her hand, the thump-thump remained steady, but tension had crept into his body.

She finally shifted her hand away and wrapped her arms around her knees once again.

“You know what I think?” she said, alternately confused and accepting of what was happening between them.

“I don’t care what you think,” he replied, still obviously struggling to convince her that he was a bad ass.

That didn’t dissuade her. “I think you’re a White Hat only you’re afraid to admit it because if you do, that somehow makes you less dangerous. It makes you afraid that you won’t be able to control people if they think you might actually have a heart.”

She’d learned about fear and control from her father so she understood it well.

Amazingly he saw past her words to the emotion which drove her. “I’m not your daddy, Cat. But you will do what I tell you.”

On some level, she knew he only meant well. That he wanted to protect her and his sister and anyone else that he felt was his responsibility. But she had struggled to be free for too long. She had lost that precious freedom at Wardwell and she’d be damned if that happened again.

“We’ll see,” she said.

* * *

Dog tired, Liliana plodded up the three steps, stumbling on the last one despite the post lantern lighting up the walk in the dark of early morning. She caught herself before she fell and continued up the walk.

At the door, she fumbled to find the keys in the bottom of her purse.

A big mistake.

Someone covered her mouth with a large masculine hand and wrapped an arm around her midsection, trapping her arms against her sides. Her purse and medical bag fell to the ground with a loud clatter. She prayed would hear the noise.

But no one responded.

With little effort, her assailant picked her up off the ground and moved toward the side of the wraparound porch.

She tried to scream, but she could barely breathe much less muster any kind of noise.

Mick’s words reverberated in her brain about being careful. About the danger they all might be in. She’d let fatigue make her careless, but knew she had to act.

Twisting and turning her body, she managed to free one arm.

Curling her hand into a claw, she reached behind her, raked her assailant’s face, and heard his surprised yell. His grip on her mouth loosened with her attack and she followed up with a sharp backward elbow to his midsection.

He grunted and released her, freeing her to swing around with her other elbow. The blow connected and made a sickening crunch.

Her attacker groaned and fell away from her.

She didn’t wait to see who it was.

She raced to the door just as Mick flung it open and stepped out onto the porch, barefoot and bare-chested, Glock in his hand. If the weapon wasn’t scary enough, the bruises and scars on his body certainly said, “Don’t mess with me.”

He immediately pulled her behind him, using his body as a shield, but then she heard his amused chuckle.

“Always thought you were no match for my lil’ sis.”

At that comment, she poked her head around Mick’s broad back to find her fiancé ... No, make that ex-fiancé, rising from the floor of the porch.

Three angry scratches ran down the left side of his handsome face. Bright red blood streamed from his nose and down onto the expensive Brooks Brother suit and shirt he wore.

“I just came to talk to her,” he said, whipping out a handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly placing it against his abused nose to stem the flow of blood.

“I should press charges,” Harrison added, glaring at her as she finally took a step to stand beside her brother.

Mick tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans and crossed his arms against his chest.

“Please go ahead and press charges. I’d love to explain to the police how you assaulted me,” Liliana shot back.

Harrison took a menacing step toward them, and then seemed to reconsider. “You think they’ll believe you?” he said, his face contorted into a sneer.

Mick chuckled, surprising her until he pointed to a spot just above and to the right of the door frame where a small camera was trained on the front door and porch.

“It’s all recorded, Harrison. I’d think about seeing a lawyer if I were you.”

Harrison’s face first paled and then erupted in a surge of angry red. She worried he might stroke out there was so much tension visible in his body, but instead he merely rushed past them and down the walk.

After he crossed the street, she noticed his car parked there for the first time.

Had he followed her home or had he been there all long? she thought and the terror of the attack finally set in. She was shaking as she retrieved her purse and bag from the floor.

“You’re lucky it was just Harrison,” her brother said, adding to the thoughts that had already been brewing in her brain.

“I know. I won’t let it happen again,” she replied, her hands trembling while she straightened out the contents of her purse.

He nodded, seemed about to chastise her again, but then enveloped her in a big bear hug.

“You did fine, sis,” he said and she let herself linger for a moment in his protective embrace.

Then she shook off the nervous energy pumping through her body and walked into the house. She glanced toward the second floor landing, wondering about Caterina, and he said, “She was running a high fever. Had to cool her down.”

She tossed her things onto a chair by the front door and faced him, her arms encircling her waist as she willed away the last remnants of fear from the attack.

“Is the fever gone?”

He shook his head. “Still low grade. Her sleep is really erratic. She’s having nightmares.”

“Or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Maybe what she’s seeing is a replay of what happened in the lab that night or whatever else was done to her.”

Feeling more in control, she placed a hand at her side, stretched to work out a kink in the small of her back from the many hours she had been on her feet.

“Let’s hope she can replay that night. I’ve got nothing to say she did it, but nothing to say that she didn’t,” Mick said.

Liliana thought about the condition Caterina had been in when Mick had first brought her home. Barely aware of who or what she was. Lacking control and understanding.

With a tsk, she said, “Even if she did kill Wells, she probably lacked the mental capacity to understand what she was doing. You know how she was when you found her.”

* * *

Mick knew. He also knew how she was now.

The latter was more dangerous to him than the first.

“What do we do if the fever continues?” he asked.

Liliana shrugged. “Her file mentioned the plasmapheresis was undertaken after a couple of doses of the inhibitor. Maybe the treatment isn’t to deal with the gene replication. Maybe it’s to clear her blood of whatever is left after the inhibitor drug takes effect.”

Mick shot a quick glance up the stairs and dragged a hand through his hair. “Do you think it’s possible that what’s left behind is what’s causing the fever?”

Something strong enough to stop or maybe undo the wild gene replication could possibly leave behind remnants that could contaminate the blood and cause a reaction, Mick thought.

“The fever could be from her body fighting off some byproduct of the inhibitor drug. With each treatment, more byproduct remains behind until the patient’s blood needs to be cleansed.”

Mick recalled the size of the cell separator necessary for the plasmapheresis not to mention Liliana’s earlier comments about the need to know just what to pull out of Caterina’s blood. Neither could be done here, but he also couldn’t risk Caterina going into public which only confirmed one thing to him.

“I don’t have much time left to figure this all out, do I?”

Liliana nodded, walked over, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. With a reassuring squeeze, she said, “No, you don’t. But I have total faith in you.”

He had been on many a tough mission in the past, but this was one was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated. Still, he forced a smile to his face and said, “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

* * *

Caterina felt like shit. A warming heat remained even after the dip in the pool that had driven away the worst of the fever. It was like the start of the flu. That feeling of not being right. Assorted aches in her joints and head, only she suspected the ache in her head might also be from the lack of any restful sleep.

He had been by her side again last night in that damned recliner. Vigilant and distant after the incident in the pool.

He’d seen her toss and turn, but had allowed her the privacy of her demons rather than comforting her as he had before. Maybe a good thing since after he had left the room for a moment, she had finally remembered more about that night.

And she had realized that she hadn’t killed Wells.

She hadn’t heard him return to the recliner because with that revelation, sleep had finally come. But not enough, she thought as the daylight streaming through the back window warned it was time to rise.

Stretching, her muscles and joints protesting the movement, her head pounding from either the lack of rest or fever, she alerted him as she stirred. He instantly sat up and shifted to the edge of the chair.

Mick was barefoot and bare-chested. His body covered only by a pair of well-worn jeans. The top snap was undone, creating an intriguing Vee of skin leading . . .

She snapped her head back to his face. His bruised and battered face. The blows from the fight the night before last had blossomed into a few purpling spots on his jaw and cheeks beneath the scrapes and cuts.

There were more bruises on his body and the one that bothered her more than any – the mark of her hand high up on his shoulder. Darker and more distinct than any of the others.

“Done looking?” he chided.

Heat blossomed across her face and she sat back against the pillows and pulled up the sheets, feeling decidedly exposed to him even though she still wore the lightweight robe he had provided after last night’s impromptu dip in the pool.

There was one way to avoid answering his question.

“I remembered.”

He popped up even higher on the edge of the chair. “You remember what happened to Wells?”

She nodded, but then gave an uneasy shrug. “Bits and pieces of it,” she confessed.

“More than just the bits and pieces of Wells, I hope.”

Macabre humor, but she supposed that in his line of work it was required in order to stay sane.

“There were two other patients in the medical facility that sometimes became violent. I remember them being restrained and taken away. Sometimes it took three or four men to hold them down.”

Mick held up two fingers to confirm. “Two patients?”

She nodded and continued. “One looked familiar. Like I should know who he was, but the other was rough looking, with all kinds of dark blue tattoos on his body. Not pretty ones.”

“Prison tats, maybe.”

Screwing up her eyes, she forced a picture of the large man into her memory. He had looked tough enough to have served time.

“Maybe,” she said with a sigh.

“Is that all you remember?” he pressed, clearly wishing she would move on with her story.

Typical man, she thought, but revealed what else she had finally recalled during her restless night.

“I remember lots of loud yelling. Then a number of crashes and glass breaking. I was in my room and went to the door, but it suddenly flew open. One of the patients – the familiar one – flew past me and landed on the floor of the room. He was covered in blood.”

“Was he dead?” Mick asked.

She struggled for more detail from the fragments of memory, but couldn’t recover them. “I don’t remember.”

“What happened next?”

“I went out into the lab. Things were tossed around. There was broken glass everywhere and one of the windows had been smashed in.”

“Do you remember seeing anyone else in the lab?”

She closed her eyes, replaying the scene in her head like she might a movie. The images stark. Dangerous.

“The guy with the tats had pieces of a chair in his hands and he was standing there, beating his chest like a gorilla in a zoo and howling. This weird unnatural howl.”

She sucked in a rough breath, continuing with the images. Piecing them together like a puzzle so she could complete the picture in her mind.

“I walked away from him. I was scared. Then I fell over something and landed on the wet floor.”

* * *

Mick had no doubt about what she had tripped on as her eyes filled with tears and spilled down her pale stricken face.

“It was Dr. Wells,” he said.

She nodded, her mouth open as she pulled in a rough inhalation, but she pressed on with her story.

“He was staring at me. His head was at a weird angle. I thought his mouth moved for a second.”

A shudder shimmied across her body and she grabbed hold of her biceps with her hands. “I picked him up, but he was all warm and wet. His body was in pieces and there was something sticking out of the back of his skull.”

“A piece of a chair leg. Someone drove it into him,” Mick advised.

“I didn’t do it,” she reasserted.

“I know.” No sense denying that he believed her. The more and more Mick found out about Edwards, the more sure he was that he was behind whatever had happened. And if he was Edwards, he wouldn’t have picked Caterina as the one to do the killing. Especially not if he had not one, but two men, capable of the violence.

“You don’t know the names of the men?”

She shook her head emphatically, sending the loose curls of her hair shifting with the movement. “The patients used to spend time together at first. But then people started not coming back from their treatments. Dr. Wells said that it would be better if we didn’t get too attached to each other.”

Or it would be better that the patients didn’t figure out that some of them were being disposed of when they had ceased to be useful to Wardwell, he thought.

“Wells, Edwards, and Morales. All of them were aware of what was happening with the patients?”

At her nod, he said, “Anyone else? Nurses? Other staff or family?”

“A limited number of people had access to us. Even visits from friends and family were restricted. Dr. Wells told me it was because we were immunologically compromised.”

A harsh laugh escaped her and she wagged her head in chastisement. “I was such a fool.”

Mick didn’t want to feel sympathy, but he did.

“You made a difficult choice. Don’t second guess it.”

She snared his gaze with hers. “Would you have made that choice?”

He recalled the decision he would have made – to put a gun in his mouth and blow out what was left of his brains.

She exhaled sharply once more and said, “I didn’t think so.”

Raking her fingers into her curls, she pulled her hair off her face, and then let it tumble down again. “What do we do now?”

We? he thought.

“We don’t do anything. I am going to up security around here and try and get more information on the two men you thought were patients. Find out what the dead patients’ families were told.”

He rose from the recliner, but she surprised him by laying a hand against his waist. A tender touch. One that stirred emotions best left buried.

“You don’t have to always go it alone.”

“Wrong. Alone is all I know. Don’t forget that,” he said and hurried from the room. As he had indicated, he had things to do.

Things he had to do alone.

Chapter 25

After the early morning incident with Liliana, Mick activated the perimeter warning systems running all along the edges of the property. He didn’t normally keep them live since they were too easily tripped by a stray dog, cat, or errant beachgoer, but it worried him that it could just have easily been Mad Dog grabbing Liliana instead of her ex.

That he had made a good choice was reaffirmed when just before lunch the system was tripped, alerting him to a security breach.

A major one, he thought as he watched his mother stride up the walk, a minor hitch in her gait thanks to the knee she refused to get replaced. In one hand she held a large bag emblazoned with the restaurant’s logo while in the other she carried what looked like a delivery receipt.

As she paused by the steps to the front door, perusing the slip as if to confirm the address, it occurred to him that his mother had become quite an actress in her old age.

When someone opened the door, Liliana he hoped, his mother played it up, although anyone who knew them would be confused as to why she would be lost at her own son’s home.

Anyone else, however, might think it a routine take-out delivery and discontinue their surveillance.

He pushed away from the desk and walked into the hall where he heard his sister say, “Come in, mom.”

“Sshh, niña. Someone might hear you,” his mother whispered.

As the door closed, that hushed entreaty was immediately followed by, “Dios mio. You’re the lady from the news.”

Fuck, he cursed and hurried down the stairs just in time to catch his sister introducing the two.

“Mom meet Caterina Shaw. She’s Mick’s ... house guest. Caterina, this is our mother, Mariel.”

So much for keeping things secret, he thought.

As he arrived where the three women stood staring at one another with some trepidation, he enveloped his mother in a bear hug and said, “It’s good to see you, Mom. I missed you.”

With a sharp elbow to his abused ribs that shoved him away and forced him to contain a groan, his mother said, “You missed me so much that I had to guess from Liliana’s take-out orders that you were home.”

“I didn’t spill the beans,” Liliana confirmed to him, miming that she was zipping her lips.

“I’m on a job, Mom.”

“And you involve your sister!” his mother complained, rising up on tiptoe and wagging a finger in his face.

He snagged that digit before it took out an eye and as he did so, he noticed Caterina’s amused face. Before he could do anything else, Liliana jumped back into the fray.

“I asked Mick if I could stay here. I broke off my engagement with Harrison.”

His mother immediately launched into action. She pressed the bag of food into Caterina’s hands and embraced Liliana.

“Ay, niña. La virgencita has answered my prayers,” she said. Then she released his sister and wrapped her arms around him, pressed her head against the middle of his chest, which was the only spot her petite stature permitted her to reach.

“Why didn’t you say you were helping your sister?” The grip of her arms was tight, but there was a doughy softness to them and her bosom which reminded him of his youth and the comfort of that embrace.

He hugged her back hard, bent, and dropped a kiss against the side of her face. “I’m glad you’re here. I was hungry.”

In answer to the enticing smells from the bag that had wafted into his vicinity, his stomach growled loudly.

The three women all laughed in unison, although their laughs couldn’t have been more different. His mother’s loud and slightly hoarse. Liliana’s like a short burst of gunfire.

Cat’s was almost melodic, with a freedom he suspected she hadn’t experienced in quite a long time. The smile on her face confirmed that impression, as did the deep blue of her eyes.

When he took the bag from her hands, their fingers brushed, kindling the need he had tempered last night. Bringing a spark of awareness in her as well, he realized.

* * *

Caterina quickly withdrew her hands from the bag, ignoring the sensation jumping alive within her at the simple and innocent touch of their fingers.

Mick rushed away with the bag, leaving her to follow Liliana and Mariel as the two women walked arm-in-arm toward the kitchen.

The resemblance between the two was strong, much like that of Mick and Liliana, only Mariel’s eyes were neither green nor brown, but a light-colored hazel.

Their mother was petite like Liliana, but with a stout figure which said she had clearly enjoyed a lot of her own cooking.

The sight of them – mother and daughter, clearly friends – roused memories of her own childhood. Of strolling beside her mother in the park or sitting beside her on the piano bench as her mother played, the notes from the piano resonating through the space of their small apartment.

An apartment similar to this home with its rich colors, artisanal furniture, and collectibles that spoke of a love for culture and tradition.

Interesting for a man who she might have said spent little time in one place. Someone had definitely used some loving care in building this home, although there were things which also hinted that he neglected it.

Like the candles that had lost their fragrance.

In the kitchen they gathered at the table. Mick was quick to empty the bag of the aluminum pans filled with an assortment of foods while Liliana retrieved beverages for everyone.

Anyone looking in on the picture would say it was just another family gathering. Only she wasn’t family. She had no family, just a circle of friends who now might believe that she wasn’t a murderess.

She swiped at her eye, brushing away a tear, and motherly Mariel immediately noted her upset.

Patting her hand as it rested on the tabletop, Mariel said, “Do not worry, niña. If Miguelito is helping you, all will turn out well.”

She met Mick’s gaze from across the width of table, almost daring him to admit that when it came to her there would be no happy ending, but he remained silent.

Maybe it was better that way. Mariel didn’t need to know that the son she seemed to adore was holding her captive. That he had taken money to return her to a man who had engineered her into some kind of genetic freak.

When Liliana placed a plate laden with a sampling of Mexican foods before her, she had little appetite, upset as she was by the current state of her life. But it was difficult to ignore the enticing and earthy smells of the food which resuscitated happy memories in her brain and had her mouth watering as if she were one of Pavlov’s dogs.

“I remember some chef saying that as long as you kept your food, your culture would stay with you,” she said, carefully forking up pieces of a tomato-laced meat that had been stewed until tender.

“Did your mom cook Mexican food for you?” Liliana asked.

“Your mami was Mexican? Que bueno.” Mariel clapped her hands together and riveted her gaze on Mick. “She’s a Mexicana, mi’jito. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Her father was American. Irish, right?”

“Of Irish descent,” she replied after swallowing the delicious meat.

“Irish and Mexican. Two cultures rich in the arts. That must explain your love of music,” his mother said before daintily digging into her own plate of food.

“Mom was a pianist. A very good one, but my father didn’t approve of her performing. He wanted her home and taking care of him while he built his business.” Mention of her father diminished her hunger, so she pushed around a bit of enchilada on her plate.

“He didn’t approve of your choice of career either, did he?” Mick asked, a tenderness in his voice that made her jerk her head up in surprise and meet his gaze.

Understanding was developing there. More than she had expected to see based on his actions which said he had to keep his distance, emotionally and physically.

“No, he didn’t approve.”

“His loss, Cat. You’re an amazing musician and your mother must have been as well to instill such passion in you,” he said.

All three women turned to peer at him. Caterina in surprise, Liliana with a knowing grin, and his mother with pride and hopefulness.

“Thank you,” Caterina replied, pleased by the support she had not expected. In the little time they had spent together, Mick had been controlling and determined. She had even come to accept what he was – a man who would take on a dangerous and possibly illegal job for money.

But this was just another of those fragile moments where he also showed her he was capable of tenderness and caring, confusing her.

Caterina couldn’t wrap her head around what the real Mick was like.

“Nice to know you’re finally liberated, Mick,” Liliana teased, dispelling the growing seriousness of the discussion.

Mick chuckled at her comment and resumed eating, and so did Caterina. The food had been prepared with care and loving, adding a special essence to it that filled more than just their bellies.

By the time they had finished eating and sharing a few stories about Liliana, Mick, and their other two siblings, she felt relaxed, but also tired and achy. There was a growing heat in her body and pain in her joints. Caterina understood it was a reaction to the replication inhibitor Liliana had injected her with the night before. She wondered when she would be due for another shot and whether her body could handle it.

As Mick was ushering his mother out the door, insisting that Caterina had to rest and he had work to do, Mariel trailed her motherly eye over the sweats swimming on her body.

“Surely you have something else for Caterina to wear, Miguel?”

Mick released an exasperated sigh and said, “There hasn’t been time to get her anything.”

Mariel slashed her hand through the air and eyeballed her before facing Liliana. “Caterina seems close to Roberta’s size, don’t you think?”

Liliana examined her, appearing like a younger version of Mariel before she confirmed the assessment with a determined tilt of her head. “About the same as Bobbie. She left some clothes at home, didn’t she?”

“Sí, just like Roberta. She won’t be home on leave for a couple of months, so she won’t miss them. Liliana can come get them later.”

Before Mick could argue, Mariel was bustling out the door, leaving the three of them standing there in her wake.

Mick was quick to say, “I’m sorry, Cat. I know she can be a handful.”

Caterina thought about Mariel’s food, concern, and highhandedness. She could find nothing for which Mick should apologize.

With a smile, she said, “She reminds me of my mother. I like her.”

Caterina expected both the siblings to argue with her as siblings sometimes did when it came to their parents, but they didn’t. Instead, Mick said, “You’re looking a little pale.”

“Tired. A little sore,” she confessed and rubbed the top of her bowing arm, which was always the one to give her the most trouble. She’d battled with some bursitis there for years.

Liliana frowned. “You’re not due for another shot until tomorrow, but if the aches and fever haven’t subsided by then I’m not sure we should give you another shot.”

“I’m with you, Liliana. I don’t like feeling like this,” she said.

Mick jammed his hands into his pockets and inclined his head in the direction of the stairs. “Why don’t you go get some rest?”

Caterina thought about the rest. Thought about an old saying she’d heard from her father more than once.

“I’d rather find a way to help the two of you. There’ll be time enough to rest when I’m dead,” she said.

Somehow his immediate nod of agreement brought little comfort.

Chapter 26

The three of them sat around the table for the bulk of the afternoon until both Caterina and Liliana were close to dropping off from a lack of sleep.

Mick, damn him, was like an automaton, able to function on little rest. Caterina assumed that during his time in the Army he had likely gone days without anything more than short naps.

When he urged both her and Liliana to go rest, Liliana protested, determined to walk the few blocks to their parents’ home in order to get the clothes for Caterina. Since she wasn’t due back at the hospital until the next day, she assured both of them that she would be able to get all the sleep she needed after that short errand.

Mick indicated that he would accompany her, clearly fearful that Liliana would encounter Harrison once again.

As much as she wanted not to display her weakness, Caterina’s eyes were heavy-lidded. All she could think about was sinking into the comfort of the bed.

She started up the stairs, but tripped on a step.

Mick was immediately there to help her, sliding an arm around her waist, and walking beside her to the guest room. She eased beneath the covers and he tucked her in, pulling a sleepy smile to her face.

“You’re not such a hard nut after all,” Caterina whispered before closing her eyes.

* * *

Not such a hard nut, Mick thought, a wistful smile on his face as he considered a sleeping Caterina.

She was on her side, her face resting against the pillow. One hand tucked beneath her cheek. There was a rosy hue to her skin, but it wasn’t a healthy blush.

He placed the back of his hand on her forehead and measured the heat there. Still lower than it had been the night before, but based on the papers in the medical file they had reviewed yet again that afternoon, each dose of the inhibitor might bring ever higher temperatures as the drug attacked the replication going in her body. That attack unfortunately produced an immune response in the patients, leading to the fever, and sometimes muscular and skeletal pain.

The only treatment was the plasmapheresis to remove the antibodies and debris left behind by the inhibitor. If a patient’s blood wasn’t cleansed in time, they could die.

There was no time to rest if they were to keep her alive, he thought.

Which meant that it was time to pay Edwards a visit. Rattle the cage and see how he reacted when pressed.

Gently passing a hand across her hair, he vowed to make sure that whoever had done this to Caterina would get their just rewards.

For now, he would take a short break by walking Liliana home and then he had to figure out the best plan of attack against Edwards.

* * *

It had been a toss-up between confronting Edwards at his offices at Wardwell or his home in nearby Marlton.

The home won out.

Edwards probably had less security there than he had at the Wardwell facility, thinking that his castle was a safe place.

Mick had dressed for the mission, black on black on black. In his satchel he had the equipment he would need to break into the home. He was well-armed, his Glock in a holster secured at the small of his back. A smaller pistol tucked into an ankle holster beneath the hem of his black jeans. For good measure, he had a knife in a sheath strapped to his left arm for easy access.

He would not let Mad Dog get the upper hand tonight if he was there.

As he walked from his office to the guest room to check in on Caterina before leaving, he found her awake and easing a black sweater over her head. The action provided him a quick glimpse of the slender lines of her body which were already looking fuller than they had a few days ago. Her skin was creamy against the ebony of the shirt and the black jeans she wore.

Black on black on black. Not a good omen.

Mick leaned a hand against the frame of the door and coughed to let her know he was there.

She whirled to face him and finished pulling down the sweater. As she did so, the midnight-colored curls of her hair spilled down over her shoulders.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“I’m going with you.” She dug her fingers into her hair, pulling it back and securing it with some kind of band. It exposed the fine lines of her face and the paleness of it, made more severe by all the darkness surrounding her.

At his perusal, a slight blush came to her cheeks.

“You’re staying here. Where you’ll be safe.”

Hands outstretched, she pleaded her case. “I need answers. I need to face that son-of-a-bitch and know why he did this to me.”

Mick understood what she needed. He just wasn’t sure that it was wise for her to be with him when he confronted Edwards. He shook his head. “It’s too risky with the way you are.”

“The way I am?” she asked and took a step toward him. “You mean like this?”

Before his eyes, her skin darkened in color, becoming almost as black as her clothing. The only remaining sign of color, the compelling blue of her irises and whites of her eyes.

“You’ve been practicing?” he said and quirked an eyebrow to emphasize his point.

“Not really,” she said with a shrug. “It just kind of happens.”

Before his eyes, she returned to normal, and once again pleaded her case. “I need to be face-to-face with him.”

“So you can skewer him like you did Wells?” he challenged and as he expected, he roused her anger and the fight response erupted, transforming her skin once more.

She glanced down at the condemning color on her skin and then carefully and precisely enunciated each word as she marshaled her anger and the color faded.

“I did not kill Wells.”

“You know this because of a memory?” he attacked yet again, needing to push her. Needing to test her control.

Caterina dropped her hands to her side and clenched them. The color change became visible at her wrists and near the neckline of the sweater, but then receded as she released a harsh breath.

“Memories are all I have left right now.” Intense sadness colored her words, striking a stronger blow than any violence might have.

He thought about what he had to do that night. Considered what role, if any, she might play in the mission.

A risky business, taking her along and yet he understood she needed to control her own fate. He also realized that giving Edwards a show of what he had created might help them get more information.

He stalked to her and kneeled before her. “Bring your leg here,” he said and tapped his left thigh.

She did as he asked, stepping onto his thigh.

He pulled down the sock she wore and deftly removed the electronic monitoring device. Tossing it on the bed, he said, “I hope I don’t live to regret this.”

“You won’t,” she urged and removed her foot so that he might rise.

“We’ll see,” he said.

* * *

Google Street View had accurately depicted Edwards’ home and the surrounding residences.

He would not be able to park the Jeep on the street without attracting attention, Mick thought as he drove to the end of the court before circling around and back off the block.

Thanks to suburban sprawl, however, the next block down to the enclave of McMansions was an everyday middle class street of medium-sized plots and one-car driveways. A number of vehicles were parked along the street, including another black Jeep Liberty much like his, even down to the American flag cover on the spare wheel.

He pulled into an empty driveway and did a K-turn. Returned to an open space at the mouth of the street and abutting a wooded corner plot that belonged to one of the McMansions. He parked the car and cut the ignition.

He removed the keys, tucked them into his jeans pocket, and stared past Caterina as she sat beside him. She had been dozing off and on during the nearly hour long drive to the area, her strength clearly still not back to normal. As she woke and glanced in his direction, the bright flush of her fever was visible even in the dark.

It roused concern about her role tonight, but he couldn’t have left her at home after her plea.

He motioned to the wooded area as she gazed out the window.

“We’ll cut through that stand of trees until we reach the back of Edwards’ home. You’ll stay in the woods until I find a way to get inside. Is that understood?”

A curt nod of her head confirmed his instructions.

He handed her a spare set of keys and said, “If anything goes wrong, you get back here and drive home. Wait for Liliana and ask her to call Ramon.”

She took the keys from his hand and said, “Will do.”

“Good. Let’s get going.”

He popped open his door, but the interior lights he had disconnected didn’t come on in the dark of the night, keeping their exit secret from any prying eyes on the street.

Caterina immediately ducked into the woods and he followed, but as they left sight of the street, she paused and waited for him to take the lead.

He did so, but kept his pace moderate, aware of Caterina’s condition. If he was going to push her, it would be when they had to make their escape. He shot an occasional glance her way, making sure she was with him. Cautious to not make too much sound as they traversed the land behind two of the homes, undetected.

Ahead lay Edwards’ home and Mick slowed his pace, vigilant for any security systems. As at Wardwell, there were no perimeter alarms. Together they skirted the woods until they were directly behind their intended target.

There were no lights on from what was visible of the house or along the back of the building.

“Do you think anyone is home?” Caterina asked in a low whisper as she leaned toward him.

Mick brought his index finger to her lips to urge her to remain silent. Her lips were soft and warm. Maybe too warm, but he battled back his apprehension.

They were committed to the mission now and there was no turning back.

He eased his hand into the satchel and withdrew his night vision goggles. Slipping them on, he searched for signs of any lights or motion sensors.

There were lights at the two furthermost corners of the large home, but they had no sensors attached to them. They might be time-activated, although if they were, he would have had them come on already.

The area beside the garage was lined with a straight row of fast-growing arbor vitae and would provide little coverage. The woods in which they were hiding, however, continued as an arms-length wide strip of trees and underbrush at the opposite side of the home.

Sufficient cover to hide in.

Bending close to her, he whispered, “Follow me.”

Crouching low, he advanced through the woods and up that strip, Caterina close behind him. Their footfalls were soft against the leaves and underbrush until she stepped on a twig. It snapped loudly, like a gunshot in the night. He paused then as she did, waiting to see if anyone from either home might notice.

No one did, blissfully convinced of the safety of their suburban utopia.

Their gazes connected and as they did so, Mick realized Caterina had gone camo. A useful trait for tonight’s mission, he thought. Inclining his head toward the home, he confirmed they should proceed.

More carefully, he worked his way through the remaining underbrush and trees until they were beside Edwards’ home. Only a narrow strip of grass and some landscaping around the edge of the building separated them from their goal.

He perused the area with the goggles, but she whispered, “Edwards is home alone.”

Exactly what the goggles had confirmed. “How did you know?”

She shook her head and as he met her gaze, he noted the glitter of the inhuman there. She glanced in the direction of the nearby house. “I can see multiple shadows in there.” Then she pointed to Edwards’ home. “But not in there. There’s only one shadow.”

Her halo sight, he realized. Capable of sensing heat possibly.

Caterina waited for his reaction. Tried to curb the obvious fear running rampant through her body that had released the powers she could not control. Powers which neither she nor he didn’t yet understand.

Mick cupped her cheek and ran his thumb across the side of her face to remind himself of what she was beneath the odd-colored skin.

“Good job,” he said, the tone of his voice low.

“Are you ready?” he asked and for good measure, reached beneath the hem of her black sweater to tug into position the Kevlar vest he had insisted she add for protection. Mick didn’t trust that Edwards wouldn’t be armed and placed even less trust on the fact that he wouldn’t use the weapon if need be.

Caterina met his gaze square on and nodded. “Ready.”

He glanced back toward the house and noticed that a light went on in one of the rooms to confirm that someone was home. Taking hold of Caterina’s hand, he said, “Let’s go.”

In a low crouch, they circled around the side of the home and cut across the landscaping close to Edwards’ house. They had to duck low to avoid being seen through the two big picture windows in the front. They paused by the edge of the landing for the front door where Mick reached up and with a gloved hand, unscrewed one light bulb to provide Caterina some cover.

As they had planned during their trip to Edwards’ home, she took a spot in the shadows right by that darkened side of the door. She laid her hands on the red brick and closed her eyes. A furrow appeared in the middle of her forehead as she concentrated, but little by little the transformation took place.

By the time he rang the doorbell, every inch of her visible skin was the rusty red color of the brick along the wall. The black of the vest and sweater blended into the shadows, making her nearly invisible.

Footsteps sounded from within and Mick took two steps back from the door, wanting to draw Edwards out onto the landing and away from Caterina.

The muffled beep-beep of someone disarming an alarm system came seconds before the door opened.

Edwards stood there. Surprise sprinted across his features before a smug look took control.

“Mr. Carrera. I’m surprised you’re here. It would have been sufficient for you to answer all the calls you’ve been ignoring.”

“And here I thought that you would be happy to hear that I’ve brought you something. Or should I say someone?”

Interest flared in Edwards’ features and he took that first step over the threshold and looked behind Mick.

“You have her here?” he asked.

Mick chuckled and shook his head, chastising the other man. “You paid me to find her, didn’t you?”

Edwards squinted, peering at him intently and then craning his neck toward the driveway and woods. He took another step forward, as if to improve his line of sight which was exactly what Mick wanted.

“Don’t see anything? Look behind you, Dr. Edwards.”

The other man half-turned and looked straight back toward his doorway. Straight at Caterina, but he apparently didn’t see her.

Tracking Edwards’ gaze, he knew why. The black of Cat’s clothing and hair appeared to be nothing more than shadows and her eyes were closed, giving away nothing of her presence thanks to the red brick color of her skin. But then she opened her eyes – those amazing sapphire blue eyes – and they were like a beacon in the night.

Edwards gasped and that stunned second was all it took.

Mick grabbed Edwards from behind, encircling his neck with one arm while jabbing his gun into the scientist’s ribs.

“We need to talk,” Mick said.

Chapter 27

Mick forced Edwards forward and the doctor stumbled, but Mick kept a firm grip as they walked across the threshold and into the house. Caterina followed, closing and locking the door behind them.

He walked the doctor through the house until they were in the kitchen. Tossing Edwards into a chair, he ripped some cable ties from his pocket and bound the scientist to the arms and legs of the chair, not that Edwards put up much of a fight.

Maybe because his stunned gaze had been focused on Caterina the whole time.

As Mick finished securing him, he turned to find Caterina losing the brick camo and going back to her normal skin color.

“Long time no see, Dr. Edwards,” she said, the tones of her voice controlled although her body was taut with anger.

“You’ve got some nerve bringing her here,” Edwards said, shooting a glance at him. “She’s dangerous. She killed Wells.”

Mick shook his head and laughed harshly. “There are lots of reasons why I think Caterina didn’t do the skewering. Let’s start with reason number one - Gates Genengineering.”

Edwards paled. “How do you know about them?”

“I hacked your servers.”

“You found the Gates documents?” Edwards sputtered.

Mick nodded and walked around the edge of the chair to crouch right before the doctor, not wanting to miss a second of his response.

“What happened? Did Wells find out about the experiments you did on Caterina and the others?”

Confusion clouded the other man’s eyes as he shot a look back at Caterina before returning his gaze to him. “What are you talking about?”

“This is what you did to me,” Caterina said and approached. To leave no doubt about what she was referring to, she laid her hand on the maple surface of the table. Her anger made the transformation quick as her hand almost disappeared onto the surface of the table.

“I didn’t know that’s what Wells did. I just knew something wasn’t right,” Edwards replied, his eyes wide with fear.

“Wells was trying to help me when you had him killed,” she nearly screamed and advanced on him.

Mick jumped in her way and as had happened before, her extra strength surprised and nearly toppled him. “Calm down, Cat.”

“See how violent she is,” Edwards said. The chair bucked as he tried to escape his restraints to get away from Caterina.

Caterina did as Mick requested, backing away and tucking her arms tight to her sides to restore control. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Mick stood before Edwards once more, arms across his chest. His stance loose, but ready for action. “If I thought Caterina would do it, I’d gladly let her at you. Someone has to pay for what’s been done to her.”

“I told you. I had nothing to do with that,” Edwards hissed, the skin taut across the almost ferret-like lines of his thin face.

“Nothing to do with it, but you found out about it, didn’t you?”

Hot color erupted on Edwards’ cheeks. “Wells came to me right after I told him about the merger.”

“He wanted to tell Gates about the experiments?” Mick pressed.

Reluctantly, Edwards admitted it, which was not what Mick had been expecting. “He wanted to come clean, but that would have jeopardized everything.”

“So you killed him,” Caterina said and came to stand beside him, the intensity of her fury apparent, but controlled.

“As far as I know, you’re responsible for Wells’ death.”

“You know this based on what? Video feed? Eyewitness testimony?” Mick asked.

Edwards shrugged. “I can’t say.”

Caterina leaned down until she was almost face-to-face with him. “You mean you can, but you won’t.”

As she rose upright and stood beside him again, Mick laid a calming hand on her shoulder as he looked straight at Edwards and said, “Call off Mad Dog.”

Edwards raked his gaze over him intently. “Who is Mad Dog?”

“Matthew Donnelly aka Mad Dog. Soldier-of-fortune. Psycho security expert. Call him off,” Mick repeated.

Edwards shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know any Mad Dog.”

He was either a damned fine actor or he was telling the truth, but just in case Mick pulled out an old photo of him with Mad Dog and shoved it in Edwards’ face.

“You’ve never seen this man before?”

“Never,” Edwards immediately asserted.

Mick actually believed him, but he also suspected the good doctor might have an idea who had called in the other man. “Who do you think hired Mad Dog?”

“I don’t know.”

Clearly lying this time, Mick thought.

“Mad Dog’s name was on your security department logs,” he said and crouched down once more until he was eye-to-eye with Edwards. He wanted his message to be clear.

“You’ve got until noon tomorrow to check the logs and call me with the name of the person Mad Dog visited.”

A shrewd look crept onto Edwards’ features. “What if I don’t?”

Mick smiled and shot a half-glance at Caterina before he rose and joined ranks with her. She slipped her hand into his as he said, “I can show you a world of hurt you can’t even begin to imagine. Physical and financial hurt. Understood?”

Edwards’ gaze narrowed at their show of unity and then he nodded.

“Understood, Mr. Carrera.”

Despite the doctor’s words, Mick didn’t trust him. There was too much at stake financially for Edwards. If he had hired Mad Dog, Mick suspected the scientist would not call the mercenary off so quickly.

But Mick hoped the warning would spur the other man into action and help him confirm Edwards’ involvement in what had happened to Wells. He would be tracking Edwards’ every move so he could better understand the kind of battle he faced to safeguard Caterina’s life.

* * *

The ride back to Mick’s home in Bradley Beach was quiet.

Mick was seemingly lost in his thoughts, probably considering all that they had learned from Edwards.

Edwards, Caterina thought with disgust. He had been so smug and too calm. Clearly unremorseful of all the pain, suffering, and death that had come about because of the contract with Gates Genengineering.

One hundred million dollars for the loss of how many lives? Caterina wondered as another shiver racked her body.

At her movement, Mick shot a quick look in her direction before returning his attention to the road. “Are you okay?”

The low level heat she had been tolerating all day had been steadily growing until her head had begun to pound and now the chills had started.

“I’m hot,” she admitted and tucked her arms tight around herself to contain the involuntary spasms of her body.

His hands tightened and relaxed on the steering wheel before his gaze diverted to hers for only a moment. “It’s about ten more minutes to the house. Can you hold on that long?”

Her head hurt so much that even the off-on bursts of light from the passing street lamps were creating agony in her skull. Only ten minutes, she told herself.

“Only ten,” he repeated and she realized she had spoken out loud.

Another rough shudder slashed through her body, but she lied past her chattering teeth and said, “I can do it.”

She repeated those words as a mantra, trying to ignore the pain and the nearly uncontrollable tremors of her body.

* * *

Mick increased his speed, mindful of Caterina’s degrading condition, but he kept it within reasonable limits so as to avoid being pulled over. The lack of vibration from his cell phone confirmed that his home was apparently still secure since no alarms had been tripped.

He pulled the Jeep into the garage and turned in the seat. “Cat, we’re home.”

She nodded, or at least he thought she did. She was shaking so violently that it made it impossible to know whether or not the motion had been in response to his question.

He sprang into action, exiting the Jeep, and swinging around to her door. He opened it and reached in to carry her from the car and into the kitchen.

Liliana was there, making herself a cup of tea. At her questioning glance, he said, “Cat’s burning up again. I’m taking her to the pool.”

His sister went into action, closing the door to the garage, and disarming the alarm before it tripped. Following him to the edge of the pool, she hovered nearby anxiously as he toed off his boots and ripped his cell phone from his belt. He slipped his holster with the Glock from the small of his back and removed his ankle holster.

“Get some towels,” he instructed and walked with Caterina in his arms to the stairs at the far end of the pool. He carefully moved down the stairs, the chill of the water seeping through his jeans.

Caterina was almost incoherently mumbling something over and over again as he finally entered the water with her.

An immense tremor racked her body at the contact with the cold water. Her eyes flew open, bright orbs of blue made brighter by the reflection from the moonlit pool water.

Rousing, she grabbed hold of his shoulders and buried her face against his chest.

He tucked her close, laying his face close to hers and the heat burning up her body registered against his cheek.

“How is she?” Liliana called out as she tossed down some towels by the lip of the pool and crouched down to get a better look at them.

“It’ll take a little time to cool her down.” But he worried that the fever had returned without another injection of the inhibitor drug.

As he examined Liliana’s face, her similar concern was plainly evident.

“I’ll go get her room ready.”

She rushed off, leaving him alone with Caterina in the pool. He bent his knees, dipping down so that they were covered in the cool water as far as their necks.

Caterina’s face bore a ruddy blush from the fever, but as he cradled her, the heat from her body slowly receded as did the rosy flush. He brought his lips to her forehead, pleased that her body temperature was substantially lower.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured.

“Better,” she replied.

“Let’s get you dry and back to bed to rest. You probably overdid it tonight by coming with me.” Or at least, he hoped that was the reason for the return of the fever and not something else going on in her body.

At her nod, he walked out of the water and onto the pool deck, and released her legs so she could stand on her own. She was wobbly, so he kept one arm around her and she wrapped her arm around his waist. Together they bent and retrieved the towels, drying off their hair and faces. He wrapped a towel around her body to collect some of the water dripping off her clothes. Scooping up his cell phone and weapons, he then picked her up and took her upstairs to the guest room.

Liliana waited there with yet more towels. On the nightstand by the bed she had set up a small bowl and some hand cloths. The bowl was filled with water and ice in the event the fever returned.

Mick walked to the edge of the bed and let Caterina slip to her feet again.

“I’ll help you get out of those wet things,” his sister said and he took that as a cue to leave and also change into something dry.

In his room, he ripped off his sodden clothes and tossed them into the bathtub. Briskly rubbing a towel across himself to counteract the cold pool water, he dried off and eased into a t-shirt and sweats. Brushing his hair back with his fingers, he returned to the room where Liliana had managed to get Caterina out of her clothes and into bed.

Liliana was drawing another sample of blood and when he walked in she explained, “I want to try and figure out what’s causing the fever this time.”

After the vacutainer was filled with phosphorescent green blood, Liliana efficiently removed the needle from Caterina’s arm and bandaged it. As she finished, Caterina reached out and grasped her hand.

“Thank you, Lil,” she said and Liliana returned the gesture, taking Caterina’s hand in a reassuring clasp.

“It’ll be okay, Cat. I promise,” his sister said.

Mick wished he could make the same pledge, but said nothing as Liliana walked toward him, the glowing blood sample in her hand. “I’m due back in the hospital in a couple of hours. I’m going to try and grab a nap before then.”

“I’m sorry I’ve made it so hard for you,” he said, but his sister surprised him by smiling.

“Not hard at all. You’ve given me a place to stay and a reason to believe in myself again. It gave me the strength to do the right thing.”

“Harrison?” he questioned and she confirmed it with a slight dip of her head.

“Harrison and Caterina. I know you’ll find the strength to do the right thing as well.” She rose up on tiptoes and brushed a sisterly kiss on his cheek before leaving the room.

The right thing, Mick thought, closed the door, and approached the bed where Caterina rested, her gaze locked on him as he neared.

Her skin had lost the flush of fever and returned to its creamy hue. Thick curly locks of her nearly black hair, heavy with moisture, rested against the side of her face.

As she turned her face and the deep blue of her gaze met his, she said, “No matter what happens at the end, you’ve done the right thing by me.”

At the end, he thought, unsure of anything other than the fact that this would all not end well for someone. Whether it was Edwards or Mad Dog or Caterina or even himself, someone would pay a high price at the conclusion of this assignment.

Mick sat on the edge of the recliner and cradled her cheek. Her skin bore a slight chill from the water and was smooth beneath the pad of his finger. So smooth and womanly.

* * *

Caterina covered his much larger hand with hers. His palm was rough. Clearly the hand of a man who worked hard with his hands. A strong hand, she thought as she trailed her fingers past his wrist and to his forearm. The hair on his arm was soft beneath her palm. His body muscled and lean until she reached the edge of the bandage on his forearm that covered the wound he had received battling for her. Another scar to add to the rest of the damage on his body.

It had to be the fever that was making her remember just how that body had felt against hers when he had held her in the pool. How he had kissed her and she had responded, awakening passion that might be better left unexplored only . . .

“Would you hold me?” She needed the human contact. Needed the affirmation that she was still a woman. A desirable woman unless she was misreading the signals he was giving.

“If holding is all you want, I may not be your man,” Mick replied and dipped his thumb down to trace the edges of her lips.

“I want more. I want to feel alive again, Mick.”

* * *

She’s using me, but it wouldn’t be the first time or the last that a woman did that, Mick thought. Considering he found her damned attractive, weird genes and all, why not give into the temptation and get it out of his system?

“Move over,” he said.

Caterina shifted to the center of the bed and he joined her there, lying on his side and facing her. Their bodies less than a foot apart.

“Touch me,” she said and pulled away the sheet, exposing the fullness of her breasts with their soft tips that beaded as his gaze fell on them.

He ran the pads of his fingers across the tip of one breast. Cupped the weight of it in his hand and rubbed his thumb across the tip until her nipples beaded into even stiffer nubs.

I need to taste, he thought and bent his head, licked the one tip while continuing to caress the other nipple with his hand.

She arched her back to give him easier access and cradled the back of his head. Moaned as he teethed the peak of one breast. He soothed that gentle nip with another lick and suckled at her breast while shifting one hand downward, across the flat expanse of her midsection. Past the delicate indent of her navel until the curls between her legs brushed the tips of his fingers.

She moved closer and threw her thigh up over his, inviting him to her most private center.

He accepted that invitation, leisurely skimming his fingers across her center until the sensitive nub swelled and a fine trembling enveloped her body. He shifted his fingers lower and experienced the wet of her femininity. Stroked her warm moist lips and teased the entrance to her center with the light touch of his fingers.

* * *

Caterina gasped as he explored her center, gripping his shoulders as he eased in first one finger and then another, stretching her in preparation for his possession.

“Mick,” she keened, shifting her hips against his hand. Holding his head to her, but wanting to feel the warmth of his body beside her.

He slipped inches away and she reached for the hem of his shirt. Pulled it over his head while he skimmed the sweat pants down his body, revealing the nakedness beneath the fleece.

She laid her hands on his shoulders once more and took a moment to enjoy all of him that was visible. The articulated and defined muscles of his body. The scars and bruises that spoke of a man familiar with danger and accustomed to violence.

But there was nothing violent about the way he touched her. About the gentleness of his mouth and hands as he resumed his loving.

She once again granted him access and he used it to full advantage, rousing her passion much as she urged him on, using her hands to stroke him. Playing him much as she might a sonata, each measured beat and pull of her hands on his erection giving him pleasure until he, too, was trembling and breathing roughly.

“I can’t wait anymore, Cat,” he said, rolling her beneath him. His arms braced on either side of her body as he slipped between her legs, but paused before entering her.

“I can’t either, Mick,” she replied and dropped one hand so she could encircle him and guide him to her center.

He sucked in a shaky breath as she gasped at his entry and held still as her body accommodated to the size of him. Thick in girth and perfect in length, he filled her completely, creating an almost unbearable pressure within her. Making her want to move on him and feel the intense friction of that long hard cock against her, but he held still, reining in his need. Letting her set the pace of the lovemaking.

She was the first to move, raising her knees to grasp his hips. The motion drove him even deeper within her, stretching her to the point of pleasure pain.

He met her gaze then, his eyes almost black with desire. A flush across the high cheekbones inherited from some long ago Aztec descendant. Full lips she wanted to savor.

She cradled the straight strong line of his jaw and brought her lips to his. Eased her tongue past the seam of his mouth to mimic the motion of their bodies. Her tongue darted along his much like he was drawing her ever closer to release with the stroke of his hips, pumping in and out of there. The friction building desire with every sure thrust of his hips.

His movements grew more hurried and she urged him on with the soft cries of pleasure she whispered against his lips and the shift of her hips against his. She was almost writhing against him when something suddenly coalesced in the center of her.

The energy gathered into a ball and then exploded throughout her body, pulling him into her and caressing him as her climax overtook her body.

* * *

Mick exhaled roughly against her mouth as her soft cry of completion came against his lips and the muscles of her body milked him, pulling and tightening on him as his own release hovered around the edges of his body.

She felt so good beside him. Around him, her body tightening around him. The hard pebbled tips of her breasts rubbing along his chest.

He felt the first sharp jerk of his climax as his balls tightened and at her long moan and shift of her hips, driving her ever deeper, his release erupted across his body.

He managed to drive into her a few more times, prolonging her climax, but then he dropped down onto her, drained. His body heavy against hers, but she wrapped her arms around him and urged, “Don’t leave me yet.”

Yet, he realized, glad that she understood the limits of what they had just experienced, but saddened by that as well.

He allowed himself to bask in the pleasure of her soft skin beneath him, and the heat and wet of her center as her body caressed him while he slowly softened within her.

The temperature of her body remained warm, a little hotter than normal. Thankfully nothing like it had been earlier in the night.

Guilt rose up on so many levels, but he ruthlessly drove it back, justifying what had just happened with one simple truth.

They had both wanted it to happen.

Now the question was: Where did they go from here?

Chapter 29

Mad Dog hadn’t worried about circumventing the security system guarding Mick’s office/apartment.

He wanted Mick to know he was on his trail.

Shitty digs, he thought, walking around the one room office before heading up a back staircase to the loft apartment overlooking part of the U Penn campus and the railway yards for 30th Street Station.

The layout of the loft was basic. Living and dining areas. Kitchen and a bedroom. The furniture utilitarian. A Spartan residence empty of any personal touches.

He rifled through the kitchen cabinets and drawers of all the furniture, but found nothing of interest. He returned to the office.

There were a few cabinets filled with what appeared to be old case files. No computer anywhere. Too hard to secure and so Mick probably took it with him wherever he went.

That’s what he would do and that’s probably where Mick had any of the kind of information which might lead him to where his old colleague might be hiding.

There was nothing in the apartment to tip him off.

No bills or mail. Everything probably went to a P.O. Box somewhere. No personal papers of any kind.

Begrudgingly he admitted that Carrera was damned good at what he did, but Mick wouldn’t be able to play hide and seek much longer.

Disgusted, Mad Dog plopped into the leather chair by Mick’s desk and as he did so, he noticed the paper shredder sitting on the garbage can beneath the desk.

Bending, he tossed off the shredder and saw the long thing strips of paper within the garbage can. He pulled out the paper shreds and tossed them on top of the desk. Carefully he sifted through the pieces and discovered bits of color in all the boring business white.

He pulled those soft pinkish shreds out of the pile. They were of a heavier weight, likely from an envelope. Unfortunately, most of the pieces were too small, except . . .

Mad Dog pulled one larger piece from the pile where the cross cut shredder had failed to do its job.

Printed on the pale pink corner was the start of an address. He rummaged through some more of the colorful shreds and found another few strips that he pieced together.

From one set he got part of a word: Brad.

From another just a “ch”.

Not enough, he thought, perusing the strip of paper from what had likely been a personal letter. He hadn’t been able to pinpoint any of Mick’s liabilities, but now he had a possible lead to the name of a place where there might be someone of interest to his old colleague.

Someone who would end up dead if Mick didn’t hand over Shaw.

He rose from the desk and did another search of Mick’s apartment and the office.

Nothing else provided any useful information.

As he was about to leave the office, he noticed the security camera tucked up into one corner of the room where it would provide a view of everything and everyone who entered the space.

He walked up close to the camera, wanting to make sure there was no doubt about who had paid a visit. Smiling into the camera, he slashed his hand across his throat, his message clear.

With that broad satisfied smile on his face, Mad Dog left behind the mess he had created, certain that the small bit of the address from the envelope would soon point him in the right direction for finding Mick.

* * *

Mick had been in a number of dangerous places, but none more dangerous than this.

In her arms.

He hadn’t expected the peace and contentment that had followed the sex. Amazing, satisfying, mind-blowing sex.

Each time had been different and possibly more satisfying than the first.

Because of the danger of remaining in her arms, and possibly finding the strength to do it yet again, he was trying to muster the will to leave and she must have sensed it.

Caterina propped her head on her arm and glanced at him as he lay on his back beside her. She had been resting against him, her head pillowed on his chest.

“I’d understand if you want to go,” she said and made no motion that contradicted that statement. No touch or caress. No little pout of those full and incredibly mobile lips. Nothing like what he was used to from the other women he’d taken to bed.

Which only confused him more and had him about to protest her statement when the angry buzz of his cell phone alerted him to a security breach.

“Shit,” he said as he rolled off the bed, reaching for the cell phone with one hand while grabbing his weapon with the other.

The code buzzing on the cell phone indicated the breach was at his office/apartment and not at one of the perimeter points surrounding the house.

“Stay put,” he said to her, needing to get to his laptop and find out who had broken into his apartment.

He jerked on his sweatpants, raced out of the room and to his office. With a flick of his finger across the touchpad, the laptop sprang to life to display the feeds from the house, office space, and apartment on the three monitors sitting on the desktop.

The view of the loft area was empty of any intruders, but clearly someone had gone through his things. Clothes and other items littered the floor of the apartment.

He caught a flash of motion from the camera trained on his office. Someone leaving the area? he wondered as Liliana and Caterina walked into the room.

Liliana took one look at his half-naked state and another at Caterina’s in his robe and immediately put two-and-two together. She narrowed her eyes, assessing the situation, but kept silent about it. Instead Liliana asked, “Trouble?”

Caterina walked over to him, tightening the belt on the robe as she did so. She laid a hand on his bare shoulder and that touch alone was enough to awaken need in him.

He slipped behind the protection of the desk and sat down. He worked on recovering the stored video feed to see what had happened and said to the two women, “Someone broke into my place in Philly.”

Liliana came to stand beside Caterina. Both of them had a view of the monitors as Mick replayed the video, from the moment Mad Dog had entered the location to the last few minutes when he slashed his hand across his throat.

His sister tucked her arms tight against her midsection and glanced down at him. “Is he serious or is this some kind of game he plays?”

Mick tucked his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Mad Dog loves to play sick games and he is nothing but serious when he’s on an assignment.”

Surging back toward his laptop, he rewound to the point where Mad Dog had pieced together the shreds of paper, captured that screen shot, and sent it to the printer. The printer kicked to life and a few seconds later, the picture rolled out onto the paper tray.

He picked up the photo and stared at it, recalled the pale pink envelope that had come from his mother together with a letter and family photo. The photo was in his wallet, but the shreds of envelope and letter were the only things in his Philly place that had anything to tie him to anyone outside of his life as a hired gun.

He had been so careful to separate his two lives to avoid the violence of one spilling over into the other. Now the smallest trace of his personal life may have possibly changed what might happen next and not for the good.

He said nothing as he handed the screen shot print to his sister, who examined it and said, “It’s just some paper.”

“With part of an address I think,” he said and watched as Caterina took the paper from his sister. She perused the photo with seemingly great care and said, “An address for here?”

He shook his head. “It was a letter from our mother, so it would be our parents’ address.”

Their home was several blocks away, but even just the name of the town was enough to provide Mad Dog with the information he needed to begin his search. A visit to town and some questions to the right locals and Mad Dog would know where to find his parents. Maybe even possibly where to find him.

“It won’t take much effort for Mad Dog to pinpoint an exact address. A little longer to connect the dots to us,” he warned and held out his hand so Caterina could return the screen shot.

“What do we do now?” Liliana asked.

“We’ve got a day or two at best before Mad Dog gets here.”

“Is this Mad Dog is the one you warned me about before,” Liliana interjected.

He shot a glance at her and then Caterina, who stood there, hugging her arms around herself, clearly in defensive mode.

“Yes, this is the man I warned you about. He’s quite dangerous. If we can’t settle this thing with Edwards soon we’ll need to decide what to do.”

“I’ll turn myself over to the authorities,” Caterina jumped in, looking back and forth between him and Liliana. “If the police have me – “

Mick rose and laid a finger on her lips. “There’s no place you’ll be safe so long as Mad Dog is around.”

Caterina eased her hand into his, once again shaking his core with her simple touch. She raised her chin and cocked her head at a thoughtful angle. “I’m not worried about my safety. I’m worried about your family. They shouldn’t be at risk because of me.”

He was about to answer, but Liliana beat him to it. “The Carreras stick together, Cat.”

“We don’t leave anyone behind,” he added. His family was as tight as any military unit in which he had ever served. He knew they would band together to protect each other and in this case, to protect her.

Caterina embraced his sister in a hug and then leaned into him, encircling his waist with her arms, the gesture more telling than it should have been. As she did so, he met Liliana’s gaze over Caterina’s shoulder.

Liliana’s concerned gaze. His sister was clearly worried about the logic and possible risk of what he was doing.

He awkwardly returned Caterina’s embrace and she stepped away and whirled to face Liliana. Apparently seeing that his sister was aware something had happened, she said, “We had sex. Just sex. No commitments. No promises.”

Post announcement, Caterina fled the room, leaving him to avoid Liliana’s sisterly stare down as he sat before his laptop to start formulating a plan.

Liliana stalked right to the edge of his desk and jammed her hands onto her ample hips. “Miguel de la Guadeloupe Roberto Carrera,” she began, but he raised his hand in the air to cut off a tirade that sounded too much like his mother.

“It won’t happen again.”

“It should not have happened in the first place,” she chided. “She’s vulnerable. You’re ... a bad boy. Dangerous. Women eat that up.”

Didn’t he know it only he refused to acknowledge that it could be different with Caterina. How could it be different considering the playing field where they were starting their little game?

“It won’t happen again,” he repeated, hoping to foreclose any further discussion.

It worked. With an annoyed huff, his sister stomped out of the room.

He turned to the laptop and considered calling Franklin to see if he had found out anything else. Given Franklin’s usual mode of operation, however, he knew his old friend would have phoned if he had any additional information to offer.

He didn’t even know if Mad Dog would reach out to Franklin, but suspected that when he did, it would be to flush out confirmation of something Mad Dog already suspected – like the address on the envelope.

Late as it was, he had to forewarn his friend about Mad Dog.

He dialed him and when Franklin answered, he quickly provided him with an update on Mad Dog’s break-in as well as the details on the Wardwell-Gates Genengineering merger.

Franklin emitted a low whistle and said, “No wonder he has the three of us after Shaw. That’s a lot of money to lose if the merger goes south.”

“It’s the kind of money people kill for which is why he probably had Wells eliminated.”

There was hesitation on the line before his friend said, “You think Edwards did it and not Shaw?”

“I’d put my money on it not being Shaw, wherever she is.”

No sense admitting he knew just where Caterina was. That would only complicate things further if Mad Dog went after Franklin.

“I made some progress with the families of those two patients. They think their loved ones died from medical complications relating to their illnesses. I’ll keep on digging around, but if it’s getting too hot I have to pull out of this.”

“I understand. You’ve got other obligations more important than this assignment. I’m five-by-five with that,” Mick offered, wanting to be square with his friend on what he expected.

“I’ll be back at you if anything comes up.”

Franklin hung up and Mick went back to work on the Internet, trying to gauge just how long it might take for Mad Dog to connect the bit of address on the envelope to their current location.

Less than an hour later he had his answer.

Not very long. Not more than a day or two.

Combined with information from one of the investigative services or a personal visit to the area, the security of this safe house would be compromised in no time. His family, with the exception of Roberta who was doing a tour of duty in Iraq, would be vulnerable.

Liliana was already aware, but he would remind her in the morning. He would talk to his parents and brother as well. Possibly suggest that they all take a vacation together somewhere for at least a week.

In the meantime, he picked up the phone and dialed Ramon to ask his cousin to see if he could arrange for some additional drive-bys of the restaurant and his family’s home nearby. Even though he suspected Liliana wouldn’t like it, he mentioned her problems with her ex-fiancé as well, eliciting a promise from Ramon that a discreet call would be placed to hospital security.

Mick needed to keep his family safe.

And he needed to reaffirm to Caterina that he intended to keep her safe as well.

Chapter 30

Sweet music reached Mick’s ears as he neared the closed door and he assumed she had the stereo turned up to help soothe her.

But when he entered, Caterina was in the far corner of the room, eyes closed, playing his younger brother’s old beat-up cello. Clearly lost in the music as she played, her body swaying and shifting as her fingers and bow arm stroked emotion from the strings and wood.

Trying to ease the tension created earlier in the night, he lightheartedly said, “Never sounded that good when Tony played.”

Caterina stopped mid-stroke, opened her eyes, and shot him a puzzled look.

“Tony?”

“My younger brother Antonio. He stopped playing when he got to high school. Didn’t think the girls would find it sexy that he was in the orchestra.”

That comment dragged a fleeting smile to her lips. “I suppose he became a jock instead.”

Mick chuckled and shook his head. “Lettered in lacrosse and was All-State in football, but he has a geek’s heart. He’s working and going to school part time to get a bioengineering degree.”

* * *

Caterina nodded and set aside the cello, carefully leaning it on the chair as she rose and slipped into bed.

She didn’t look at him again as he stood at the foot of the bed. She couldn’t without revealing the turmoil she was experiencing about her emotions toward him. Emotions she had poured into her music as she played, releasing them into the music until balance had returned.

Of course Mick’s entry had dashed her equilibrium once again. As she sat there, distressed about him and the threat to his family, she sensed the change coming over her and watched as the hand lying on the sheet before her assumed the pale blue color of the linens.

No way, she thought, focusing on that transformation and forcing it away by sheer willpower.

“Cat,” he said, the tones of his voice uncertain and apologetic as walked to the side of the bed.

“It’s okay, Mick. I totally understand,” not that she did, only it wasn’t his fault that she was confused.

He said nothing else. She sensed his continued presence by her side; heard the slight groan of the wood frame on the chair by the bed as he sat down, and the swoosh, fabric sliding against fabric, maybe when he covered himself.

Covered all that wonderful muscle.

She forced that thought from her mind, but nature abhorred a vacuum. Her mind was soon filled with other images of the assorted small scars on his body, the shocking white of the tape on his stitched up forearm, and the bruises he had earned on this latest assignment. An assignment intended to deal with her existence.

One hundred million dollars on her head.

Quite a reward for someone to resist and yet she had no hesitation about Mick’s earlier promise to protect her.

After resting her head on the pillow, silent for long moments, she said his name, not sure if he had already fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” he answered sleepily, although she knew just how quickly he became alert.

“You’re not the hard ass you try to be. There’s a big soft spot inside that you hide.”

No response followed. Before she could question if he had heard her, the swoosh of fabric came again. The bed dipped her toward the center and over the corner of her shoulder she caught a glimpse of him as he eased himself next to her. Too quickly for her to protest, his front was pressed to her back and he had thrown his arm across her waist.

“Go to sleep, Cat.”

Easier said than done, she thought. The press of his body against hers reminded her of the passion they had shared earlier, but closed her eyes anyway and told herself it was something that couldn’t be repeated.

She could risk her life to get to the truth of what had happened to her. Risking her heart was far more dangerous.

* * *

Mick lay awake long after the cadence of her breathing announced that she had finally fallen asleep.

He couldn’t rest. His mind was too busy working out all the possible permutations of what might happen once Mad Dog figured out where they might be.

He had already set some of the gears into motion. Franklin. His cousin Ramon and his police force. Hospital security.

When he thought about the way Mad Dog had tossed his place in Philly, it tore at his gut that he might do the same here.

This was his safe house in more ways than one.

No matter what mission he had been on, from his time in the Army to his life as a hired gun, this place had always been his escape from it all. This home had always been where he could go for comfort and peace.

This mission had threatened that, in more ways than he wanted to consider.

He could take Caterina and run. Find a different place to hide.

Or he could take a stand.

Force Mad Dog to bring the fight to him because the only way he would allow his old nemesis to trash this home and hurt his family was if he was dead.

“Mick?” she asked and turned to face him.

He caressed the satiny skin of her cheek. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

He shook his head and rubbed his thumb along the elegant ridge of her cheekbone. “Too much to think about.”

“This Mad Dog guy has you really worried? It’s about more than this assignment, though, isn’t it?” Caterina covered his hand with hers, stroking it tenderly. The pressure of her hand light, but disturbing nevertheless.

He met her gaze in the dark of the night. The deep blue of hers was interrupted here and there by bits of blue-green glow. A testament to how little time he had to set things right. Something he hadn’t been able to do that the last time Mad Dog had been involved in his life.

“Three years ago, Franklin, Mad Dog, and me were on a private security detail down in Miami. Should have been an easy gig. Keep an eye on the wife and nine year-old son of some bigwig politico who had been receiving death threats.” He sighed deeply and looked away as he recalled that day, but Caterina would not allow his avoidance.

She cradled his jaw and urged him to face her. “What happened?”

Chapter 31

“We had a protocol if we were threatened. Call the police and head to the nearest secure location. Easy enough to do,” Mick explained.

The tension radiated from Mick’s body. It was what had woken her from a sound sleep. Beneath her thumb, the vibrating anger in his body communicated his upset. She ran her thumb across the hard line of his lips and urged him to continue with a soft, “It should have been easy, but Mad Dog wasn’t on board with that, was he?”

He shook his head and against her face, his hand trembled. “We picked up a tail going over the McArthur Causeway on the way to the politico’s home on Star Island. Mad Dog was driving. He could have kept on going to the police station in Miami Beach. Instead he pulled into the entrance for Star Island.”

A shudder snaked across his body and he closed his eyes as he continued the story. “A guard came out to see what was up. The car behind us opened fire, killing him. Our car was armored, so we were safe for the moment.”

Another more violent tremor traveled through his body.

“It got worse,” she said and gently stroked his face once again, trying to soothe him.

His eyes snapped open, pupils contracted from his distress. “Franklin tried to grab the wheel to get Mad Dog to move forward past the gate, but Mad Dog threw open his door, got out, and returned fire.”

Mick sucked in a breath, and then expelled it roughly. “We had no choice but to defend ourselves. In the fire storm that followed, one of the bullets ricocheted off the door killing the nine-year old.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said and embraced him.

* * *

Mick was stiff in her arms at first, but gradually the tension left his body and he relaxed. He slipped his arms around her and brought her close until every inch of their bodies touched.

She was soft. Warm. Too warm.

“You’ve got a fever again,” he whispered by the shell of her ear.

“It comes and goes,” she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

She was trying to be strong.

No, correct that. She was strong and he admired that strength. Understood she was more woman than he had ever encountered.

Rubbing his face against the curls of her hair, it roused the smells of summer. Hints of pine from the woods they had traipsed through earlier. Chlorine from the pool.

In another time, the odors of home down the shore.

“We’ll make you better, Cat. Trust me.”

She laid her hand flat against his chest. “I do trust you, Mick. Like I said, you’ve got a soft spot.”

He had a soft spot all right. It was a soft spot in his head to maybe think that somehow this would all turn out right.

He couldn’t afford such softness because it might lead to a misstep, but he also couldn’t harden his heart against her. Against the concern she was showing for him and his family. A concern he had never experienced with any of the other women who had spent a minute or two in his life.

Despite that, he forced some command in his voice, trying to create distance between them. “Go to sleep, Cat. There’s a lot to be done tomorrow.”

“Good night, Mick,” she said, but remained close. Her body was pressed to his, the beat of her heart strong. The out-of-sync cadence merging with his until the beat became one.

A dangerous one, he thought for the barest of seconds before he allowed sleep to claim him.

* * *

Forewarned was forearmed, Liliana thought, cautious as she exited her car in the hospital parking lot the next morning. She was early for rounds much as she had been on several other occasions, needing to see Carmen Rojas and have her friend take another look at Caterina’s blood.

She was walking toward the entrance to the hospital when Harrison exited the building. He sported a white bandage across his nose and two black eyes.

She had done this to him and despite the many times he had hurt her, Liliana took no joy in seeing his injuries. If anything, she feared such a visible testament to his failure would only create more problems for her.

He hadn’t seen her and for a moment she considered going back to her car to wait until he had left, but then decided she’d had enough of being afraid of him.

Raising her head and straightening her spine, she walked toward the hospital entrance and Harrison.

He noticed her then and came straight toward her.

“What do you want?” she asked as she stopped a good distance away from him, wanting to be beyond his arm’s reach.

He looked around, clearly wanting to make sure that no one would witness their exchange. Then he took a step toward her and whispered, “You got away last night, but don’t think it’ll be so easy the next time.”

She thought about the bullies in the world and the one thing they all had in common. They were inherently cowards when someone stood up to them.

“There isn’t going to be a next time, because if you even come within one foot of me again, I’m going to take the tape of what happened last night to the police and then the hospital board. Understood?”

His face paled, making the dark bruising beneath his eyes even more stark.

“You wouldn’t do that. What would people think about you?”

A month ago or even a week ago, the shame associated with people discovering how he had hurt her might have actually made her reconsider her threat. Even the fear of how it might hurt her career at the hospital no longer held sway with her.

With a harsh laugh, she said, “They would think that I was smart enough to get away from you.”

She shoved past him, intent on starting her rounds.

Hopeful that Harrison finally got the message that she would no longer serve as his punching bag.

Once she was within the hospital, Liliana headed straight toward the lower levels that housed the labs and other non-patient areas.

Like always, Carmen was at her station in the pathology lab, making Liliana wonder if her friend ever left her spot. As she entered, Carmen shot her a bright smile.

“Good morning, girlfriend. What interesting thing do you have for me today?” Carmen said.

“Are you always so cheery about a blood sample?” she chided as she pulled the tube out of her pocket and handed it over.

“Only when it’s packed with GFPs and all other kinds of interesting anomalies.”

Liliana shook her head and chastised her friend. “You know that there’s a person behind that sample. Someone who’s not doing so hot.”

Carmen remained unremorseful. “It’s why I’m down here. No people skills.”

“You’re underestimating yourself,” she said, but Carmen ignored her by removing a drop of blood from the vacutainer and putting it on a slide. She slid a slip glass over the specimen and placed it beneath the microscope.

“Whoa,” she replied and immediately looked up at her. “We’ve got an excessive number of white blood cells present as well as lysis of an assortment of other cells.”

Liliana thought about the inhibitor drug and what it might do. Was it the after effects which were creating the fever and the need for plasmapheresis after multiple treatments? she wondered.

“Do you think the lysis is a result of the white blood cells or something else?”

“A chemically-induced lysis?” Carmen tossed out for discussion and returned to examine the sample under the microscope once again.

After long moments spent examining the specimen, Carmen popped back up and said, “There’s a lot of cell damage, as if her body had an allergic reaction.”

“And now her system is trying to mop up all the destruction afterward,” Liliana noted.

“There may be too much lysis for her body to handle on its own.”

Liliana nodded, finally understanding the need for the plasmapheresis. Aware that they didn’t have much time to undertake the therapy in order to help Caterina. She motioned to the microscope.

“With that sample, could you prepare the cell separator with what was needed to cleanse the patient’s blood using plasmapheresis?”

“I could. I will. Just let me know when you need it done,” Carmen confirmed, understanding the urgency of the matter.

“ASAP, Carmen. You call me when you’re ready so I can arrange for the treatment,” Liliana said and walked out.

Chapter 32

Caterina’s fever had returned. The heat of it had warned Mick of her fragility when she had taken hold of his hand earlier that morning before dozing off to a fitful sleep.

He grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialed Liliana as he sat in the chair by the bed, hoping she would have some news about the blood sample she had drawn. His sister answered almost immediately, but strain colored her tones.

“You okay, sis?” he asked, worried that something was up with her. Something that had nothing to do with the trouble he had involved her in.

“Long day and lots of emergencies. There’s good news, though,” she said and her voice actually brightened at the end, giving him hope that the earlier strain was from just too much work.

“You were able to get something from the blood sample?” He shot a half glance at Caterina as she stirred for a moment, but then drifted right back to sleep.

“We did. The bad news is there’s too much going on. Lots of white blood cells and too much cell damage.”

Mick cursed beneath his breath, but Liliana immediately said, “The good news is we’ve got a plasmapheresis set-up ready and waiting for Caterina. Once we run her blood through the separator, it should relieve a lot of her symptoms.”

He thought about bringing her into the hospital and the risk it presented. Caterina’s picture had been in the papers and on television for the last few days. Reaching over, he brushed the back of his hand against her cheek.

Heat blasted from her. Too much heat.

If he didn’t risk bringing Caterina into the hospital, she might continue to get worse.

She might die.

His gut tightened at the thought of losing her.

“Where should I bring Cat?”

* * *

Mad Dog cursed and tossed aside the bits of the pastel pink envelope. He had spent a few hours searching the Internet, but had made little progress in tracking down where Mick might be.

His first guess had been that the address was from a town somewhere along the Eastern Shore. He put his money on the Jersey Shore given its proximity to Mick’s home base in Philadelphia. Probably the South Jersey shore.

That guess had left him trying to decipher the name of the town with those few letters. It had taken less than an hour to discover they most likely stood for Bradley Beach, a small shore town near Asbury Park. At least an hour away from South Jersey and Philly.

Whoever had sent Mick the envelope lived in that town. Possibly a member of Mick’s family which would give him some leverage if he could get his hands on them and use them as a trade for Shaw.

Mad Dog’s cell phone rang. His client based on the number on the caller id.

“What are you doing?” his client asked, his words laced with anger and frustration.

“I’m doing what you paid me to do,” he said nonchalantly, not about to let some piss ass scientist boss him around.

“People are asking questions.”

“People, huh? Which people?” It was easy to take care of people who asked too many questions.

The other man nearly hissed the name. “Edwards.”

Interesting, he thought. “You and your buddy have a falling out?”

“Carrera and Shaw paid him a visit last night. He’s quite dissatisfied. There’s a lot at stake here.”

Fuck. Not only did Mick have Shaw, she seemed to be cognizant and working with him. Not good.

“I understand what’s at stake. I stand to lose as well,” he reminded the man. He had only received half of his fee upfront. Another cool million would only be delivered once he either brought Shaw to them or eliminated her.

“We need her soon. The longer the police continue their investigation, the more likely they are to rule her out as a suspect.”

“I’m on his trail,” Mad Dog lied, frustrated that the clues provided by the envelope had so far yielded no results.

“Hurry it along, Mr. Donnelly. If the police start looking somewhere besides Shaw, everything will be jeopardized.”

In other words, they’d stiff him for the rest of the money they owed him. “I’ll have Shaw for you within forty-eight hours,” he said, determined not to let Mick screw things up.

“Forty-eight hours. If it takes longer, we may need to reconsider our deal.”

“I get it. No cash. For either of us. Like I said, I’ll have Shaw for you in forty-eight hours.”

He hung up as his client continued with his dire warnings about the risk of failure.

He hadn’t failed on any mission he’d undertaken. Well, none except the one with Franklin and Mick. If they hadn’t been such pussies, they could have salvaged that one as well. They had been too worried about collateral damage to handle the problem. He had no such qualms.

He returned to his laptop and his search on the Internet. Plugging in Bradley Beach and Carrera yielded lots of results, from fan sites for Porsches to an assortment of news articles from area papers.

Methodically Mad Dog began to go through the materials, skipping those that seemed less relevant. He found several articles about an Antonio Carrera and his football exploits.

Unfortunately, many of the articles had been archived or were dead links. The use of the Wayback Machine site yielded the text of the articles, but not the pictures.

Damn, he thought. A picture might have helped him make a stronger connection to Mick if the football player looked anything like his ex-colleague.

What he did realize from the articles was that Antonio appeared to be at least eight or so years younger than Mick.

Additional hunts on the net yielded another Carrera – a Liliana Carrera who had been valedictorian of her high school class, but still no picture. This woman was just a few years younger than Mick. Mad Dog had little doubt that all of them were somehow related.

Tracking down the names of the local high schools, he tried to see if they had old yearbooks up on their websites.

They didn’t.

He had the same result at the local library. Although they had the yearbooks listed in their collection of reference books, they were not available online.

Powering down his laptop, Mad Dog decided he needed to do some hands on investigating.

In the morning, he would take his hunt to the streets. If he could confirm that the Internet hits for the two Carreras were for Mick’s relatives and verify that they still lived in the area, he could track down any properties they might own and scope them out.

As he considered everything, he was certain of one thing.

Forty-eight hours from now he’d be a million dollars richer.

* * *

The smell of the cheap spray-in hair color was strong, but it was all Mick could manage in the short time from the call to Liliana and her announcement that she had arranged for Caterina’s much needed therapy.

He pulled the Jeep up to the back door to the hospital. Liliana was waiting there with a gurney. Caterina didn’t really need it, but with the change of hair color and a blanket strategically obscuring part of Caterina’s face, he hoped she wouldn’t be noticed as they wheeled her through the hospital corridors.

He only hoped his sister and whoever was helping her wouldn’t be punished for their assistance with the therapy.

Arm-arm, he walked with Caterina to the door and got her settled on the gurney.

“We’ll be on the third floor. Room 303,” Liliana said. The faster they got the procedure going, the more they lessened the risk of discovery.

Mick leaned down and tucked the blanket up around Caterina’s neck, covering part of her face. He dropped a swift kiss on her cheek. “I’m going to park the car. I’ll just be a few minutes. Hang in there.”

Caterina nodded weakly and said, “I’m fine.”

He nodded and raced out the door.

* * *

Caterina met Liliana’s concerned gaze.

“So how are you really feeling?” Liliana asked.

“Hot. My joints ache and I have pain here,” she said and covered her midsection in the spot right between where her ribs ended.

Liliana eased her hand beneath Caterina’s. Pressed slightly, causing Caterina to moan from the pressure.

“It could be your spleen. It probably can’t handle all the stress your system is in.”

Liliana walked to the foot of the gurney, bent, and pushed with all her might. The gurney slid against the polished hospital floor and rolled with her guiding it from behind. The ding as they approached the elevator bank was welcome and they were soon on their way up.

Caterina closed her eyes and tried to ignore the assorted aches and pains in her body and the intense heat. When the gurney slowed to a stop, she opened her eyes.

Liliana was at her side with another young Latina in a light blue scrub suit. “This is Dr. Rojas. She’s a fellow doctor and a friend. She can be trusted.”

“Thank you,” Caterina said and the young woman nodded.

Dr. Rojas approached Caterina and held up a syringe connected to a long section of tubing. There was something familiar about it and in the back of her brain, Caterina realized she had seen something similar before while in Wardwell’s care.

“We need to put one needle in each arm. We’ll also be giving you an IV with citrate to avoid coagulation while we’re processing your blood. That may interfere with your clotting for the next twenty-four hours so try to avoid any strenuous activities and watch for excessive bruising.”

Caterina nodded and winced as the woman pierced a vein in her arm with the needle. The young doctor walked around and did the same in the other arm and as she did so she said, “I see you’ve had this done before, and often, so you know this may take about two hours. Close your eyes and get some rest.”

Dr. Rojas patted her arm, the action slightly mechanical and stilted. She slipped some kind of device over Caterina’s finger and a machine a couple of feet away kicked to life.

“Thank you,” Caterina said and did as instructed, knowing rest was essential to rebuilding her strength.

* * *

Liliana approached her friend and clapped her on the back as she turned on the plasmapheresis unit. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Dead people are easier to handle,” Carmen teased while keeping her eye on the equipment to make sure it was working properly and checking her patient’s heart rate and oxygen saturation.

“Easier, but not as rewarding.”

A knock came at the door and Liliana walked over, opened it to admit her brother, who scrutinized Caterina as she lay on the gurney, tubes running out of her arms and wires leading to the pulse oximeter that was keeping track of her heart beat and the oxygen saturation in her blood.

“She’ll be okay, Mick. We’ll be extracting the remnants of the cell lysis and antibodies plus adding some sterile plasma substitutes to help stabilize her,” Liliana said.

Mick glanced at Carmen and held out his hand. “Mick Carrera.”

“Liliana’s brother,” her friend said as she shyly peered up at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Liliana.”

As he arched a brow, Carmen quickly confirmed, “All good things.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you helping us,” Mick replied.

Carmen nervously half-glanced at Liliana. “I know Liliana wouldn’t ask unless this was an emergency.”

“It is. You’re helping save her life,” Mick said.

Carmen nodded and faced Liliana. “I need to head back to the lab, but I’ll check back in about an hour.”

Her friend left the room and Mick walked over to Liliana and hugged her. “Thank you.”

Liliana returned the embrace, and then went to where Caterina was resting on the gurney. She laid her hand over Caterina’s, waking her.

“How are you feeling?”

Caterina offered up a weak smile. “A little dizzy and my fingertips are numb.”

Liliana squeezed her hand. “That’s normal, but I’m going to check your blood pressure just in case.”

Mick came to Caterina’s side and laced his fingers with hers. The smile Caterina offered him was brighter and there was a look in her eyes that Liliana couldn’t fail to notice.

Caterina was in love with her brother, she thought as she wheeled over the blood pressure machine. As she wrapped the cuff around Caterina’s arm, she half-looked at her brother as he stood by the gurney.

She couldn’t miss the look in his eyes either.

Mick had feelings for Caterina. She couldn’t say love kinds of feelings because she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her brother truly in love. But she was sure that this was more than a we’re-having-great-sex kind of look.

Which was so not good, Liliana thought as the blood pressure machine kicked to life, inflating the cuff and then shuddering and deflating to calculate the blood pressure.

“Your pressure is on the low side of normal, which is typical for this treatment. It’ll stabilize in a few hours,” Liliana said, inclined her head, and nodded to get her brother to meet her at the far side of the room.

Mick reluctantly left Caterina and the anxious look on his face only confirmed her earlier observation.

“She’s okay, right?” he whispered.

Okay was not a word she could use considering Caterina’s condition and while she didn’t want to shatter his illusions, he seemed to need a reality check. “She’ll be better. For a little while. Until she’ll need another dose of the inhibitor drug and this starts all over again. And then when you run out of the inhibitor drug, the replication will begin again.”

Mick tensed beside her. “Sounds like you’re warning me off.”

“Just being realistic ’cause I know you, bro. You’re the kind of guy who brings home strays and likes to save the world, but this is a lose-lose situation.”

A muscle ticked along the hard line of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Duly noted. When can I take her home?”

Liliana glanced at her watch. “To be most effective, I’d like to let this run for at least another hour and a half.”

“You’re on duty, right?” he said and she couldn’t fail to grasp his real meaning.

“You want me gone,” she said, wondering if it was because he was angry with her about her comments.

Mick must have sensed her concern because he explained his request. “The less you’re involved here, the better.”

It might be a little too late to curtail her involvement, but Liliana understood his apprehension.

“Call me on the cell if you need me. Otherwise I’ll be back to help you get Caterina ready to go home.”

He hugged her hard and whispered, “Don’t worry about me, Liliana. I know what I’m doing.”

She embraced him and as always, marveled at the sense of safety and strength she felt in his arms. He had always been the protector in the family. Always the hero who had come through for them.

It was why he deserved some happiness in his life.

As she pulled away from him and shot a look at Caterina as she lay on the gurney, she knew there was no happy ending there no matter what happened next.

She only hoped her brother was wise enough to realize it as well before it was too late.

Chapter 33

Mick had managed to get Caterina home with little fanfare.

She now lay tucked in bed, resting. Calls to Ramon and Franklin had yielded little more than the reassurance that nothing was happening. Yet.

He dialed his parents’ number and his mother answered.

“Hola, mi’jito. How is your friend?”

“She’s doing fine, mom.” He hesitated, unsure of just how to broach his request, but then plowed ahead. “I need to ask a favor.”

“Of course, mi’jito. What can I do? Some nice chicken soup? Or maybe some rice pudding to sit easy on her stomach,” she offered.

He smiled. His mother always thought the world’s problems could be cured with the right dish of food. “Actually, I need you, dad, and Tony to close the restaurant for a few days. Maybe take a vacation somewhere. I’ll pay for it.”

“Close the restaurant?” Her disbelief escalated with each word, as if he had just asked her to shut down the Pentagon.

“It’s important or I wouldn’t ask.”

“Pero, mi’jito, we can’t just shut down. What about our employees and our customers? What about Tony’s classes?”

“You take vacations, mom. You visited grandma last year, remember?” he chided, wishing that his mother wasn’t turning a simple request into such a battle because he didn’t want to tell her the real reason for the request.

That would only create more of a problem.

A long silence filled the line before his mother said, “Is it that important, mi’jo?”

“It is and don’t ask me why. Please. Just close up tomorrow and take a few days off.”

“We’ll do it, but if you need us to do anything, you know we’re here.”

“If I need you, I’ll call,” he finished, eager to have them out of harm’s way.

“Mi’jo ... cuida tu corazon.”

“Don’t worry about my heart. It’ll be fine,” he said and bid his mother goodbye again.

He leaned back in his chair and considered both his mother’s and Liliana’s warnings. He decided to ignore them. He didn’t know what was happening with Caterina, but he knew he had to see it to its conclusion.

He surged out of the chair and toward the guest room.

Caterina was curled up on her side, seemingly asleep, but as Mick took the first step into the room, she opened her eyes.

He sat on the edge of the chair, his elbows resting on his knees. Fingers laced together as his hands hung loosely before him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Much better.”

In truth, he probably hadn’t needed to ask. The skin on her face no longer had the flushed fever look and her voice was strong.

“I heard what Liliana said to you. She’s right you know. This is a lose-lose situation.”

Anger rose sharply in him. “You didn’t strike me as a quitter.”

She sat up, holding the sheet against her body to hide her nakedness. “Just being realistic, Mick.”

He leaned forward and cupped her cheek. The skin was smooth, the temperature of it only sleep warm and not feverish. He met her gaze and caressed the line of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why don’t you let me decide what’s realistic?”

Caterina laughed harshly and shook her head. “I never liked it when my dad made decisions for me. What makes you think I want you deciding what’s right?”

He surged forward and silenced her with a kiss. Kept on kissing her until she dropped her hold on the sheet and brought her hands up to his shoulders.

By the time they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

Mick laid his forehead against hers and said, “That’s what makes me think this is worth a try. This feeling that I can’t just ignore.”

When his gaze met hers, the blue of her eyes was as dark as the ocean at night and shimmering with unshed tears.

“Come to bed. You need to rest,” she said.

He nodded and toed off his shoes, but slipped in beside her fully clothed, unwilling to waste even a moment before he was next to her.

Enveloping her in his arms, he pulled her tight to him until every inch of their bodies was pressed together. Her heart beat against his, strong and steady. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, the silk of her hair soft beneath his cheek. The warmth of her breath spilled against his throat.

A sense of homecoming he had not experienced with any other woman calmed his warrior’s restless soul. Peace filled his heart.

Much as he had battled for country and family, he knew as he held her that he would fight for her.

For them.

And this was one battle he did not intend to lose.

* * *

Caterina woke him with the gentle whisper of her lips against his. Invited him to join with her.

“Are you sure?” Mick asked, his voice husky from sleep.

That he asked confirmed to her just how different a man he was from her father who would have never sought to seek another’s permission for anything.

“I’m sure,” she replied and so that there would be no doubt about it, she grabbed the hem of the t-shirt he wore and made short work of pulling it off his body.

She pressed against him, warm skin against skin. The hard tips of her breasts brushing his smooth chest as they kissed over and over. Beside the soft flatness of her belly, his erection jerked to life and hardened.

Laying her hand over him, she caressed the shape of him beneath the denim and he groaned into her mouth, reached down, and undid his jeans.

The hard length of him sprang forward and she encircled him with one hand, stroking him. Urging him onward as he cupped her breasts and teased her nipples with his hands, drawing a pleased sigh from her.

“Make love to me,” he said and sat up against the headboard. He urged her over him with the gentle grasp of his hips and she needed no further invitation.

She held onto Mick’s shoulders and sank down onto him, gasping as the length and width of him filled her. As the comfort of his arms surrounded her and drew her near until she was tight against his chest.

She couldn’t move, overwhelmed as she was by the sense of unity in his arms. Desire growing with her possession of him along with something else. Something she could no longer deny.

“When I’m with you ... it’s like my soul is filled with music,” she said as he cradled her face in his hands and tenderly brushed his lips across hers before moving them to her cheeks and then to her forehead.

“It’s special for me, too,” he whispered, the words so soft she thought she might have imagined them until she met his gaze and it confirmed his sentiment.

“Very special,” she responded, earning a smile from him which she kissed, memorizing the feel of it against her lips as a talisman for what would be the hard days to come.

He returned the kiss and then she moved on him, offering herself up to him. Accepting what he offered in return.

As she slowly rocked on him, he bent forward and suckled her breasts, alternating between them while holding them in his hands. Teasing the sensitive tips with his lips and hands, each little tug traveling down to her center to heighten the pleasure growing in her body.

“Touch me down there, Mick. Please, touch me,” she said, needing him in every possible way.

He dropped one hand and found her center. Parted her and pressed his thumb against her clit, dragging a rough shudder from her. As her body tightened on him, increasing the friction of her hips as she rode him, a sympathetic shudder ripped through his body.

“God, Cat. That feels so good,” he said and gently nipped the tip of her breast with his teeth. She moaned and cradled his head. Urged him on.

“I like that, Mick. I like having your mouth on me,” she said and he teethed her again.

The climax that had been growing with every shift of her hips ripped through her. She arched her back and ground down on him, crying out his name.

He pumped his hips up into her, prolonging her release until he finally gave in to his own climax, his body shaking and tensing beneath her as he came.

She held him close and kissed him. Savored the peace that slowly replaced the need and realized in those moments that there was no lose-lose in his arms.

But she understood that she would have battle beside him so that she might have more time to with him. She’d waited too long to find this kind of fulfillment and she wasn’t about to give it up without a fight.

Chapter 34

Forty hours to go, Mad Dog thought as he drove east on the expressway, eager to discover the location of Mick’s family and hopefully the man himself.

Bradley Beach was a little over an hour away from the hotel in Philly where he had set up his base camp after his trip in from his home in Boston.

The town wasn’t far off the Garden State Parkway, with a quaint Main Street lined with bakeries, restaurants, and the occasional ice cream parlor.

The library was a few blocks off Main in a red brick building on a well-maintained plot of land. The walk leading to an ornate portico sheltering the library’s large metal doors was lined with flowers in full bloom. It would be tough to break through those metal doors, but luckily there were a number of windows that could provide easier points of entry or escape if need be.

He parked around the corner from the library on a quiet residential street, walked to the library entrance, and entered.

A perky young teenager manned the checkout desk inside. He didn’t approach at first, scoping out the interior of the library and the number of patrons within.

You never knew when you’d have to start shooting.

Satisfied that no one presented an immediate threat, he approached the teen, eliciting a cheery reaction.

“May I help you?” she asked as she stamped a date onto a card and slipped it into a sleeve in a book that she returned to the patron by the desk.

“I have an old friend in the area, but can’t remember how to spell his last name so I can get an address for him. I know he attended the local high school and I was hoping you would have some yearbooks I could search.”

“What year was he? Maybe I know him?” she said, but Mad Dog shook his head.

“He’s a lot older, but he had a younger brother not much older than you – Antonio Carrera,” he advised and the young girl’s tweezed eyebrows narrowed as she mulled over the name.

“Sounds familiar, but I can’t say I know him. Maybe Bill would, though. He’s been around forever.”

She walked to a wall at the back of the desk area and then around behind it. He heard the murmur of voices and seconds later the young woman returned with an older man who had the look of ex-military about him.

He wore a dark blue security guard’s uniform and was brushing away some crumbs, probably because the young girl had interrupted him during a break.

The man could be a problem, he thought, but kept a neutral look on his face.

The security guard eyeballed him up and down before asking, “What can I do for you?”

“Looking for an old Army buddy. Last name is Carrera.”

Mad Dog noticed the Semper Fi tattoo on the older man’s forearm. The ex-Marine squinted at him and then shot him a curious look once again. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, sir,” he answered with military precision. “From the Boston area, sir. Just came to win some money down in Atlantic City, but figured I’d drop by to see my friend.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, the grizzled ex-Marine motioned with a gnarled finger toward the back of the library.

“Phone books, yearbooks, and Little League directories are all in the reference area. You might find what you need back there.”

He thanked the man, headed to the back where another helpful librarian handed him a couple of yearbooks based on the dates Mad Dog had found for Antonio Carrera. He hit the jackpot in the second yearbook which had a picture of Antonio in his suit and tie. The young man was a dead ringer for his old friend Mick. Probably a younger brother.

As he flipped through the pages of the yearbook, he realized that Antonio had not only been on the lacrosse and football teams, but also the baseball team.

Assuming that the younger Carrera might have played on a Little League team, he asked the librarian for the directories, but as she was handing them over she said, “I’m assuming you found your friend in the yearbook.”

“I did. I was hoping to track down his address,” he said since his searches on the Internet the night before had not yielded any phone listings for the Carreras.

“Do you know what year your friend played?” she said.

“Actually, I found his brother in the yearbook – Antonio Carrera,” he replied and a broad smile erupted on the librarian’s face.

“You should have mentioned his name earlier. I can tell you where to find Tony,” she said.

Mad Dog smiled.

Today was going to be a good day for Mick to die.

* * *

At noon on the nose Edwards dialed the number Carrera had given him. The mercenary answered on the second ring and his voice projected into the room via the speaker phone.

“Dr. Edwards.”

Edwards glanced at Ricardo Morales as the other scientist sat across from him, his face expressionless even as he said, “Mad Dog was here to see Ricardo Morales. He’s a geneticist with our company.”

A long pause followed his statement before Carrera said, “A geneticist? You expect me to believe that this scientist is the one responsible for what’s happening?”

“He’s been working with Wells for at least a decade. I suspect the two of them developed the plan to experiment on the terminal patients. After all, who would miss them?”

“You son-of-a-bitch.”

“Not me, Mr. Carrera. As I said, it was Wells and Morales,” he urged.

“Where is Morales now?”

Edwards smiled and looked across at Morales as he said, “Long gone along with the remaining patients in the program.”

Patients and a genetic engineering process that might be worth a great deal more than the one hundred million and options he stood to gain from the Gates deal. Of course, if Mad Dog did the job Morales had hired him for, Edwards could have his cake and eat it too.

“I’d get a lawyer, Dr. Edwards, because you’re not going to be able to hide behind Wells and Morales for long,” Carrera warned and the line went dead.

Edwards calmly pressed the button to shut off the speaker phone. “We have to eliminate Carrera, Ricardo.”

Morales shrugged. “I’ll put my money on Mad Dog successfully completing that assignment.”

“You did put your money on it,” he reminded the geneticist.

The other man laughed and said, “Luckily there’s a lot more where that came from. My partners are quite excited about the possibilities for the process.”

Edwards could well imagine that – genetically enhanced warriors and assassins would fetch a high price.

“What if Mad Dog fails?” Edwards asked, picking up a gold pen from his desk and nervously tipping it over and over again on his blotter.

“There’s Santiago and now Bradford. Either one can tear apart either Shaw or her would-be hero.”

“If we can get to Carrera and Shaw before they reach the authorities,” Edwards replied, dropping the gold pen to the desk’s surface.

“And what if they do reach the police? Shaw’s time is limited even with treatment and from what I understand, her protector’s reputation is dubious at best.”

Not all that dubious, Edwards thought, but didn’t say. If the house of cards started to collapse, he wanted to be able to extricate himself before it fell in on him. “We need a contingency plan that isn’t all death and destruction.”

“Not to worry. There’s enough money in a Swiss account if we need to disappear and my friends have promised a great deal more based on what they’ve seen,” Morales replied and rose from his chair, smoothing the lines of his expensive silk suit as he did so.

He looked more like a drug lord or pimp than a geneticist, Edwards thought with distaste.

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” Edwards said.

* * *

It had been easier than Mad Dog could have imagined.

No need for any extensive searches since the librarian had immediately recognized the Carrera name. Antonio was the youngest in the family and worked at a Mexican restaurant owned by his parents which was apparently a local institution in town.

The librarian had also confirmed that Mick was the eldest and that there were two younger sisters -- one serving in Iraq, the other a local doctor. The very helpful librarian had even provided the name of the hospital where the one sister worked.

Mad Dog had done some reconnoitering earlier in the day only to discover that a family emergency had resulted in an unanticipated closure of the restaurant. Luckily, one of the workers had failed to get the message and had been loitering at the door when he arrived.

Twenty bucks later, the worker had confirmed that the eldest Carrera son was probably in the area. The man had no idea where Mick lived, but had overheard one of the elder Carreras speaking about Mick recently and that the mother had left with a large delivery of food days earlier. Since she didn’t normally make deliveries, the worker had assumed the food was for a family member.

Armed with that information, Mad Dog had gone back to his car, powered up his laptop and broadband card. An hour later, he had the address for the hospital where Dr. Liliana Carrera worked and a photo of her from a brochure for a recent gala held by the hospital.

Dr. Carrera was a pretty woman. Attractive enough to do. He might even keep her for some fun after using her as bait to draw in her brother and Shaw.

The thought of doing both the Carrera woman and Shaw made him hard.

It was shame that they’d soon both be dead.

By late afternoon he had a solid lay of the land and an escape route in case things went south thanks to his surveillance of the hospital and nearby roads.

Last, but not least, he had done some additional investigations and decided where to take Dr. Carrera and Shaw for his entertainment and after, to dispose of their bodies.

Now all that was left to do was put his plan into action.

* * *

Liliana had heard the relief in Mick’s voice when she had called earlier. The treatment had worked and Caterina was feeling better. Their parents and younger brother Tony had closed the restaurant and driven off on a long-needed vacation to visit family in Chicago.

Those developments had imbued her with a second round of energy. Enough to let her finish the last few hours of her shift with a spring in her step.

The only troubling aspect of her shift had been the occasional sightings of Harrison, who seemed to have gone into stalker mode. But looking at the bright side of things, at least stalker mode meant he was keeping his distance.

Vigilant as Mick had warned, she carefully scoped out the hospital parking lot before heading to her car. In the early morning hours, there was little activity and the path to her vehicle was well-lit and empty.

With a relieved sigh, she gripped her keys firmly and hurried to her car. As she approached, a big SUV came screeching from the parking lot and jerked to a stop in front of the entrance to the emergency room.

The driver side door on the car flew open and a man came rushing around the front of the car.

His shirt front was covered in blood and as he noticed her, he hurried over and said, “You’ve got to help me. My son had an accident.”

She’d seen parents like this before, eyes wild with concern.

“Calm down, sir,” she said and walked beside him to the back of the car, intent on helping them into the emergency room where someone could take care of them.

“He fell and hit his head. There’s so much blood,” the man said, his actions jerky. Voice tight with emotion.

At the back of the SUV, he pulled open one of the doors and said, “He’s back here. I’m afraid to move him.”

Liliana brushed past the agitated man to get a look at his child, but the rear of the car was empty.

Before she could turn to face the man, a sharp sting came against her arm, and suddenly all her body functions seemed to be scrambled. She battled the sensation, realizing that this might be the man Mick had warned her about.

He was on her immediately, encircling her in his arms, but even in her weakened state, she tried to fight him, rocking back and forth to loosen his grip on her. Slamming her heel into his instep and earning a pained grunt.

Another sharp blast came, this time at the side of her neck. Her body bucked from the force of it and her knees gave way, nearly upending both of them, but she continued to struggle, knowing that one of the hospital security guards was barely yards away at the entrance to the emergency room.

Her assailant cursed at her continued resistance and pounded her body against the back door of the SUV as her vision faded.

Then another jolt of electricity surged through her system and plunged her into total blackness.

* * *

The chirp of his phone roused Mick from the peaceful bliss of her arms. Not an alarm, but a phone call he knew from the ring.

Franklin’s number flashed on the cell phone.

“What’s up?” Mick said sleepily, easing an arm around Caterina’s back to keep her close.

She sighed, laid her thigh over his legs and tucked herself tight against his side, still half-asleep.

“Got some news from a friend down in the Camden PD that you might want to hear.”

Instantly alert, he tried to keep his body neutral, but Caterina must have sensed the change since she sat up so she could watch his face.

With the peace shattered, he sat up in bed also, but once again wrapped his arm around her to urge her close. “Good news, I hope.”

“Maybe,” Franklin said and filled him in on all that he had gotten from his police department informant.

“Thanks. Let me know if anything else comes of it,” he said and hung up.

“Something important?” Caterina asked, glancing up at him, her eyes wide and trusting.

He nodded and filled her in on the news. “The lab boys down in Camden were able to get DNA samples from two different people off the stake that killed Wells.”

“Two?” she asked, scrunching up her brows as she said it. “I remembered two men fighting before I found Dr. Wells. It could be their DNA, so that’s good right?”

He knew for what she hoped – some evidence that would clear her of any wrongdoing and he hated to shatter her hope.

“The lab boys didn’t know what to make of the DNA samples. Too many irregularities which led them to believe the samples were either corrupt or contaminated and therefore unreliable.”

Her shoulders slumped and she seemed to disappear right before his eyes. In a way she had since her upset had triggered another response, this one more immediate than the others before them.

She realized it almost instantly and held up her hands, examining the blue of them against the blue of the sheets. “Corrupt like me. Contaminated like I am.”

He took hold of her hand and cradled her cheek. Gently urged her face upward. “It’s flesh and bone. Nothing more. It’s not who you are inside.”

She sucked in an uncertain breath, her body trembling beneath his touch and suddenly she was back to normal and in control.

“Science sinned against me. Violated me. This isn’t what I am, but if we can’t stop this, what will I become?”

“There’s got to be a way to handle this,” he said, trying to calm her.

“There is no way to stop it, Mick. We can’t stop whatever is going on in my body.”

Surprise filled him that she was talking about a “we” even as worry took root. It was only a matter of time before they would have to administer the inhibitor drug again. Before they would have her suffer through the fevers before undergoing another round of plasmapheresis to cleanse her blood.

But she was right that it wouldn’t stop what was happening in her body. With each cycle of replication, the experimental gene fragments implanted themselves more firmly in her native DNA until . . .

He wouldn’t wonder about that. About what would be the eventual outcome of the constant battle raging between the cells that made her human and those implanted in her by Wardwell.

Instead he pulled her close and whispered, “We will handle this. We will find out what to do.”

She nodded, a small smile coming to her lips with his words, and he bent his head and kissed her.

The chirp of his cell phone registered as he opened his mouth against hers, only this time he sprang into action, grabbing his Glock from the nightstand drawer and racing to his office.

Caterina followed behind him and arrived just in time to see what had tripped the first of the warning alarms.

The video feed on his laptop showed a small bag sitting on the path to his front door.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Don’t know,” he said and rewound the stored video to show the bag flying through the air from a passing car. A big black SUV which was racing away, but the video also showed that Liliana’s car was not parked in front of the house.

Mick replied, “Liliana should have been home from her shift by now.”

He snagged his jeans from the floor, yanked them on, and bolted from the room. She grabbed a robe and slipped it on as she followed him down the stairs. Neither of them stated the obvious – Liliana wasn’t in Mick’s bedroom nor was she anywhere on the main floor of the house.

Mick disarmed the alarm, but before he walked out, he pointed to a round red button on the wall opposite the door. “If anything happens with that bag on the path, you lock up, and hit that panic button.”

Then he tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans, walked down the path, and picked up the bag.

Chapter 35

Nothing happened. At least not right away.

Caterina watched as Mick opened the bag and then seemed to crumple before her eyes. His shoulders sagged and his head dropped down. He turned and slowly walked back up the path, the bag in his hands. When he entered, he shut the door and reset the alarm calmly, but tension vibrated throughout his body.

“Mick, what happened?” she asked and laid a hand on his arm.

He reached into what appeared to be a plain brown paper bag and extracted a set of keys, a cell phone, and a note.

She didn’t need to guess whose keys and the cell phone looked familiar. The message on the note was simple, but dangerous: Wait for my call.

“Liliana – “ she began, but he went into action again, rushing up the stairs to his office.

By the time she caught up to him, he had rewound the video to before the moment when the item had flown out of the car. He finally stopped the rewind and played the video.

At first there was nothing, but then the car came into view. It slowed before the house and the driver side window lowered, allowing them a glimpse of Mad Dog.

Mick gazed up at her, anguish on every line of his face. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. Cradled his head against her and laid her forehead on his.

“We’ll handle this. We’ll figure out what to do,” she said, echoing his earlier words and taking solace in his reply.

“We will.”

* * *

Liliana woke to incomplete darkness and the odors of wet dirt and mildew.

Forcing herself to concentrate only intensified the steady throb in the middle of her skull, but she fought it back. Slowly the shadows took shape. Walls made of either stone or cement were wet with seeping water that puddled here and there on cracked floors littered with sand and debris. Somewhere ahead of her there appeared to be a tunnel of some kind that leaked in indistinct light, allowing her the limited view of where she was being held.

From the tunnel also came the susurrus of distant waves and the occasional raucous cry of a seagull.

She was somewhere near the ocean.

But where?

She wracked her brains for an idea of where there might be tunnels or sufficient mounds of earth to create a holding pen such as the one she was in.

The Highlands? Cheesequake? Sandy Hook? she wondered, but then a figure emerged from the shadows, his silhouette limned by the light from the tunnel.

“About time you woke up,” he said with some irritation and approached her.

She guessed him to be a couple of inches over six foot, as tall as Mick, but not as lean. Mid-thirties with a face which bore signs of a hard life. He had a noticeable scar at the edge of his lip and another which cut across one brow. There were also a number of bruises as well as a relatively fresh scrape across one cheek.

“Mick kicked your ass good, didn’t he?” Liliana said.

He slapped her hard across the face, rocking her head back to rebound against the high back of the chair. Warmth trickled down the side of her mouth and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, but she couldn’t do much about wiping it away. Her hands were duct taped to the arms of the chair. She tried to move her legs, but it was impossible. The pressure at her ankles confirmed he had bound her there as well.

“Mouthy for someone in your position,” he said and she detected a nasally tone in his speech. A New Englander she guessed, not that such information was useful. So she asked him, “And what position would that be?”

“Soon to be dead meat, but not before we have some fun.”

He crouched before her and the minimal light in the room glinted off something very shiny and very sharp.

She controlled the urge to flinch as he brought a long thin knife close to her chest. He eased it beneath the edges of her blouse and with a quick flick of his wrist, cut off a button.

She stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his actions, but it was impossible not to feel the release of the fabric as each button popped loose.

The damp air chilled her skin as he pulled apart the edges of her blouse. The knife blade was even colder as he slid it beneath the straps of her bra and sliced through them.

“Beautiful,” he said as he dragged down the bra to expose her breasts.

She focused her gaze on the wall in front of her, but couldn’t control the shudder that shook her body as the chill in the air and coolness of the knife’s metal registered.

“Cold?” he asked and shifted the knife across her skin, but made no other motion to touch her.

“You’re a sick bastard,” she said through gritted teeth.

He leaned close to her, a twisted smile on his face. “Sweetheart, we haven’t even gotten started.”

* * *

Mick knew Mad Dog well enough to know he would run to ground somewhere nearby, unwilling to risk having Liliana out in public for too long. Which meant there were only a few places he might have found to hide out. Somewhere back near Wardwell in the Pine Barrens. Maybe even where Edwards and his partner had taken the remaining gene therapy patients.

There were some other hiding areas by the Twin Lights in the Highlands, as well as more possible locations in Fort Hancock. Even with the many battery areas which had been opened for public tours, there remained a large number of tunnels and ammo storage areas where someone could hide. Unfortunately, they were the more dilapidated areas and risky to navigate due to their deteriorating conditions.

But it was where he might go if he had to keep someone prisoner for any length of time.

Liliana’s cell phone sat on the desk before him. Silent.

Mad Dog was nothing if not predictable. He’d call and offer Liliana in exchange for Caterina. Make him bring Caterina to him and then try to take them all out so he could walk away without leaving behind any witnesses. Afterward and without a care in the world, he’d collect whatever bounty Edwards and his partners had placed on Caterina’s head.

Too bad he intended to mess up Mad Dog’s plans.

He lifted his cell phone and dialed Edwards.

Annoyance filled the other man’s voice as he answered.

“What now, Mr. Carrera? I already told you all that I can.”

“Mad Dog grabbed my sister.”

An exasperated sigh sounded across the line. “As I told you before, I have nothing to do with this Mad Dog fellow.”

Mick didn’t believe that for a moment. “You better pray I find my sister safe and sound, Dr. Edwards.”

He didn’t wait for Edwards’ reply.

When he looked up, Caterina was at the door, worry etched onto her features. “Have you heard anything?”

He shook his head, concern gnawing at him. Mad Dog treated his captives like a cat with a mouse. He liked to play with them first. His gut tightened at the thought of what Mad Dog might be doing with his sister, driving him to his feet.

“I need to find them. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“Mad Dog said to wait for his call.”

“He’s probably hurting her. That’s his M.O.” Mick said, raking an agitated hand through his hair as he paced before her.

Caterina walked to his side and laid a hand on his arm. “He’s got the advantage right now.”

“I think I know where he is,” he said.

“And what will you do? Go off half-cocked? Even if you’re willing to risk your life, what about the innocent people who might be in the way?”

Mick thought about what Mad Dog might be doing to Liliana, but then forced aside such thoughts. He had to keep emotion out of it to stay logical and in control.

“You’re right, Cat. Mad Dog will call when he has everything just like he wants it.”

Caterina embraced him. “I’m sorry. I know this is all my fault.”

He shifted away from her and took hold of both her arms, his touch gentle as he attempted to reassure her. “This is not your fault at all.”

She tapped the center of her chest with her fingers. “He wants me. Just me. I’m willing to go to save Liliana.”

He wagged his head in chastisement. “Do you really think Mad Dog or his bosses will let any of us live?”

With a sad shake of her head, she said, “No. There’s too much money involved to allow that.”

He dug his hand into her hair and cradled the back of her head. “Trust me. I suspect where he might have taken her.”

“When will we go?” she asked, but Mick shook his head.

“It’s full light out. I need cover to approach and have any hope of saving Liliana. Once it’s dark, I’ll head there.”

“We’ll go together,” she insisted.

“No,” he replied curtly. “The tunnels are risky even during the day. At dark they’re treacherous and I need to have the benefit of surprise on my side.”

Liliana’s cell phone chimed, the ring tone overly loud and excessively cheerful.

As Mick answered, he hit the speaker phone button so Caterina could also hear what Mad Dog had to say.

“You there, Carrera?” Mad Dog asked.

Mick kept his tone neutral as he asked, “Where is she, Mad Dog?”

“I’ve got someone who wants to say hello,” the other man said, but silence followed for long seconds before the muffled noise of what sounded like a slap pierced the quiet.

Mad Dog warned, “Speak up, bitch,” before the sound of another louder slap filled the line.

Mick clenched his fists and Caterina covered his hand with hers, offering support while they waited.

Liliana finally said, “I’m okay, Mick.”

Mad Dog’s harsh chuckle followed. “Bitch is stubborn. She’s just making it harder for herself.”

“You’re a dead man, Mad Dog.”

“Let’s get this dance over with, Carrera. You know what I want. Shaw in exchange for your sister.”

Mick met Caterina’s gaze. Determination filled her features as he said to Mad Dog, “When? Where?”

“Midnight at Fort Hancock. Tunnel off the second set of battery buildings. Follow what’s left of the paths for the old Nike missile tracks until you reach the ammo storage area. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Before Mick could say another word, the line went dead.

Caterina squeezed his hand gently and asked, “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

“About where he is? It’s where I would go to hide,” he admitted, but quickly added, “But he doesn’t plan on making an exchange. He’ll probably lay out a trap or two somewhere along the tunnels to take us out long before we reach Liliana.”

She shuddered against him and her color paled. Mick twined his fingers with hers and said, “We’ll be ready for whatever Mad Dog throws at us.”

“What about Liliana?”

“Will he kill her? No until he’s sure we’re out of the way. She’s his bargaining chip until then.”

Caterina leaned against him. Against his rock solid strength. He lifted his hand and splayed it across her back, urging her even closer.

She wanted to apologize again for all the trouble she had brought him and his family, but understood that he didn’t hold her responsible. It didn’t make it any easier to consider that his sister might die because of her. That either of them might die later that night.

Because of what Edwards and his people had done.

Because of plain old greed.

Caterina looked up at him. “We can’t let Edwards get away with this. Someone needs to know what he did. Someone has to find the other patients who were being treated. Some of them were my friends.”

As Mick met her gaze, he must have realized what she was thinking – that if they both died tonight, their secrets died with them. The sins Edwards and the others had committed would go unpunished.

With a certainty she couldn’t muster, he said, “You and I are going to see to it that Edwards is punished and the other patients are set free. I promise you that.”

From what Caterina knew of him, she knew he meant to keep his word, but with a man like Mad Dog to fight . . .

“How can you be so certain?”

A cheerless smile crept onto his features and he cradled her cheek, a slight tremble in his hand. “Because I’d die before seeing any more hurt come to you or Liliana.”

With a nod, she burrowed against him, hoping that was one promise he wouldn’t have to keep.

Chapter 36

Edwards sat staring at the phone long minutes after the call from Carrera.

If he was a praying man, he might have done as Carrera had suggested and start asking a higher authority for some answer to the problems with which he was faced.

But he wasn’t a religious man, although some might have said he worshipped at the temple of science.

Leaning back in his chair, he tapped a finger against his lips, pondering how it was that this had gotten so complicated. How it had gone from being a brilliant scientific idea to the multiple violations and terminations of various patients and Rudy Wells.

Of course Wells had always been the weakest link in the whole complicated chain, he thought. From the beginning Wells had shown more compassion for the patients than was healthy. As a scientist one had to disassociate oneself from the experiment and Wells had failed miserably at that, getting too emotionally involved.

Wells’ humanity had been his downfall.

Morales had seen that weakness in Wells immediately. He had expressed his concerns to Edwards when their partner had started to get balky about the introduction of the additional DNA strands into the patients’ therapies.

In truth, Edwards had been more interested in the science of what would occur than any possible financial gain. It had been Morales who had seen the economic potential of the ultimate genetically modified organism – a human altered for whatever your need and under your total control.

Too bad Morales had complicated everything by having Wells killed before the completion of the Gates Genengineering merger and now by hiring a psycho to take care of Shaw.

Morales needed to know what was going on. He picked up the phone and dialed, but Morales failed to answer and the call went to a voice mailbox.

“Call me,” was all he said.

Edwards set the phone back in its cradle and once again considered what Carrera had told him. If Mad Dog succeeded, there would be no more worries, but he had hired Carrera because of his reputation for success.

He couldn’t take a chance that Carrera would succeed this time as well.

Swiveling his chair to face his computer, Edwards accessed his assorted accounts in addition to Wardwell’s and reviewed the various financial records. Then he began transferring money to a number of his private overseas accounts. He was in the process of shifting cash to one of the banks when he realized there was already a rather large sum of money in the account. More money than he recalled being there.

He was about to access the transaction log when his phone rang. He would have ignored it, only the caller id indicated it was Morales.

With a quick glance at his watch that showed that nearly an hour had gone by, he said, “It’s about time you called.”

Morales chuckled, clearly unfazed by his anger. Never a good sign when an underling didn’t respect you, Edwards thought. “Well? Where were you?” he insisted.

“Transferring one of our GMOs.”

Transferring one of the patients? “What are you talking about?”

“Someone needed a way to deliver a bomb into a secure facility. Shaw’s genetic twin was the answer to their problem,” Morales advised as calmly as if he were ordering take out.

“You sold one of the patients?” he asked in disbelief, although he had come to understand that as the ultimate goal of his partnership with Morales.

“Check your account. I deposited half of the payment there this morning.”

He didn’t need to check. He now had his answer. Morales had sold the other woman who had been implanted with the same gene fragments as Shaw. A woman who had been much more malleable both mentally and physically than the prickly cellist.

“What if she’s discovered?”

“It’s a one way mission. The bomb will take care of her no matter what.”

Several million for a disposable GMO.

More than Edwards had expected, but there was still the problem of Mad Dog.

“Your mercenary has taken Carrera’s sister hostage. The body count is getting too high on this project.”

Morales laughed once again, much more wickedly than before.

“I wouldn’t worry, Raymond. I’ve got it all under control.”

Morales hung up. The second time someone had hung up on him that day.

He didn’t much care for it. Didn’t much care for Morales calling him by his given name. It was downright disrespectful and he intended to set Morales straight about it.

But first he had to finish transferring funds. Afterward he would make sure to gather everything he needed to protect himself regardless of whether Carrera or Mad Dog was victorious.

Edwards had seen what Morales had done to Wells.

He had no doubt the little pimp would do the same to him unless he had some kind of insurance.

* * *

Mick had spent hours preparing both of them for that night’s mission, reviewing dozens of photos of the site from amateurs who had visited on the tours and the private archives of the military. Aerial shots had provided an overall picture of the layout of the assorted batteries and buildings comprising Fort Hancock as well as the roads and parking areas on Sandy Hook.

He had even hacked into one site to secure more detailed diagrams of the tunnels and mechanisms that had formed part of the Nike missile system, a front line defense deployed during the Cold War but made obsolete by the development of ICBMs. The Nike missiles had been decommissioned when they couldn’t take down the newer and faster weapons.

Mick and Caterina must have reviewed the schematics and maps for what seemed like the hundredth time when he shot a quick glance at his watch and said, “It’s time you got some rest.”

In truth, she was tired and hungry, but they still had several hours to go until their meeting with Mad Dog.

“I’ll go make us a bite to eat,” she said and left him behind in his office, understanding he needed some time alone. As well as Mick had tried to prepare her, Caterina knew there were things he had kept to himself. Things he had to deal with in order to be ready for tonight’s mission.

The pickings in the refrigerator were slim. She quickly made two turkey sandwiches and took them upstairs. They ate together and yet apart. Each bite mechanical because they were both thinking of other things.

Of what the night might bring.

When she finished her sandwich, he thanked her, and woodenly repeated his earlier instruction. “You should go get some sleep.”

She did as he asked, returning to the guest room, only she was too wired to rest despite the fact that she was tired.

In the corner, leaning against the wall, was the cello he had gotten from his younger brother.

As it always had been for her, the music was the salve to her soul as she sat down and played, her fingers shifting smoothly along the strings. Her bow stroking alive deep rich tones from the cast-off instrument.

She didn’t know how long she played only that when she was done, her heart raced, her bow arm ached a bit, and the back of her neck was damp with sweat.

As Caterina laid the hand with the bow on her knee and sucked in a deep breath, she realized Mick stood at the door to the room. Arms across his chest. A predator’s look in his gaze.

When he took a step toward her, her heart skipped a beat, and then accelerated when he kneeled before her and took hold of the bow and cello. Gently he moved them aside. Took the place of the cello between her legs.

Mick raised his hands and imprisoned her face between his hands, the action in rough contrast to his earlier approach. The look on his face more fierce and she understood.

There would be no gentleness this time. This was the warrior needing what might possibly be a last taste of life before facing death.

She grabbed hold of his wrists, her grip tight as she demanded he release her.

He did and she shifted forward in the chair. She urged him forward until they were face-to-face and she became the aggressor.

She kissed him hard, accepting the reason for what would happen next. Absolving him of guilt for any lack of tenderness because frankly, she wasn’t sure she could be gentle. She needed his loving too much to reaffirm the reality of life.

He answered her, opening his mouth and accepting the rough thrust of her tongue. Digging his fingers into her scalp to imprison her head as the kiss deepened until every breath they took was one. Until they were both shaking and she needed to feel the heat of his body beside her.

Inside her.

She yanked at his clothes as he did hers. Separated from him only long enough for them to remove their jeans and then he was kneeling before her again, cradled by the softness of her thighs. The jut of his erection pressed to her midsection.

She encircled him and stroked the length of him, but he surprised her by brushing away her hand and bending to suckle the tips of her breasts. She cradled his head, holding him close. Raising her hips to invite him to enter, but he tantalized her by shifting downward.

He trailed his mouth along the center of her body. Dipped his tongue into her navel before continuing lower until she had no doubt about his destination.

She bucked up off the chair as he grasped her thighs and found the center of her with his mouth. Tongued the nub between her legs until it swelled and became more sensitized. He brought his one hand to caress that nub as he kissed her nether lips and then tasted her. Eased his tongue within her center.

Moaning, she gripped him tighter with her knees and caressed the back of his head as he pleasured her. Gasped as the pressure built inside of her, needing more. Needing the hard wide length of him buried within her.

“I want you, Mick,” she said, placing her hands on his broad shoulders to compel him upward.

He complied, surging forward to take her mouth with his as he filled her and then held still.

His arms wrapped around her waist, eliminating any space between their bodies. His kisses were flavored with her taste beneath the more demanding essence of his masculinity.

Then he began to move. His strokes sure. Growing more forceful and faster until the chair groaned and bucked beneath them.

He tightened his hold on her and with one powerful thrust, rose from his knees.

She wrapped her legs around him as he turned and took the step or two to bring her to the edge of the bed.

They fell upon it. Upon each other.

Their movements almost frantic as they sought release. Fought for that final acknowledgement of life.

But what of love? she wondered. Was there anything of love between them at that moment?

There was so much doubt. So much fear for anything lasting to possibly be forged by this union.

She drove those saddening thoughts away and focused instead on the strength of Mick’s body as he moved. As he took them both to the edge before the free fall came and the world fell away as they came together. Long moments passed at that pinnacle of pleasure before they collapsed into each other’s arms.

He was heavy against her, growing limp within her when he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to be like this.”

Caterina silenced him with the barest touch of her finger against his lips.

“Don’t apologize. I wanted this. I needed this.”

The soft strands of his hair tickled her breasts as he nodded and said, “I think I love you.”

He shocked her with his words. Smiling, she urged him upward to place a gentle kiss on his lips as he slipped out of her. “I think love you, too.”

As he gazed down at her, a hesitant grin blossomed on his lips. “Glad to hear that.”

Chapter 37

Mad Dog would be expecting them to come down either Hartshorne Drive or one of the multi-purpose paths running beside that main road. He might also be familiar with the black Jeep Mick had been driving.

A stop to his cousin Ramon to advise him of what had happened as well as to swap out cars took care of one of the problems. Ramon’s Safari Wrangler with its desert sand paint job would be hard to pick out, especially since he planned to drive it along the water’s edge.

Based on his review of the details of the area and Mad Dog’s instructions, Mick guessed that his nemesis had Liliana in one of the old ammo depots somewhere between the Nike radar site and the gun batteries toward the northernmost part of the national park. If Mad Dog positioned himself along the top floors of any of the remaining battery buildings or close to the rise for the lighthouse, he would have a clean line of fire toward both the path and road.

As Mick drove past the ranger station, he cut the lights on the Wrangler, and pulled the SUV off the road and onto the sand.

He stopped it for a moment to make sure Caterina was ready.

She was buckled into the passenger seat beside him, dressed all in black once again. Her upper body bulky from the Kevlar vest beneath the sweater.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Caterina nodded and he reminded, “Keep your head down and stay behind me. If things go south – “

“I’ve got your back no matter what,” she reassured and Mick had no doubt about it. She had proven her strength of character time and time again.

Her strength was why he loved her.

With a curt bob of his head, Mick sent the Wrangler careening along the hard-packed sand close to the waterline. It might have been a fun ride under different circumstances. The moon was bright above them and the occasional spray of water kicked up by the tires as they cut through the water at the shore’s edge was refreshing.

Caterina hung tight to the handle along the roll bar as the car bounced from side-to-side as they hit a dip in the sand.

They made it past the radar site, but Mick feared they were too close to Atlantic Drive as they neared Gunnison Beach.

He trained his gaze toward the lighthouse as they approached and breathed a sigh of relief as they passed without incident. Ahead of him, the half-moon’s light illuminated the shadows of the older buildings and battery guns. To the right of them, beyond the water’s edge, lay the glittering lights of Manhattan.

He stopped just short of North Beach where the walking trails would lead them to the old proving grounds and batteries.

The first ping sounded against the Wrangler a second later.

“Get down,” Mick said and forced Caterina’s head below the edge of the windshield which cracked in one corner as a second bullet struck the SUV.

He hit the gas and the vehicle lurched forward until with a sharp turn, he nearly buried it into the side of a high row of dunes which provided cover from Mad Dog’s sniper fire.

“You okay?” Mick asked as he undid his seatbelt.

“Fine,” she answered and crept from the car and toward the protection of the dune.

He went to the back of the Wrangler and removed his assault rifle and satchel. At the dune’s edge, he slipped on his night vision goggles and peered above the rim of the dune, using thick tufts of marsh grass for cover.

A bullet plowed into the sand a few feet away. A good sign. Mad Dog had lost sight of them, but the shot had exposed Mad Dog’s position at the top ledge of one of the crumbling battery buildings. A chain link fence with warnings posted about trespassing lined the perimeter of the structure.

From this angle Mick couldn’t get off a killing shot so he wasn’t going to even try and expose their location.

Plus, he suspected Liliana was hidden well below ground in one of the old ammo storage areas. If he and Caterina could swing around the edge of the dunes and enter one of the farthest most battery buildings, Mad Dog would likely fall back to where he held Liliana captive, counting on the traps he had set to do the job.

Mick crawled back down to where Caterina hunkered at the bottom of the dune and swung the rifle strap over his shoulder.

In the barest of whispers, he explained their next moves. “At the end of this dune there’s a chain link fence. We need to get past it and into the nearest building.”

He returned to the vehicle and pulled a small bolt cutter from the back. With that in hand, he crept along the dune’s edge to the first accessible section of fence. To distract Mad Dog, he picked up a large piece of broken cement and tossed it back toward where he had grounded the Wrangler. The piece landed with a noisy clatter on the hood.

Mad Dog opened fire like Mick had hoped, giving him the opportunity to cut through the bottom section of the chain link and pry it up and out of their way. Unfortunately, the jingle of the metal alerted Mad Dog to their real location.

Mad Dog shot in their direction, but not before Mick had gotten a clear look to confirm where to enter the crumbling battery building. Rifle in hand, he crouched down close to the high dune. “I’m going to give you cover. When I start firing, run straight ahead. You’ll see a rusty metal door that’s hanging half-open. Go through that doorway and wait for me. Understood?”

“Understood,” she said and at his nod, slipped around him to wait at the dune’s edge.

“On three,” he said and counted down.

On three Mick stood up and opened fire on Mad Dog’s position. Caterina charged ahead, straight for the opening.

Bullets struck the ground behind her, sending up bits of dirt. She reached the door unharmed, too quick for Mad Dog to hit.

Ducking back behind the safety of the dune, Mick took a deep breath before he began his way through the fence. He would be exposed for a few moments while he tried to fit through the opening, but there was no other choice.

Mick ducked through and came up firing, but not before he felt the stinging burn high up on his arm.

He ignored the heat that said he’d been hit and plowed forward to the door and past its rusty exterior to where Caterina waited for him.

“Thank, God,” she said as he joined her.

She laid a hand on his arm, but pulled it away immediately.

Caterina looked down at her hand wet with his blood. “He shot you.”

“A scratch,” he said and meant it. The bullet had only grazed his arm.

Sensibly she didn’t argue with him. There was no turning back on this mission so it made no sense to waste time arguing or worrying.

Mick examined the interior of the building. The white-washed cement walls were damp with water in spots, rust-stained in others, and showing extreme signs of decay. If the tunnels were in similar conditions, they would be treacherous in and of themselves. Plus he had no doubt Mad Dog would have rigged at least one booby trap in the tunnels near where he held Liliana.

“Keep close behind me. Watch where I step. Do the same.”

At her nod, he headed to the rusty stairs leading to the battery tunnel.

* * *

Fuck. I underestimated Carrera, Mad Dog thought as he picked his way across the crumbling roof to the climbing gear he had used to get up there in the first place. The interior of the building had been too uncertain to navigate.

Mad Dog rappelled down the side of the building and onto the weed-choked ground littered with bits of rubble from the disintegrating structures. He crouched down, picking his way back to the rear entrance and the tunnel where he had stowed Carrera’s sister.

Morales was waiting for him by the entrance, a sly smile on his face. When he approached, Morales said, “You understand what you need to do.”

As if he hadn’t understood all along. Not to mention that he didn’t much care for people interfering in his plans. “I get it, but I don’t like your kind of insurance.”

Morales clucked and shook his head. “You’ll thank me for the help when this is all over and you’re two million dollars richer.”

It was only the pay raise that made him tolerate Morales’s interference. “I’d make myself scarce, Dr. Morales. It’s going to get hairy around here.”

“I believe I’ll do as you suggest,” the other man said and walked away, heading toward the public parking lot a short distance away from the battery buildings.

Eager for the fight, Mad Dog made sure he had a full load in his rifle and ducked into the tunnel to finish the job.

Chapter 38

The stairs leading up the wall barely held Mick’s weight. The rungs on the opposite side leading down into the tunnel had disintegrated beyond use. He sat on the top ledge of the wall and waited for Caterina to top the rise.

“I’ll help you down.” When she was settled on the ledge, he turned and using his upper body strength, lowered himself down before dropping the last few feet to the ground.

Caterina was a fast learner, copying his move and falling to the floor with little need of his assistance, reminding him of the strength that Edwards’ experimentation had produced in her.

“Showoff,” he teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the grimness of their mission.

“I had a good teacher,” she said and offered up a hopeful smile.

Mick gestured to the wide vaulted tunnel before them. “Remember, step where I step. Mad Dog probably laid some traps.”

She nodded and he cautiously entered the passageway, keeping his eyes open for signs of tracks which might either lead him toward Liliana or warn of any trip wires or other traps. He moved carefully, but not slowly since each second of delay at this point could risk his sister’s life. Caterina was sure-footed behind him, following his lead and orders like any good soldier.

When their tunnel joined up with another one, he held up his hand and she stopped behind him. Ahead of them along the tunnel floor were tracks in the sand and dirt which had drifted in through the gaps in the walls.

Mick flipped up the night vision goggles he had donned and resorted to using the flashlight from his belt. Sweeping the flashlight back and forth along the floor, he noted the signs that someone had been dragged down the corridor as well as the occasional darkening of the ground in spots.

“Is that – “

“Blood,” he finished for Caterina. A chill sweat erupted on his body at the thought of Liliana being hurt, but he reined in that reaction.

Calm and logic had to be in control.

He bent for a closer examination of the tracks and something gnawed at him. The tracks were deep. Deeper than he expected given Liliana’s weight.

Keeping that in the back of his mind, he rose and entered the second tunnel, carefully following the trail left behind in the dirt and sand.

He had not gone more than twenty or so feet when he caught the glint of something close to the ground. He held up his hand and Caterina paused behind him. Crouching down, he gingerly reached out and encountered the recognizable bite of metal – a trip wire strung across the width of the tunnel at ankle level.

Peering beyond the trap, the area appeared clear. The drag marks continued onward as far as he could see in the darkness within the passage. About another fifteen ahead, there was more water along the tunnel floor, seeping in through breaks in the wall. A large chunk of the ceiling had collapsed and lay strewn along the ground. The tracks seemed to sweep around that debris.

Mick glanced over his shoulder at Caterina and pointed to the booby trap. “There’s a trip wire here. Be careful as you cross.”

She confirmed his instruction and he stepped high over the trip wire. Moved ahead just enough for Caterina to clear the booby trap as well.

At the puddle of water and spill of debris, he hesitated again, searching for another snare, but the area was clear. He picked his way past the rubble, treading carefully. Knowing that each step brought him closer to saving a woman he loved and possibly losing a woman he loved.

He couldn’t live with either choice.

The momentary distraction of that thought cost him.

The floor gave way beneath his foot a second before totally collapsing. He grabbed at the air and one hand got a temporary hold along the lip of the cement floor. His body slammed against the side of the wall in the hole into which he had fallen.

He raised his other hand, reaching for the floor, struggling to keep from falling the rest of the way down. As he fumbled for the edge of the cement, he encountered Caterina’s hand.

She grabbed hold of him, her grip strong and steady.

“You okay?” she asked as she poked her head over the edge of the hole. She was lying on her stomach along the floor.

“Could be better,” he admitted and risked a glance downward. The drop to the ground was at least another ten feet or more. Too far to fall without injury, although the water at the bottom might cushion his drop.

He was about to ask her if she could help him up when she asserted some force and slowly pulled him upward.

As she did so, he got a better hold with his other hand and working together they lifted him out of the hole.

“Forgot how strong you were,” he admitted once he was back on the ground and sitting beside her.

“Another trap?” she asked and leaned over the edge of the hollow to look downward.

Mick shook his head and joined her at the edge, peering into the deep well, examining its circumference and depth before it occurred to him what it was.

“It’s an old Nike missile silo.” He glanced upward where a round metal hatch sat above the cavity, confirming his impression. Water dripped in from around the edges of what had likely been a gun battery during World War II.

“I should have been more careful,” he said, angry with himself, but she laid her hand over his, the hand that had just saved him, now comforting.

“You’ve been careful, but you can count on me to help.”

He could. She was level-headed. Strong as she had just proven. Not to mention the camo thing.

“I won’t forget that again, Cat. When it comes down to the fight – “

“I’ll be there,” she reassured with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

“Roger. Let’s head out,” he said and stood, careful to skirt the edges of the missile silo. Even more vigilant as they neared the end of the tunnel and the rusted metal door which he assumed would lead to the ammo storage area where Liliana was being held.

Mick paused at the door and signaled Caterina to take a spot by the opposite wall. Dropping into a crouch, he pushed the door open a bit with the muzzle of his rifle. It groaned from the movement and produced an immediate response.

Rapid-fire gun shots, probably from an AK-47, pinged against the metal doors, driving him back from the opening.

Mick dropped to the ground and proceeded hand-over-hand toward the opening again. The door had remained partially open and as he remained behind its protection, he peered within the ammo room. Even in the dim light he perceived a figure strapped to a chair in the center of the space.

Dead center.

Another burst of gunfire sounded against the metal of the door and ricocheted back into the room, driving him back as he considered how to breach the area safely.

Mick judged the barrage of bullets to have come from the right side of the room.

He couldn’t enter without exposing himself or Liliana to danger.

Looking toward Caterina, he said, “No matter what, stay put.”

Before she could respond, he crawled back toward the opening and called out, “This isn’t much fun, is it, Mad Dog?”

Mad Dog answered with another volley from the AK.

He cursed beneath his breath, but forged ahead with his plan. “Getting soft on me, Mad Dog? Too scared for a little mano-a-mano? Might be more interesting than just wasting ammo.”

The scuff of a foot on cement sounded loudly in the room. “Scared, Carrera? Mano-a-mano it is,” Mad Dog said.

A shadow became visible, falling against Liliana’s feet as she sat in the chair. A clatter followed as a clip for an AK hit the ground beside the chair.

Mick rose from the ground, but remained behind the protection of the door. Releasing the clip on the M16, he tossed it close to the chair as well.

“Now this is going to be fun,” Mad Dog said and stepped into Mick’s line of sight. He had no doubt the other man had at least another gun somewhere on his body, but for now, the AK was useless and to further prove it, Mad Dog dropped it to the ground by the chair.

Mick rose and set the rifle against the door, close to where Caterina stood and removed his satchel. He placed it beside the rifle, and pointed to it, hoping she would remember there was a spare clip inside the bag.

With a last glance at her, Mick entered the ammo room and faced Mad Dog as he stood several feet away from Liliana, who was strapped to a chair in the shadows. Despite the lack of light there, he could see the darker stains of blood on the front of her shirt and the way her head lolled back at an awkward angle.

Fear gripped him followed by anger.

Killing anger.

“You promised to let her go if I brought you Shaw,” Mick said, fists clenched at his side.

Mad Dog chuckled and shook his head. “So where is Shaw?”

“She’s outside, waiting in the tunnel for the exchange.”

Mad Dog laughed again, louder than before. “Perfect. I’m going to have fun letting you watch what I do to your two ladies.”

Somehow Mick tempered his killing anger, marshaling it for when the time was right because he would exterminate Mad Dog today. It had been a long time coming, but this vendetta would end this night.

“Bring it on,” Mick said.

Chapter 39

Mad Dog copied Mick’s stance, hands held up loosely, feet braced slightly apart. Ready for any attack or defense.

They approached each other, anticipating the other’s movements. Feinting and challenging until Mad Dog finally pressed forward with an attack, shooting out with a drop kick which Mick blocked with his arm.

Mick fell back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Waiting for another attack as he played his own version of rope-a-dope, understanding Mad Dog well. Mad Dog thought himself invincible. Never a good trait.

Mad Dog charged him time and time again, unleashing flurries of kicks and punches which Mick repeatedly blocked, waiting for his moment. His arms and legs ached from Mad Dog’s blows, but the pain was minor compared to how Mad Dog would feel when Mick finally engaged him.

Mick ducked another drop kick, but Mad Dog surprised him by following up with flying roundhouse kick that caught him across the side of the head. Staggered for a moment, he intentionally let down his guard, inviting Mad Dog closer.

The other man accepted, charging in for the kill.

* * *

Mick had told her to stay put, but Caterina couldn’t keep on listening to the sounds of battle within the room, unaware of whether Mick was dead or alive.

As she neared the door, she stepped on the satchel by her foot and realized why he had left it behind.

She bent, opened the bag, and removed the clip. Forced herself to remember how Mick had loaded the gun and locked the clip home.

As she walked to the door, the white of her hand against the rifle stock shocked her. It was the white of the tunnel walls. Prompted by her fear for Mick, she had gone all camo.

It was what might make a difference in today’s outcome.

Caterina placed the rifle down as she quickly disrobed, even down to removing the Kevlar vest Mick had insisted she wear.

Her body was the same mottled white as the walls and as she entered the room, rifle in hand, neither of the two men noticed her entry.

They were grappling together to one side of the room.

Mick delivered an upper cut to the other man’s midsection, doubling him over then following-up with another blow that lifted Mad Dog’s body from the ground with the force of it. The blow made a sickening crunch as bones broke.

With Mad Dog doubled over, Mick brought his elbow down across the back of the man’s neck.

Mad Dog crumpled to the ground, his body limp at Mick’s feet.

Mick slowly stood upright, bloodied fists clenched at his sides as he glanced down at his opponent. His body heaving as he sucked in breaths heavy from his physical exertions.

Believing the battle concluded, she dropped the rifle, drawing Mick’s attention, although he peered with confusion at where she stood, obviously not seeing her.

Heavy pounding footsteps sounded as something big lumbered across the room and plowed into Mick, sending him crashing into the opposite wall with a bone-rattling blow.

Mick’s head rebounded against the wall and as he sagged to the ground, a trail of blood marked his fall to the ground.

Caterina drew in a shocked breath, earning the attention of the one man left standing.

Santiago.

She remembered him now from the medical facility. Remembered him fighting with another man the night Wells had been murdered.

Santiago searched out the sound and she reached down, picked up the rifle once again. She shifted toward the shadows, wanting to maintain the element of surprise since she didn’t think she was much of a match for the large hulking man.

As she did so, Mad Dog stirred, coming to his knees as he shook his head, as if to toss off his dizziness.

Mad Dog snared Santiago’s attention, who plodded over and stood there, waiting for Mad Dog to rise.

Once he was upright, Mad Dog stared past the tattooed brute to where Mick sat unconscious against the far wall.

Mad Dog put his hands on his hips and chastised the hulking man. “Hope you didn’t kill him, big guy. That would spoil all the fun.”

Shit, Caterina thought, tightening her grip on the rifle. Hoping she wouldn’t have to use it because . . .

Santiago surged forward and grabbed Mad Dog around the neck. Snapped it with one swift twist.

Mad Dog fell to the ground, only this time he wouldn’t be getting up. His head rested at an unnatural angle against the floor as his sightless eyes stared toward her.

A moan came from across the room. Mick was beginning to stir.

Santiago noticed immediately.

The big man took a step toward Mick, clearly intending to finish him off, but Caterina couldn’t let that happen.

She pounded the wall with the butt of the rifle, drawing Santiago’s attention away from Mick.

The massive man turned in her direction, immensely muscled arms open wide to draw someone into their deadly embrace. The broad width of his chest providing a huge target. The proverbial side of a barn.

She drew up the rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

The first bullet struck Santiago high up on one shoulder. The bullet did as much damage as a BB might.

Her next shot went wide from the kick of the rifle and Santiago lurched in her direction.

Caterina raced deeper into the shadows so she could prepare to shoot again. Her body color changed as she ran, providing her cover, but as she cut across the room, she stepped into something wet and slippery.

Her feet flew out from under her and she landed hard, just a few feet away from the chair holding Liliana.

Santiago rounded the back of the chair and stopped short, searching the area for her.

Caterina held her breath, waiting for him to charge. Trying to figure out what to do next. She hoped she could get the rifle up in time to get off another round.

From across the room came the scuffle of a footstep and a pained breath.

Mick was on his feet, the wall behind him the one thing that seemed to be keeping him upright.

Santiago turned in that direction and laughed. The large loud laugh of a lunatic. It echoed eerily throughout the room until another smaller sound intruded.

A soft pop. No louder than a soda can opening. Followed by a second pop that finally silenced Santiago’s insane humor.

The colossal man landed barely a yard away from her, shaking the ground with the force of his impact, a neat round hole in the middle of his forehead.

Caterina scrambled to her feet and over to where Mick slowly sagged back down the wall. She kneeled beside him and reined herself in, regaining the normal human tones of her skin.

“Must be in heaven ’cuz I see an angel,” Mick said, wincing since it seemed every breath cost him great effort. The deep rattle that came from his chest caused her heart to constrict with fear as did his slightly unfocused gaze and the blood on the wall behind his head.

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

A limp and ungraceful nod confirmed that Mick understood, but somehow he managed to say, “Liliana.”

“Give me a second to dress.” Caterina left him the rifle just in case and quickly retrieved her clothes, along with his satchel.

She returned to Mick’s side, eased his arm around her shoulders, and helped him to his feet, but she sensed what it cost him. Mick leaned on her heavily and his breath rasped in his chest, each inhalation clearly paining him.

With heavy plodding steps they approached the chair to which Liliana was strapped, but as they neared the figure in the shadows, fear increased with every step.

The large amount of blood behind the chair became apparent as did the awkward angle of the person’s head.

But as they took another step, they stopped short, realizing the person was much larger than Liliana and was wearing a dark khaki shirt with olive green pants.

“It’s a park ranger. She’s not here,” Caterina said, glancing up at Mick only to see the despair nearly overcome him before he controlled his emotions.

“She’s here. I know it. He’d want to keep her close,” he answered and applied light pressure on her arm to guide her in the direction from where Santiago had emerged.

“To use her as bait again?” she asked and worried at the way he leaned on her, barely able to remain upright.

“He’d ... want ... play ... with her.” It was a sacrifice for him to speak and with each word came a fearsome rattle from deep in his chest.

Caterina didn’t ask anymore, providing him with the strength he needed to take each painful step down the hall until they came to another rusted door.

Mick leaned against the wall heavily and took out his gun. His hand shook as he did so and as their gazes met, Caterina understood.

“Let me have it. I promise not to miss this time,” she said.

He didn’t argue, handing the Glock to her.

Caterina approached the entrance. It was ajar and a spill of low light fell into the tunnel. Gingerly she opened the rusty door which creaked with the movement.

She waited, thinking the noise might have given away her presence, but nothing happened.

Pushing the door wider, she copied what she had seen Mick do earlier, staying low as she peered within to scope out the room.

In the center, someone was strapped to a chair, head of dark hair slumped down toward their chest. Fear crept within her and as it did so, the strange halo sight took over, outlining the figure in the chair with an aura and filling it with colors – the colors of warmth and life, she realized.

As she glanced all around the room, she realized no one else was there and entered, the halo sight receding as she did so.

“Liliana?” she asked as she approached and the person’s head popped up.

A mumbled sound escaped the person and Caterina took another step closer and realized that this time it was Mick’s sister.

Caterina rushed over and kneeled before her. Carefully removed the duct tape over Liliana’s mouth. She tried to avoid the sight of Liliana’s naked breasts and the bruises on her face as she said, “Are you okay?”

“Never better if you and Mick are here,” Liliana said and glanced toward the door, as if expecting her brother to enter.

“He’s hurt bad,” Caterina advised and looked around for some way to cut the tape binding Liliana to the chair. A short distance away a long knife rested by the door. She grabbed it and made short work of the bindings.

Liliana rose stiffly and tied her shirt front together, trying to hide her condition. While she did so, she asked, “What happened?”

“A park ranger is dead along with Mad Dog and another of the gene therapy patients.” As Caterina spoke, she urged Liliana to follow her and they hurried back to Mick’s side.

As they rushed through the door, they spotted Mick slumped against the wall. His labored breathing was louder than before and a sickly pallor had replaced the healthy tones of his skin.

Liliana kneeled before her brother and gently eased his head up. He opened his eyes and looked at her, but Caterina could see his gaze was unfocused.

“You’re safe,” he said and coughed, bringing up rich red blood.

Liliana nodded and gently swiped away the blood along the side of his mouth. “I’m okay and you’re going to be okay as well, Mick.”

Together they helped him to his feet, but as her gaze crossed Liliana’s, Caterina realized how concerned Mick’s sister was about Mick’s injuries.

Carefully they picked their way back, avoiding the pit of the missile silo. Gingerly walking over the trip wire.

From some distance away, Mick instructed Caterina on how to trip the booby trap to protect anyone who might enter the tunnel. The small explosion that followed brought down part of the tunnel wall and would have trapped them beneath the debris if they had tripped it on the way in.

With the area safe, they moved as quickly as they could back toward the Wrangler and laid Mick in the small jump seat area, Liliana kneeling beside him.

Caterina took the wheel, aware that she had to get him medical help.

* * *

Liliana braced Mick’s body against hers in the back of the vehicle, trying to keep him steady. She was certain he had broken a rib or two and possibly punctured a lung. She wanted to avoid doing any more damage by the errant motion of the SUV. He seemed weaker with each passing moment, but he held onto consciousness somehow as Caterina drove up onto the nearby public road, obviously aware that Mick couldn’t handle a jostling ride along the surf’s edge.

“Hold on, Mick. We’ll get you help soon,” Liliana said, feeling his pain as if it were her own. Aware that he had once again sacrificed himself for her.

* * *

“I’m ... okay,” Mick said, registering the mixture of guilt and concern in his sister’s voice. Not wanting her to feel responsible for what had happened.

But even on the smoother public road, every movement brought pain.

Mick gritted his teeth to contain the agony. His broken ribs were grating together with every bump. His labored breath and the blood he coughed up once again confirmed to him that one of his ribs had damaged his lung. His ears were ringing and he realized he had a concussion, maybe even a skull fracture.

I’m done for sure, Mick thought as he fumbled to extract his cell phone from his pocket. Somehow he managed to hand it to Liliana as his fingers slowly went numb. His extremities were cold from shock and the blood filling his lung, drowning him, and making each breath laborious.

But the mission was also done. And it had been a success because both Caterina and Liliana were safe.

“I’m going home,” Mick said to his sister, satisfied that he had completed the mission he had been meant to do. Feeling freer than he ever had as he allowed himself to slip into the darkness calling him.

* * *

Liliana watched helplessly as Mick lost consciousness. Tears complicated making the phone call, obscuring her vision, but she somehow speed-dialed Ramon. Fighting back the tears, she explained where to find Mad Dog and the others.

“Where are you now?” Ramon asked.

“Hartshorne. Heading to the Highlands,” she said and shot a glance at Caterina as she drove.

“I’m going to give you directions to the hospital,” Liliana yelled to Caterina against the road noise as she took a quick look at her brother before returning her attention to Ramon.

“Meet us there, Ramon. But I need a promise from you.”

Her cousin hesitated. “I can’t make any promises, Lil. Bring them in and we’ll figure out what to do.”

She shot another glance at Caterina, who seemed to have overheard a snippet of the conversation.

“I don’t care who’s looking for me. We’re going to the hospital,” Caterina shouted back over the din from the wind whipping into the open vehicle.

Somehow Liliana had never had a doubt that’s what Caterina would say because Caterina loved Mick. Liliana had never been more certain of anything else in her life.

“We’re on our way, Ramon,” she said, hung up the phone and took Mick’s limp hand in hers, praying that it wasn’t too late.

Liliana had no doubt her bother cared for Caterina as well and hoped the two of them would have time to be able to share that love.

Chapter 40

A steady throb behind his eyeballs kept pace with the repetitive electronic beep nearby.

Mick cracked open his eyes and a gentle familiar touch on his hand told him he was not alone.

“Cat?” he asked and suddenly she was standing above him, her beautiful face filling his vision.

“I’m here, Mick,” Caterina said and he tried to smile, but his lips were dry and pulled with the motion.

She quickly offered up some ice chips to wet his lips and parched throat.

“Thank you.” Turning his head, he realized he was in a hospital bed with an assortment of tubes and wires attached to him.

He tried to move, but his body was stiff and painful. Wincing, he asked, “How long have I been here?”

“A little over a day, love,” she said and offered him some more ice chips, but he shook his head, which only created an intense well of pain in the middle of his skull.

“Easy, Mick. You have a hairline skull fracture and concussion. Several broken ribs and a punctured lung. You almost didn’t make it.”

He should have been thankful that’s all it was because he remembered feeling as if a Mack truck had run him down. But the pain of that blow was mitigated by the knowledge that he had found his sister.

“Liliana,” he said, not realizing he had said it out loud until Caterina replied.

“She had to leave a few hours ago to do her rounds, but she’ll be back.”

“How are you?” he asked and closed his eyes, the light in the room too bright to his concussion-sensitized sight.

Caterina ran a cool hand across the side of his face and said, “I’m fine. When we brought you to the hospital your cousin Ramon was waiting for us. I explained what happened.”

“He called in the Feds,” Mick jumped in, recalling the dead park ranger.

“As well as the local and Camden PDs,” he heard and opened his eyes to see Ramon strolling in, wearing his summer khakis, his sheriff’s hat in hand.

Ramon came to stand by the railing of his bed and shot a smile at Caterina. “Glad to see you decided to join us.”

“What’s going on?” he asked his cousin.

Ramon’s lips tightened into a thin line before he said, “Feds are coordinating with the locals since it seems the MO for the park ranger’s murder is the same as for Wells. There’s also a DNA match to the goon you plugged between the eyes.”

“Santiago,” Caterina said and the name struck a discordant chord with his cousin.

“Rob Santiago the cop killer. Seems they reduced his sentence if he agreed to participate in the Wardwell study.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Mick cursed and glanced at Caterina. “You saved my life. You and Lil.”

She twined her fingers with his. “I couldn’t lose you.”

Mick tightened his hold on her hand and faced Ramon once again. “Cat didn’t kill Wells.”

“Caterina’s been released on my recognizance, but I suspect they’ll be dropping all charges shortly,” Ramon advised.

Mick’s major mission had been accomplished, but something still gnawed at his gut. “Did you get Edwards and Morales?”

Ramon looked away, unable to hold his gaze and Mick repeated, “Did you, Ramon?”

His cousin jiggled his hat up and down in his hand before finally meeting his gaze. “Edwards and Morales have disappeared along with the remaining four patients in the gene therapy program. They’ll need lots of space and equipment. It’ll make it hard for them to hide for long.”

Mick thought about how much money Edwards had paid him and Franklin. How much they must have offered Mad Dog to eliminate all of them. With that much money they could hide for a very long time.

“Those families need closure. Someone’s got to find the missing patients.”

Caterina echoed Mick’s sentiment. “Someone will.”

Ramon nodded. “Definitely. And soon. Trust me.”

Mick glanced at Caterina and knew she understood. After Ramon excused himself, he squeezed her hand and said, “I’m glad things worked out for you.”

A confused look crossed her face. “That’s sounding a bit too much like a brush off.”

Mick shrugged. A big mistake as pain lanced through his side, but he bit back a groan and said, “You and Liliana are safe now. You’ll be able to go back to your regular life.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “Your music is your life.”

Caterina nodded, pulled her hair back from her face, and trained those stunning blue eyes on his face. “Music is a big part of my life, but I’ve found something else I want in my life, too. Something that makes it complete.”

Mick’s heartbeat did a funky beat that registered on the monitors, drawing Caterina’s attention to the machines. “You okay? Should I get a doctor?”

“Actually, if I’m the something else you want, I think you should go get a priest.”

Caterina narrowed her eyes and examined his face.

“A priest?” she repeated.

Mick allowed a slow grin to spread across his face as he said, “Well, I’ve either died and should get last rites or I need to make this relationship more permanent before you change your mind.”

Caterina chuckled and shook her head, sending her long dark locks shifting with the motion. “Not what I would call a romantic proposal.”

“I love you, Cat. Heart and soul. Flesh and bone. Every part of me is yours.”

Caterina stood and bent over him, her lips barely an inch from his. “I love you, Mick. You are the music of my heart and I never want to be without you.”

She closed the distance and kissed him, her lips warm and mobile against his. The intensity of the kiss growing until a cough sounded from the doorway, yanking Caterina away from him.

Caterina jerked upright and turned, but slipped her hand back into Mick’s.

His mother stood at the door, bracketed by two men who could only be his father and brother since the resemblance was so strong. Liliana had called them as soon as they knew Mick was out of the woods, but it had taken some time for them to return home from Chicago.

From the worry etched on his mother’s face, hearing the news about Mick’s injuries had clearly taken a toll on her.

“Mariel,” Caterina said and walked toward the woman, took her hands in hers, and offered a reassuring squeeze. “He’s feeling better than he looks.”

“Good, because he looks like shit,” said the man she had surmised to be his younger brother.

“Mi’jito, watch your language. Caterina this is Antonio.”

“Tony will do,” he said, a broad welcoming smile on his face. “Are you Mick’s girl?”

Mick’s girl, she thought and shot a half glance over her shoulder at Mick before returning her attention to his family.

“Actually I’m Mick’s fiancée, that is if you approve,” Caterina said and watched as surprise flickered across the faces of the three.

It was his father who finally mustered that shock and spoke up. “Welcome to the family, mi’jita.”

Epilogue

One month later

The summer sun beat down mercilessly and not even the tinted windows on the SUV could fight back its assault. The heat in the interior of the vehicle had been steadily growing as Morales sat there, waiting for them. Slowly baking while the three of them were probably off somewhere cool.

He drove his thoughts away from the heat. Ignored the trickle of sweat down the side of his face as he told himself that they were bound to arrive soon.

It would be time for Ms. Shaw to have another plasmapheresis treatment and a crisp hundred paid to one of the orderlies had confirmed that she would be arriving today.

As a black Jeep pulled into the parking lot for the hospital, Morales tracked its passage to an empty spot at the far side of the lot. He held his breath as he waited for the occupants to emerge and was not disappointed.

Caterina Shaw slipped from the vehicle along with a handsome Latino man. Carrera, he supposed since he had never encountered the man in person.

The couple met at the back of the Jeep and embraced. Shared a hungry kiss before joining hands and walking together toward the door to the hospital.

As they neared the entrance, the automatic doors swooshed open and a young woman exited the building. Petite. Wearing a lab coat and badge which identified her as one of the hospital personnel. Her dark good looks, so similar to the man with Shaw, identified her as family.

Beneath the canopy of the hospital’s entrance, the three embraced, happiness and love radiating from one and all.

Sickening, Morales thought, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Itching to rush out and grab Shaw. Finish what he had started.

But not today, he thought as the clueless trio walked into the hospital together, believing themselves safe. Believing that the nightmare was over for them, only . . .

Morales started the engine, cranked up the air conditioning and drove away, his smile as chilly as the air coming from the vents of the SUV as he thought, “It’s only just begun.”

Sins of the Flesh Copyright © 2009 by Caridad Piñeiro Scordato

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of Caridad Piñeiro Scordato.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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About the Author

NY Times and USA Today Bestseller Caridad Pineiro is a Jersey Girl who just wants to write, travel, and spend more time with family and friends. Caridad is the author of over 40 novels/novellas and loves romance novels, super heroes, TV and cooking. Caridad writes dark and sexy romantic suspense and paranormal romances for those who live to love on the edge. Her sweet, but still naughty side, Charity Pineiro, writes contemporary romances packed with emotion and humor. For more information on Caridad/Charity, please visit www.caridad.com or www.rebornvampirenovels.com. You can also find Caridad/Charity on:

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Spell Bound

by,

Stephanie Julian

Spell Bound Copyright 2011. Stephanie Julian.

Stephanie Julian

Published by Stephanie Julian

Cover by Melyssa Najouks

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at stephaniejulian@msn.com.

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

Dedication

To my guys, with love always

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my agent, Elaine English, who believes in this book and in me.

To Judi and Deb and April and Daria and Adele and Marilyn and every single one of my writer friends who read and reread and listened to me bemoan the fact that this book that I love would never get published

Author’s Note

SPELL BOUND is part of the Etruscan Magic books, including the Magical Seduction, Lucani Lovers and Forgotten Goddesses series, but takes place before the events in SEDUCED BY MAGIC, the first book in the Magical Seduction series.

Glossary

Aitás – Underworld

Arus – magical power inherent in the races of Etruscan descent

Attonitum – looks like a cross between a revolver and an inoculation gun and would be useless in the hand of an eteri, a regular human. The iron grip warms to the touch, while the quartz crystal concentration chamber pulses with a pale pink light. The solid copper barrel focuses the magic.

Blood Bound – An ancient tradition tying two souls and their fates together for all eternity by mingling blood during sex.

Boschetta – a group of thirteen streghe

Enu – humans of magical Etruscan descent

Eteri – Etruscan for foreigner, used to describe regular humans

Fata – mythical beings of magical Etruscan descent such as folletti (fairies) and linchetti (night elves)

Goddess Gift – magical abilities including but not restricted to scrying, healing, far-seeing, affinities to herbs and crystals

Grigorio – a male born with enhanced senses and strength and an affinity to metal; in ancient times, the grigori were warrior priests and guardians of the Etruscan race; they were thought to have died out

Involuti – Founding gods of the Etruscans, those from whom all other Etruscan deities are descended

Lucani – Etruscan werewolves; they form the Etruscan army, based on the ancient Roman Legion

Priestesses of Menrva’s – originally a group of thirteen unmarried women who pledged their lives to the Etruscan Menrva, Goddess of Wisdom, and kept safe her most sacred gift to the Etruscans, the twelve Nails of the Ages; through the centuries, they handed down their duties to their nearest living female relatives

Strega – (plural streghe) Female of Etruscan descent endowed with Goddess Gifts

Stregone – Male of Etruscan descent endowed with Goddess Gifts

Salvanelli – one of the races of the Etruscan Fata, thought to be extinct

Versipellis – literally “skin shifter,” shapeshifters including Etruscan lucani, Norse berkserkir (bears) and French loup garou (wolves)

Prologue

Tuscany

1495

“You bitches.” Brown eyes red-rimmed and blazing, Fabrizio Paganelli shook with grief and fury. “You killed him.”

“No.” Dafne, the boschetta’s leader, bowed her head, sorrow etched in every line of her normally placid expression. “We could do nothing for him. His illness was too advanced.”

“You lie.” Paganelli clutched his youngest son’s body in his arms, Christo’s beautiful face finally peaceful in death. Such a stark contrast to his father’s madness. “I came to you for help.”

From her position in the circle around the bed, Celeste’s heart hurt for the grief in the man’s voice. But her skin crawled at the evil underlying his tone.

Could the other twelve members of her boschetta not hear it? Or did they hear only their soft prayer to the Etruscan Great Goddess Uni for Christo’s safe journey to Aitás? Celeste mouthed the words but watched the distraught father with wary eyes.

“I begged you to cure him,” Paganelli raged. “Instead your magic killed him.”

“I am so very sorry, Fabrizio.” Daphne reached for him but Paganelli drew back, as if she might contaminate him somehow, his mouth twisted with a sneer of disgust and anguish.

“Sorry does not bring back my son!”

And neither could Paganelli’s great wealth, though he had tried to buy Christo’s health. Celeste knew he’d spent a fortune on modern physicians for cures that failed. By the time Fabrizio had begged the streghe to save Christo with their magic, the young man had been too ill.

She had been shocked when Dafne had gathered the women to attempt to heal him anyway. Though the streghe ministered to the villagers on a daily basis, the Paganellis, the largest and wealthiest landowners in the valley, had never approached them for anything.

Celeste had argued against it. She did not think it wise to reveal the boschetta’s true power to Paganelli. They were not like other streghe, women of Etruscan descent who used their Goddess Gifts to heal and make small spells and potions.

Their boschetta alone had a secret and sacred duty to Menrva, the Etruscan Goddess of Wisdom, handed down to them from their mothers and their mothers before them. As Menrva’s priestesses, they protected her most sacred gift to the Etruscan people, the Nails of the Ages, and waited for the day she once again demanded their duty to her.

For more than a thousand years, her priestesses had waited.

Celeste’s hand crept to the leather thong around her neck and the iron key hanging from it. They should have said no to Paganelli, but Celeste’s younger sister, soft-hearted Andrea, had begged them to help Christo and no one could deny her anything. Even though Celeste, a healer, had sensed the black tumor in his stomach was too advanced to heal.

“No, Fabrizio,” Dafne continued to try to calm the distraught father. “We tried—”

“Charlatans! Whores!” Paganelli’s voice bounced off the walls of the lushly furnished bedroom in the Paganelli’s huge manor. “I’ll make you pay. You will all pay.”

Celeste’s bile rose at Fabrizio’s fast-building fury. That angry emotion felt like black smoke in her lungs, nauseating her.

“Please, Fabrizio,” Dafne pleaded. “I understand—”

“What do you understand?” he raged, one hand slashing out in front of him. “You understand nothing. Your children live. How can you understand my pain?”

Celeste felt a sliver of pain strike at the center of her heart. She and her mate had not yet been blessed with children. She sometimes wondered if they ever would be.

Great Goddess, please, grant us a child—

“Fabrizio, try to remain calm,” Dafne said. “You’ll cause yourself injury. I know your pain is intense but you must think of your remaining sons. They need you now.”

The old man’s mouth pulled back in a snarl, thick white hair shaking around his face in his fury. “Christo was the most precious, the most powerful of my sons. You have robbed me of him.”

Rising from the bedside, Paganelli jerked a knife from the sheath on his belt and cut his dead son across the arm.

The thirteen women of the boschetta gasped as if with one body, several members stepping back, breaking the circle.

No, Celeste thought, he wouldn’t dare…

As the knife dripped red, Paganelli slashed across his chest, mingling his blood with his son’s.

“I, Fabrizio Paganelli, curse you to outlive your loved ones so that you, too, can feel this agony.” He snarled the words, biting them off like a dog tears into meat. “So that you may know the pain of watching your children die while you stand helpless. And I demand Veive, God of Revenge, forbid you to bear another female child. You will produce no more streghe. No other father should fall prey to a strega’s lies. You’ll pay. You’ll all pay…”

Chapter One

Present Day

Blood. Everywhere. The floor, the walls.

Her dad.

Blessed Goddess, no…

Thick, dark. On her hands, her clothes. The metallic odor in her nose. Overpowering.

Her mother…oh, gods, what did they do to her mom?

Can’t breathe. No air…

Too late. She’d been too late.

Wait…Someone here? No, someone in her head, whispering. Her mother…

In the basement.

Sneakers sliding in—No, don’t think. Move. Basement. Dad’s workroom.

Beneath the workbench.

Her mother’s voice. Her dead mother…Oh, Mom—

The spell.

Runes beneath the table. A spell of concealment. The ancient Etruscan language rolled off her tongue in fierce bites. Knife across her palm, her blood on the runes.

The workbench slid away from the wall.

And she screamed and screamed as blood poured out…

* * *

Shooting straight up in bed, Shea Tedaldi gasped for air in the semi-dark bedroom, tears in her eyes.

The bed creaked as her hand shot to her left. Warm, soft skin, rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. Leo’s small body huddled on his side under the covers.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Just a dream. Another dream about that awful night that left her terrified and shaking.

Whoever was on their tail was getting closer. The voices in her head—those maddening, unintelligible, buzzing voices in the back of her mind—were frantic.

It was time. She and Leo needed help or they needed to leave this dingy apartment in Reading, Pennsylvania, and run like hell. Just like they’d done four months ago in Atlantic City.

The voices had put up a clamor then, too, so much so she’d decided to move here and finally look up the man her mother had believed she could entrust with Leo’s life.

So why are you thinking about running again? Without even talking to the guy?

Well, that was easy. Because five years on her own had taught her that people screwed you all the time. Since running away from home at seventeen, she’d learned to rely only on herself.

Yeah, and how’s that working for you so far?

“Oh, just shut up,” she whispered as she slid her legs off the side of the bed and sat on the edge, willing the shakes and the tears to stop. No need for them. Leo was fine. At least, as fine as a six-year-old with monsters on his ass could be.

Turning, she watched her brother sleep, his too-long hair inky black against the stark white sheets.

Everything about him was growing fast. He needed a haircut. And, since shopping wasn’t exactly on her to-do list, he needed new clothes. His ankles had started to show beneath his jeans. He’d need new shoes, too, and socks, because his were full of holes.

But mostly, Leo needed not to worry about boogeymen who wanted to cut out her heart and turn him into a monster. He needed his parents…

She took a deep breath and straightened her spine, twisting her neck back and forth until it cracked.

Time to get off your ass.

Because the men who’d killed their parents were getting close again. And the man who’d ordered their murders, Dario Paganelli…he wanted Leo.

Her stomach rolled and she rubbed it with her hand, trying to ease the ache. But nothing helped.

Dario Paganelli was the boogeyman her parents had whispered about behind closed doors, the monster who had forced them to live like hermits. He was the cause of Shea’s every fear and heartache.

He’d made her life hell without ever meeting him. And now that monster wanted Leo, a little boy who looked like an angel but controlled enough power to burn a house to the ground.

Goose bumps danced on her skin. Paganelli was a cold-blooded monster who would break Leo, remake him in his own evil image. Then turn him loose on his own people.

Great Goddess, he’s only six.

Sighing, her gaze shifted to the small round table in the corner.

The altar at their home in Wisconsin had been made from the base of a lightning-struck walnut tree from the dense woods enclosing their property. Nearly five feet in diameter, that altar had dominated the small clearing where her parents had held their rituals for the Great Goddess Uni. Passed down through the millennia, those rituals connected them to the Etruscan Mother Goddess, renewed their faith in Her and Her protection over them.

Shea prayed every day, just as her mother had. But so far, she’d gotten no guidance from the supposedly all-mighty Uni. No inspiration. No help.

Which was why she’d moved them here. To get help. And to hide.

The largest population of the once mighty Etruscan race, maybe five thousand or so, lived here in Reading and Berks County, conveniently located over a ley line of earth power and smack up against the Schuylkill River. A ley line and running water to power their magic must have seemed like a hole-in-one to the first Etruscans who’d moved here from the old country in the early 1800s.

They’d blended into the melting pot of nineteenth-century Reading but maintained their ancient culture. They lived outwardly normal lives but instead of adding to the collection of churches that stood on every other corner, they built hidden temples for their goddesses and gods.

The eteri who shoveled lasagna and rigatoni at Marelli’s Trattoria on south Seventh Street would choke on their food if they discovered Uni’s Temple was built into the back of the building.

Here, she and Leo were just another two faces in the Etruscan community. Two more bodies at temple where they sat in the back and kept their heads down. Until everyone lifted their faces toward the ceiling to ask for Uni’s protection for the Etruscan race. Then she begged for Leo’s safekeeping.

But did Uni hear? Did She care?

Hell, after everything she’d seen in the world, after her parents’ murders, Shea wasn’t sure the Great Goddess existed anymore.

But monsters did exist. And for those, she had weapons.

She lifted the attonitum from its spot on the bedside table. It looked like a cross between a revolver and an inoculation gun and would be useless in the hand of an eteri.

But in hers… The iron grip warmed to her touch, while the quartz crystal concentration chamber pulsed with a pale pink light, responding to her arus, the magic inherent in the blood of all Etruscans. The solid copper barrel would focus that power wherever she pointed, strengthening it into a heated blast similar to a laser.

There was nothing sleek about the attonitum, nothing like the Beretta Px4 Storm her dad had taught her to shoot and that she always carried. But the gun didn’t give her the headache the attonitum did.

Such a failure.

Using magic was always a lesson in pain. Her head pounded whenever she worked a spell or used her Goddess Gift to heal even a minor cut. And though she’d developed a mental shield to keep the voices to a dull buzz, a migraine was never far away.

But she’d use the weapon, to protect Leo. She’d made a promise. And she knew, even in death, her mom would hold her to it.

Like someone had twisted the volume dial, the voices grew louder, chattering over each other like angry hornets. Though she couldn’t understand them, Shea knew they were warning her. She and Leo were out of time.

Reaching under the bed for the backpack always within arm’s reach, she pulled out her mom’s grimoire and a sheet of paper fluttered out from between the pages.

She didn’t have to read it to know what it said. She’d memorized months ago what her mom had written before her death.

“Too much to say and not enough time. Know we love you and your brother. In time, we hope you can forgive us for all we hid from you. Please understand that we did what we thought was right.

The men who will kill us will come after Leo. These men work for Dario Paganelli. If Paganelli catches you, he’ll kill you, Shea. He’ll take your brother and pervert his powers to hunt the remaining Priestesses.

Neither you nor your brother can fall into Paganelli’s hands. The consequences are unspeakable. Use the locator spell to find Mr. Brown in Reading, Pennsylvania. He’s a grigorio and a friend. He’ll protect you both. Tell him I sent you and that all is done in time.

And always remember we love you.”

Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back.

Their dad had been a grigorio, too, one of the legendary Etruscan warrior priests. Great warriors who could handle a sword as easily as a gun and who always had a ready smile. Her dad had seemed invincible.

And Dario had killed him.

The bed jostled and she turned to find Leo staring at her.

She smiled at the drowsy look on his sweet face and ran a hand through his soft dark hair.

“Hey, bud. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged but said nothing.

Biting back a sigh, she leaned forward to lay a kiss on his forehead. “Think you’re awake enough to give me a hand with something?”

Leo’s eyes widened as he nodded, but he held out his arms for his morning hug first. She was already halfway there and wrapped his skinny little body against her.

So small. He was so small.

No, she couldn’t let fear screw with her mind right now. They had a spell to perform.

“Okay, then.” She opened the grimoire to the spell her mom had mentioned. “Let’s see what we need.”

She and Leo headed to the window. Since empathic healing was her only Goddess Gift, and headaches and migraines hampered her spell-working abilities, she needed Leo’s unusual strength to feed most spells.

It used to scare the shit out of her, that sense of helplessness she got whenever she tried and failed to work a spell.

Her dad had always said, “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.” He’d never given up on her. Her mom…

Since she couldn’t think about that without getting depressed, she pushed it out of her mind and focused on the task ahead. Setting an unopened phone book on the window sill, where the sun shone directly through, she dropped a pinch of saffron, a pinch of cinnamon and a topaz stone to draw the light into the bottom of her moon bowl, which would capture and hold the spell’s energy until she released it.

Lifting her face into the sun, she said, “Usil, Lord of the Amber Light, hear our humble plea. Illuminate the abode of Mr. Brown with your soft breath.” She bit down on her bottom lips as a sharp pain knifed through her temples. “Okay, Leo, blow.”

Leaning close, Leo blew the dry ingredients over the phone book, the scent of the spices strong in the morning air. When they’d settled on the book, Shea opened it somewhere near the middle.

Please, let me have done this right…

Shea breathed a sigh of relief when the soft breeze they’d called with the spell blew across the pages for several seconds. As quickly as it started, it stopped again.

Starting at the left, she ran her finger down the columns of names and numbers. And there, in the center of the left page, listed under appliance repair in the yellow pages, was a number for G. Brown. A number with eight digits and a street name but no building number.

It looked like a misprint, but Shea knew better. Since she couldn’t use a regular phone to make this call, she’d have to wait until she got to Harry’s to use the old black rotary phone in the dressing room. That phone was connected to the communication system only Etruscans could use.

More waiting.

Please don’t let it be too late.

She turned to Leo with a smile, this one more natural. “Looks like it worked, babe. We’ll give Mr. Brown a call later, okay? You and me, we’re a great team, huh?”

Leo nodded but he didn’t smile. He never smiled. He barely ever spoke.

And it broke her heart.

She took a deep breath. “Alright, then, how about some breakfast?”

Leo’s big dark eyes, so like their dad’s, just watched her. Silent. Waiting.

Shea wished she knew for what.

* * *

Another dead end.

Gabriel Borelli slammed the front door behind him and threw his coat at the nearest chair. It missed and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Fuck it. He’d check the weapons later.

Right now, he needed a drink. That bottle of Mezzaluna vodka in the cabinet didn’t stand a chance. Not after the month he’d had.

Four fucking-endless weeks chasing a rumor that turned into a dead end. The versipellis Harry had put him in touch with had been positive she’d seen a man who fit Dario Paganelli’s description in a restaurant in the Outer Banks. It’d been his first lead in more than a year, but it’d been a damn bust.

And now it was time to face the music for his absence.

Bottle in hand, he took a healthy swallow before he picked up the black handset from the 1940s-era phone and dialed the eight-number code to get Phil.

“May I help you?”

As always, that high-pitched female voice made him think of the old Lily Tomlin phone-operator skit on “Laugh In.” His dad had loved that show.

“It’s Brown. Messages?”

Phil’s purely feminine sigh made his temples throb.

Damn, this is gonna suck.

“There are several, as you would know if you’d checked in every week, as you’re supposed to. Not once a month, Gabriel.”

Gods be damned. He was a grigorio, a lean, mean, Etruscan bad-ass whose enhanced senses made it damn-near impossible for anyone to get the drop on him. His affinity for all metals but iron gave him the power to slap bullets out of the air with a simple spell. And his unusual strength made him hard to kill and nearly impossible to beat in a fight.

And Phil was not his mother so why the hell did he, a twenty-eight-year-old man, feel like he had to apologize?

No way. He wasn’t gonna do it. He didn’t need to—

“Look, I’m sorry.” Shit, you’re an idiot. “I’ve been out of touch—”

“And where exactly have you been?”

Not in this lifetime, babe. “Personal business. What messages?”

Phil huffed and, for a few seconds, he was sure he was going to have to apologize again and that might just make him chug the rest of the bottle.

“Crimson Moon called three times.”

Yeah, he’d figured his mom would call at least once while he was gone, even though she had his cell number.

“Lupe’s Low End called twice.”

Goddamn Quinn. His best friend needed to get over his distrust of cell phones, too.

“And one attempt was made to procure your services.”

Fuck. For Phil to forward an outside call to him meant someone had asked for him by name. That usually only happened when another grigorio wanted his help.

“Who was it?”

“Unknown.”

Huh? “What the hell does that mean?”

“That means,” Phil huffed, “she didn’t leave her name.”

“And this female asked for me by name?”

“Yes, she asked for Mr. Brown. When I told her you were unavailable, she hung up.”

Well, shit. The existence of the grigori and the cursed streghe they protected was a carefully maintained secret, even among the Etruscans. The story of how the women had been cursed by Fabrizio Paganelli to unending life had become myth. How their sons were born grigori, the great warrior protectors thought to be extinct, a legend.

For someone to ask for him by his call name…

“Christ, Phil. Did you find out where she was calling from? Did you—”

“Do you think I don’t know my job, Gabriel Borelli?”

Fuck. Second rule of being a grigorio—Don’t piss off Phil.

“Of course you know your job. I’m sor—”

“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “I don’t appreciate your language or your insinuations, Gabriel. You are expected at ritual in four nights. I suggest you get some sleep before you get your ass over there. And the next time this phone rings, I expect you to answer it.”

Gabriel took another slug from the bottle as Phil hung up on him. Loudly. And not before shoving a tiny spell through the line to make his head ache. Damn, that woman was vindictive.

Still, he should have checked in. It was part of the deal. Grigori were to be available at all times, any time. His father, the former Mr. Brown, never would’ve missed a check-in.

No, Davis Borelli had been one of the best grigori ever.

Before he’d been murdered by Dario Paganelli.

No, Dario hadn’t pulled the trigger. But the bastard was responsible for his dad’s death. Just as Dario’s father Fabrizio had been responsible for the curse that had arrested the lives of the streghe.

Maybe Fabrizio would have been more careful if he’d known the curse would screw his son, too. The deities could be spiteful when they granted your wishes. Fabrizio had cursed the thirteen streghe but that curse had trapped his son Dario in eternal life, as well.

And now Dario hunted the streghe with a bloody vengeance. The bastard had a lot to answer for. And Gabriel would make sure he answered in blood.

Another few slugs and the bottle surrendered its last drop.

Gabriel’s gaze slid to the cabinet. No more Mezzaluna. He had a bottle of Grey Goose, but on top of the Messaluna, it might be lethal.

He sat there for a few seconds, wondering just how drunk he needed to be to take his mind off the fact that he wasn’t any closer to finding Dario and murdering him.

Pretty damn drunk.

He definitely needed a change of scenery.

Chapter Two

Gods be damned, there he was, Mr. Brown, their supposed savior, drinking himself into a stupor.

For the third night in a row.

Shea grabbed the pole in the center of the catwalk and gave the few men sitting in the Spyder Club’s front row a good view of her naked breasts as she swung around a second time. She needed the tips.

While the midnight regulars lining the catwalk ogled her, Mr. Brown never glanced toward the stage from his table in the back corner. She didn’t think he even realized there was a dancer up there.

The dark-haired man with the don’t-fuck-with-me expression probably wouldn’t recognize her if he fell over her on the street, which was a distinct possibility at the rate he was sucking down tequila.

Great. Just great. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She barely heard the throbbing beat of the Black-Eyed Peas’ “My Humps” as she went through her bump-and-grind. She knew it well enough not to trip over her four-inch, stiletto heels. But the chill spreading through her body scared her.

Four days ago, she’d called the number in the phone book, the one she and Leo had found using the locator spell.

A female voice had said hello but when Shea had asked for Mr. Brown, she’d been told he was unavailable and would she liked to talk to Mr. Blue?

Her mother’s letter mentioned only one name. Mr. Brown. Not Mr. Blue. She’d hung up without answering.

That night after work, she and Leo had cased the street listed in the phone book. They’d scrutinized every building for ten blocks and she had known immediately which house was Mr. Brown’s. The Etruscan runes carved around the door like decoration gave it away.

They’d parked and staked out the house, her ‘72 Dodge Dart blending in among the older Plymouths and Chevys on the street. Later that night, an unfamiliar dark-haired man had walked into the building.

They’d left without knocking on his door.

Tomorrow, she told herself. She’d approach him tomorrow.

But the next night, that man had taken up residence at that table and begun to drink. And drink. And he’d returned to that table every night since.

He hadn’t said a word to anyone except Harry. Of course, “Give me the bottle” wasn’t exactly conversation.

This was the man her mother wanted her to entrust with Leo’s life?

Uh, no. She didn’t think so. Not until she’d learned a lot more about him.

* * *

“Leo? Hey, hon, I’m back.”

Shea shut the door to the dressing room behind her, walking through the cluttered space to throw the few scraps of material she’d stripped off on stage in her cubby.

“Shit, you done already?” Vibia groaned at the makeup mirror, outlining pale blue eyes with black liner, dark hair already teased and sprayed into carefully tousled waves. “Guess I better get a move on. You know how Marci gets when I’m late. What a bitch.”

Shea just shrugged her shoulder. No way was she getting between the two lucani versipelli. Skin-shifter tempers were infamously short, particularly the Etruscan wolves, who had the whole Latin temperament going against them, too.

The fur would fly, literally, if the women shifted into their wolves and went after each other.

“Hey, Vi, is Leo in the bathroom?”

“No.” The woman waved her hand toward the door. “Dilby came to take him DownBelow. Said the band wanted him to sit in on percussion. He’s got a gift for music, your boy.”

Cold fear swamped her before she could prepare, stealing her breath and crushing her stomach in its grip. She nearly ran for the door before she stopped and took a deep breath.

“Hey, sweetie,” Vibia said, frowning at her. “He’s fine. You know Dilby won’t let anything happen to him.”

“Yeah.” She forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Dilby had been the first person to befriend them after Shea had gotten the job here. Shea hadn’t wanted to make friends, but Dilby had been relentless. In a good way. Always chatty but never nosy. The lead singer of DownBelow’s house band, Dilby had been the first person to put a musical instrument in Leo’s hands. She’d make sure nothing happened to him.

Still, these past few weeks, Shea had become terrified to let him out of her sight.

She refused to leave him alone in their apartment when she went to work. The kid was only six. But dragging him to a strip club nearly every night, even if he only sat in the dressing room, was no life for a kid. Hell, being on the run was no life for a kid.

He deserved more. He deserved to grow up in his own home with his parents, free from harm. Safe. Cocooned.

Suffocated.

Like she’d felt.

Oh, not at first. At first, it’d been heaven. Just her and her parents. A forest to play in. Books to read. Weapons to train with. Spells to learn. Not that she’d had much luck with that, but still…

Until she was twelve, she hadn’t known there were living beings in the world other than her parents and the animals who roamed a forest so thick it blotted out the sky in spots.

Then a lost hiker had stumbled through her parents’ strong perimeter wards and asked her to show him the way back to the road. Fear had frozen her vocal cords and she’d run home, barely able to for words to tell her dad about the hiker.

Until that moment, she’d never once questioned her parents about why they never left the forest surrounding their cozy log home.

“There are people out there who would hurt you if they knew about you,” her mother had said. “It’s for your own good, Shea.”

As a stupid teenager, she’d believed her mom had wanted to control her life.

“You’re special, Shea,” her dad had claimed. “We can’t trust anyone else. This was the only way.”

Yeah, she was really special. A special kind of screw-up.

Well…shit. She shook those thoughts out of her head.

She hadn’t planned on going DownBelow tonight but no way would she make Leo leave. If he was going to sit in with the band, she didn’t want to miss it. The kid was a musical prodigy. Put an instrument in his hands and he could play it. And not just play it, but make it sing. Percussion, guitar, bass, violin. Anything he could hit or had a string. He had some trouble with wind instruments but she was pretty sure that had to do more with lung capacity than talent. Give him a few years and he’d master those, too.

If he had a few years.

No, none of that now.

If she was going DownBelow, she needed to change. The jeans and t-shirts she’d worn to work weren’t gonna cut it. Not if she didn’t want to stand out.

And she really didn’t want to stand out.

“Hey, Vi. You got anything I can wear? I wasn’t exactly planning to go tonight.”

Vi gestured with the bright red lipstick she was applying. “Not really. Look in the closet, babe. Something’ll jump out at you.”

Hell, why hadn’t she thought of that? Probably because she had too damn much on her mind.

The club had been built as headquarters for a beneficial society in the early 1800s, but in later life had been home to the Reading Communist Party, the Daughters of the American Revolution and, for a time in the 1920s, a burlesque theater.

Only the red velvet curtains over the stage and windows remained in view from those days, but the heart of that old theater lived in this closet. Along with clothes from just about every decade since.

Leo loved to hunt in the trunks for treasure like plastic swords and funny hats. He was too young to realize the treasure was the clothes. Growing up as she had, clothes had never been much of a concern. Jeans, t-shirts, sweaters.

But now…well, now she knew the difference between a basque and a corset. Black velvet on her skin made her shiver with lust. Leather molded to her body like a lover and the sheen of satin against her olive-toned skin and dark hair made her glow.

Ah, there it was, the cream satin basque, hanging from the pole on the side wall. She pushed aside two Victorian gowns to reach it then turned to one of several old steamer trunks on the other side of the room. She’d seen a whole trunk of black leather… Yeah, this was it.

She pulled out a couple of skirts that looked like they might fit her then headed back into the dressing room.

Vibia would need to help her with the basque and then she was going DownBelow.

There, at least for an hour or so, she could forget that the man she needed to save her brother was drinking himself into a coma.

* * *

“Hey, Harry. What’s happening DownBelow?”

From behind the huge mahogany bar that dominated the north wall of the club, Harry gave him a once-over as he tapped a beer for a waitress.

Gabriel figured he didn’t look too good, not after three steady days of drinking.

Fuck it. Tonight at ritual, he’d sober up fast.

“Since you’ve been drowning yourself in tequila for the past three nights, I guess you didn’t have any luck?” Harry asked.

He met Harry’s gaze head on. He’d managed to avoid this conversation until now. “Nothing there.”

Harry nodded once and a brief flash of sympathy passed through his eyes. Anyone else, Gabriel would’ve told them off. He didn’t need their sympathy.

But Harry was the only person Gabriel trusted with this part of his life. Harry wanted Dario dead, though he’d never explained why.

And Gabriel didn’t really care. They wanted the same thing.

“Band’s in,” Harry said finally. “Gonna be full. You know the drill.”

Yeah, he knew the drill. And no one, if they wanted to be allowed back into The Spyder or DownBelow, ignored Harry’s drill. No weapons, no fighting. No excuses. You fucked up and you were banned. Forever.

Looking at the guy, you wouldn’t think he was such a badass. Five-ten, short brown hair, brown eyes, average looks, the kind that would get him passed over in a lineup even if he was guilty.

But looks, as they so often were, were deceiving mothers.

Gabriel had been in Harry’s office a few times, long enough to look at the photos on the walls. They chronicled the building’s history from the time of its construction in the early 1800s through the next two-hundred years. In every single picture, Harry stood somewhere in the background, looking exactly as he did today.

Not such a shock, considering all Gabriel knew about the world. Still, Gabriel didn’t know what Harry was. He wasn’t Enu, a human of magical Etruscan descent, like the streghe and the versipelli. And not Fata, an Etruscan elemental being such as the winged folletti and the goat-legged salbinelli.

Harry was something else. Someone you didn’t want to fuck with. He was ancient, older even than the cursed streghe, though no one wanted to piss him off by asking just how old. Everyone who came through The Spyder’s doors learned to get and stay on Harry’s good side. And those who didn’t…well, nobody had actually dared get on Harry’s bad side since Jimmy Hoffa’s disappearance.

Gabriel was no exception.

In the hallway outside the club, he entered the darkened alcove that held a perpetually out-of-order phone. At least, out of order for those who didn’t know how to use it.

Without lifting the handset, Gabriel checked to make sure there were no eteri from the strip club wandering around then punched in four digits on the base. After a two-second lull, the rumble of well-oiled pistons warned him the back wall was about to swing open. When it did, a rush of air blew out and Gabriel stepped into the holding room, the wall shutting behind him as an overhead light came on. One by one, more lights clicked on down the descending hallway.

Sliding out of his leather duster, he hung it and the arsenal it held in one of the empty lockers lining the wall.

From his right boot, he pulled his pugio, the short silver dagger he’d inherited from his dad, and put it in his coat pocket. In his jeans and t-shirt, he’d stand out some. But everyone who came to DownBelow thought they knew who and what he was—just another Etruscan descendent with a little inherent power, an Enu who worked construction for an eteri firm out of Philadelphia.

Last, he took off his boots and socks and let his bare feet settle into the dirt floor, soaking in the undiluted power of the ley line running beneath the city. Above, in the concrete streets and brick buildings, magic still flowed strong enough to make Reading one of the most powerful old cities in North America.

But down here, in the earth itself…Goddess, it was like injecting pure heroin into his veins. And, yeah, he’d been there, done that, in that dark period after the deaths of his dad and brother.

But magic wouldn’t give him the problems drugs would.

He stood for a few seconds, eyes closed, letting the power seep into his body, mingle with the arus in his blood. Let it cleanse some of the anger that’d been building the past week. Sweating out the alcohol would take a little more time, but it’d take a lot more than five or six liters over three days to seriously affect him.

The disappointment would take longer to dissipate and that was the real bitch. He’d thought for sure he’d had a decent lead this time. Dario, that bastard, had eluded him again.

He shook his head. He’d deal with that later.

Tonight, he’d let himself get blown away by the band, maybe get laid before going to ritual. Yeah, getting laid would go a long way toward clearing his head.

Opening his eyes, he realized he heard music. The steel door at the end of the tunnel muffled most of it, as did the dampening spells covering every inch of the ceiling, walls and floor.

Still, he could feel it in his bones, his blood beginning to pound in rhythm. Queen, maybe, though it wasn’t anything he recognized, and his dad had loved the band.

By the time he reached the door, they’d moved onto something else, something with a slower beat that made him think about sex. Now that he’d started thinking about it, he couldn’t stop. And since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten laid, he figured it was too long.

There were bound to be a few willing female lucani. After a night at DownBelow with the band, they’d be aching for it and most knew he’d be good for a few hours, at least.

Laying his left hand against the bare steel, he gave a shove with more than just raw force. He put a little power in it, making the metal warm to the touch. A lock appeared in the center of the rectangular door. Pulling out the silver key he always wore around his neck, he inserted it in the keyhole. The key had been made by his mother and blessed by Laran, the Etruscan God of War. Laran would be at the ritual tonight. And He’d probably be pissed off at Gabriel for missing the last one.

Something else to worry about later.

Right now, he pushed through the door and into the dizzying rush of DownBelow.

* * *

“Leo, honey, you having a good time?” Shea asked.

Leo’s head whipped around as he sat at the back of the wooden stage, mostly hidden from the crowd behind the drum kit. The band was between songs but gearing up to go again.

Though he never smiled—not once, not since she’d carried him out of their parents’ house sobbing, before he’d set the entire place on fire with the touch of his hands—he did have one expression that indicated maybe, just maybe, he might smile one day.

His dark eyes widened as he nodded, excitement radiating from him like heat. A set of bongos lay on his lap. Probably Tessa’s, the band’s percussionist.

“Hey, Shea.” A small brunette with bright green eyes bounced across the stage. She wore a short, pink dress that looked like a pair of baby doll pajamas Shea had had as a child. With her wavy, chestnut hair, pointed features and petite frame, Dilby managed to pull it off without looking like a pornographic Shirley Temple. “You’re done for the night?”

“Hey, Dilby, thanks for bringing Leo down. I’m sure he was bored stiff in the dressing room.”

The girl smiled, the expression making her look almost as young as Leo. Shea had no idea how old Dilby really was. Or what she was. She wasn’t Enu. Or rather, she didn’t feel Enu to Shea. She was probably Fata, though her ears weren’t pointed like the linchetti and she didn’t have a folletta’s wings. Her legs were regular human legs, unlike a salbinelli’s goat legs. She was probably gianes, a female wood elf.

Still, Shea never asked because she never wanted to answer the same question.

“No problem,” Dilby said. “Tessa’s out of town so we’re hurting for percussion. And Leo, my man,” she flashed a smile at the boy, who stared back with adoring eyes, “is a rock god, aren’t you, hon?”

Leo nodded again and, for a few brief seconds, Shea held her breath. She willed him to speak, to say something. Anything. Blessed Goddess, the kid hadn’t said more than a hundred words since he’d seen their parents lying in pools of blood. His screams for them still reverberated in her nightmares.

Of course, he didn’t say a word, and she and Dilby sighed in unison. When they left, Dilby was the person Shea would miss most.

As if she’d read her mind, Dilby flashed a rueful smile, ruffled Leo’s inky black hair and headed back to center stage. The guitarist, a guy named Caeles who looked to be about twenty and had the pointed ears of a linchetto peeking out from beneath curly brown hair, started to pick out the opening notes to My Chemical Romance’s “Dead,” and the crowd began to writhe.

Leo picked up the beat without hesitation, little hands smacking the skins. He nodded to Shea before closing his eyes to concentrate.

“I’ll be right up here,” she said, though he probably hadn’t heard her. That was okay. He knew she’d be there if he needed her.

Walking up a few rows into the mostly empty seats facing the back of the band, Shea sat on the warm stone, heated from below. From her vantage point, she could see the entire club.

Who would ever guess that beneath this city was a perfectly formed amphitheater? Though tiny in comparison to the architectural wonders built by the ancient Romans in Europe, Africa and Asia, just the fact of its existence was amazing.

Ten circular rows of stone seating encompassed the arena where the band played and the audience danced. Some nights, especially during the spring and summer, the arena held the circensis, the games. She and Leo had actually attended a couple since moving here.

Though she’d been careful to keep to the fringes of society, only occasionally going to temple and making no friends with the exception of Dilby, she couldn’t resist the circensis.

As a kid, she’d loved to listen to her dad talk about the times he’d taken part in the Reading games as a teenager. Right here, on this floor, their dad had won many times, whether he’d fought with his bare knuckles or weapons. He’d lost a few times, too, and Shea thanked the Gods they no longer fought to the death, as they had in ancient times.

Still, the Etruscans maintained their hunger for blood and violence. Shea believed that appetite worked in their favor, gave them an edge to survive.

Even though they’d hidden their culture to protect themselves, the Etruscans worshipped in temple every week. They made sacrifices to their flesh-and-blood deities, like Nortia, Goddess of the Fate, and Tivr, God of the Moon. Those deities lived among them, their existence a carefully guarded secret from the eteri.

But as much as the Etruscans liked a good fight, good sex ranked above it.

The band’s strega, Gemma, stood on the opposite end of the stage from Leo. Another tiny brunette with pixie features and hair straight to her ass, Gemma chanted in Etruscan, weaving a strong euphoria spell that had enticed a few couples into the stands already. Bodies pressed tight, the couples’ hands roamed, mouths locked. No embarrassment at their public display.

Though Shea had never gotten down and dirty with anyone, she considered sex a natural part of life. Most eteri had a skewed sense of sex, considered it dirty or immoral, to be hidden away in dark rooms.

She didn’t understand that, especially as the beat of the music and the spell encouraged her body to move. She was halfway to the arena floor before she realized she’d gotten up.

One dance, she reasoned. If she stayed to the left of the stage, she’d be able to keep an eye on Leo and dance out some of her frustration.

Just as she hit the floor, Dilby and the band lit into “Love to Love You, Baby,” and the trancelike beat seduced her. Since she didn’t want to stand out, she approached a group of single females she’d seen here before. Though she didn’t know their names, they welcomed her into their circle with nods and quick smiles.

But the women’s attentions immediately refocused on the single men watching the action from the perimeter. Waiting. Everyone was looking for a partner tonight, someone to connect with, someone to make magic with.

Behind her, a male body pressed against hers. Hard and hot, he plastered himself to her, hands on her hips as he picked up her rhythm. He was fully aroused, his sex a stiff rod rubbing against her ass.

Goddess, his hands made her blood heat as they cruised from her hips up her sides to her breasts, cupping them, testing their weight. So firm. So hot. He wanted her. She felt his desire in the pulsing of his cock, in the thrust of his hips against her ass.

Damn, it’d be so easy to turn, to wrap her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist and let him carry her off into the stands. Let him take her mind off everything and—

The voices buzzed through her mental barrier, making her temples ache with the effort to ignore them. But she lost her rhythm and stepped out of the man’s hold. Damn it, she had to get off the dance floor before she embarrassed herself.

Without saying a word, she stumbled away, back up the risers, sinking into a seat, wanting to sink into the stone and away. Just away from this all.

Not fair. So not fair.

Tears threatened but she’d be damned if she’d let them fall. Couldn’t give in because she was afraid if she started, she wouldn’t stop. The fucking voices. Sure, they provided an early warning system for danger, but obviously they didn’t want her to have any fun. They wanted to keep her alone. A virgin.

With a shiver, she forced her attention back to Leo, still seated at the back, little hands hitting the drums. So small. So vulnerable.

Vaffanculo, was she nuts? Of course she couldn’t hook up with anyone. Who would protect Leo while she went off and got laid?

She let her gaze travel the room, looking for anyone who might be looking at him a little too long, who paid a little too much attention to him. All she saw were people having a good time.

Several more couples and one, no, two threesomes had joined the others in the stands. Luckily all were still clothed, but she and Leo needed to leave at the next break. The rest of the band would play for at least another hour, possibly two. Until those audience members who’d stayed reached their climaxes.

Sex magic fueled the wards that kept DownBelow concealed from the outside world. Harry considered it a fair trade since he charged no admission fee to see the band.

While the band members made decent livings as session musicians for the eteri, they were bigger than The Beatles to the Etruscans. She often wondered how they managed to balance those two worlds and keep their sanity and their secrets.

She nearly hadn’t. She’d almost run back to her parents after the first disastrous six months she’d spent on her own. Sneaking away from her home had been easier than she’d expected. After her encounter with the hiker, she’d been determined to see what other secrets the rest of the world held.

Her mom had refused to discuss even the possibility of her leaving. Her dad…well, her dad had stepped up her training. As if he’d known she’d found a way to sneak past the perimeter wards and walk to the town she’d discovered in the neighboring valley. As if he’d known, one night, after a particularly bitter fight with her mom when she was seventeen, she’d pack a bag, steal some money and run.

At the town, she’d gone to the bus depot and bought a ticket, headed for Philadelphia.

She was going to be a ballerina. She would dance on famous stages around the world and fall madly in love with a man who would not want to lock her in a home in a forest.

She would not give up her life to be a member of an ancient boschetta dedicated to the Goddess Menrva. Hell, she couldn’t even work a spell without her brother’s help and the constant threat of a migraine.

Heart pounding as she sat in that smelly bus, her eyes had widened as the cities became bigger and dirtier. When she’d finally stepped off the bus in Philadelphia, she’d cowered in the bus station bathroom for an hour. There were too many people, too many cars, too much noise. And in her head, the voices whimpered in fear.

Goddess save her, she’d been an idiot. She should’ve gone home then. Maybe if she had, things would be different. Maybe her parents would be alive.

And she and Leo definitely wouldn’t need the dubious services of the man who’d just walked into the club through the front entrance.

She’d seen Mr. Brown from the stage, but now that he was this close… Damn, he was gorgeous—if you liked guys who looked like they spent the better part of their lives bench-pressing cars.

Obviously she did, because her libido came to life on a wave of heat that flooded her body from scalp to toes and every place in between. Her breasts tightened, the nipples pebbling into hard points, and her sex clenched with a ferocity that shook her.

What was wrong with her? She hadn’t had such a strong reaction to the guy she’d been dancing with earlier. Was this a belated reaction to that? Or a reaction to the euphoria spell Gemma wove to lure the patrons into sex?

Unlike everyone else here, Mr. Brown—she really doubted that was his name—wore jeans and a black t-shirt, though he was barefoot like everyone else. His dark hair hung in thick, layered lengths past wide shoulders. His broad brow, high cheekbones and square jaw covered by a closely trimmed beard proclaimed his Mediterranean heritage.

And those dark eyes constantly scanned the crowd. From his intent expression, she got the sense he never let his guard down. That was a good thing. In that way, Mr. Brown reminded her of her dad.

Still…she wasn’t ready to hand over Leo’s safety to a man she didn’t know enough about. Even if he was grigori.

Chapter Three

Someone was watching him and it was getting fucking annoying.

Through his enhanced perception of the environment around him, Gabriel felt the attention like a feather brushing against his skin. But he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.

Gabriel shook his head, trying to think through the euphoria spell Gemma had cast. Combined with the alcohol in his system, it was making him fuzzy.

And that was unacceptable.

His dad would’ve kicked his ass for impairing his senses like this. And he deserved it. But gods damn it to hell, he was still pissed off. He wanted that bastard Dario to bleed before he cut out his black heart and burned what was left of his body.

Just the thought gave him a warm glow inside.

“Hello, Gabriel,” a woman’s husky voice broke through the bloody little daydream he had going. “Haven’t seen you for a few weeks.”

He looked over his shoulder, leveling his gaze on the beautiful woman running her fingers through the ends of his hair. “Connie. How you been?”

Her lithe versipellis body swayed to the music as she moved in front of him. “Bored. What about you, Gabe? Wanna make a little magic?”

As she brushed long mahogany hair over her shoulder, he let his gaze drop to her breasts. They were great breasts. He’d held them, tasted them, rubbed his cock between them. Knew he could again tonight.

Yeah, but do you want to?

Hell, even his body was undecided. He was half hard from the combination of her proximity and the euphoria spell. A few minutes with Connie’s talented hand wrapped around him and he’d be ready to perform.

But do you want to?

Connie lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow at him, swinging her hips to the music. But her expression never changed. If he told her no, she’d move on. He was just another body to her. Which is all she’d be to him.

When the hell had he become such an asshole?

He shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Connie, but not tonight. Don’t think I’ll be much fun.”

She shrugged. “Your loss, big guy.”

And swayed off toward a pair of male versipelli, who welcomed her with big grins.

Fuck. He was so fucking off his game tonight—

“Hey, Gabriel. That face would give a serial killer nightmares. What’s new, man?”

Not one damn thing. “Hey, Digger. Got any new toys?”

Douglass Alfieri flipped him off. He hated the nickname but had been stuck with it ever since he’d taken over his father’s work as the grigori armafictor. Digger’s Goddess Gift of enhanced affinity for metal gave him one kick-ass ability for making weapons.

“Yeah, I have, actually,” Digger said. “I’ve been working on the Titus-4. I think I have the malfunction in the directional mechanism figured out. You know how the steam was getting caught in the concentration chamber? Well, I think…”

Gabriel let the guy talk, though he didn’t understand half of what he was saying. That’s why Digger made the weapons and Gabriel used them. The guy was a certified genius when it came to combining metals and crystals into killing machines.

Digger didn’t look like a genius. The guy was too…damn, the guy was too damn pretty for it. Somewhere in his ancestry lurked a Fata. Or three. All those chiseled angles in his cheekbones and nose, the pointed chin, the deep-set eyes and broad forehead…had to be a little linchetti or folletti in his genes.

“…so I adjusted the amount of pressure needed to run the pistons and…”

Gabriel let Digger ramble, listening with half an ear, while he tried to pinpoint who the hell continued to watch him. He didn’t get the sense that he was in any danger. Just that she—it was definitely a she—was curious. And intent.

“…then I shot the guy in the head, ripped his heart out with my bare hands and rubbed his blood all over my naked body.”

Gabriel’s head shot around. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Digger wore a wry smile. “Huh. Guess you were listening. Amazing how you can hear exactly what I’m saying and still be a million miles away. I never learned to do that. Save me a world of hurt when my mother’s in town.”

Guilt knocked him upside the head but Gabriel didn’t have the time for it. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like an ass. “Yeah, sorry. Got a lot on my mind.”

“No luck this time?”

Beside Quinn, his brother in everything but blood, and Harry, Digger was the only other person who knew Gabriel hunted Dario. “Nothing.”

Digger clapped him on the shoulder once. “Sorry.”

And that was enough of that. Time to get the hell out of here. “You going to ritual tonight?”

Digger nodded. “Of course. You ready?”

“Might as well.”

As he turned for the exit, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. A woman alone, sitting on the risers behind the band. She was far enough away that he had trouble making out more than long dark hair and a small frame in the low light.

There was something about her…something that snagged his attention. Had she been the one staring at him? She wasn’t now. Her attention seemed to be fixed on the stage. Probably one of Caeles’ groupies, a shy one.

Just his luck.

* * *

And there he went. Out the door with another guy.

A really pretty guy, Shea thought. Maybe the grigorio was gay.

Which would be too freaking bad because the guy was hot.

Still, that didn’t explain why the voices wanted her to follow him. Their urgent buzzing as he disappeared left her with no doubt that she should go after him.

And yes, she knew how truly weird that would sound to anyone but… Well, probably to everyone else.

When the door closed behind their supposed savior, she returned her attention to the stage, where the band was playing a funky version of Suicidal Tendencies’ “Institutionalized.”

And, wow, how fitting was that? If she were an eteri, she’d probably be in a mental institution right now, eating vanilla pudding and weaving baskets.

She’d been almost eight before she’d realized the constant drone that’d always been present in her head were voices, voices she couldn’t understand. She’d lived with them for so long, she’d figured everyone had them. But the horrified look on her mom’s face when she’d finally grown old enough to explain had made it clear not everyone heard voices.

She’d tried to talk about it with her mom a few times but each time her mom had gotten tears in her eyes. What little girl wanted to make her mom cry? So for several years, she hadn’t asked.

Then, shortly after the hiker incident, she’d asked again.

“So, Mom. Are we ever gonna talk about these voices in my head? Or are they just something else you’re not going to tell me about?”

Jesus, she’d been such a smart ass, so righteously indignant. Such a jerk.

“Everything we’ve done has been in your best interest, Shea. Everything we do is for your protection. The voices…they’re your curse to bear, Shea. Great Goddess protect you, but I wish they weren’t.”

And that was all she’d said.

Thanks for that, Mom.

At least her mom had taught her how to set up the mental wall to dim the voices when they began to grow in intensity as she’d gotten older.

“Hey, Shea. You okay? You look a little pale.”

Dilby stood in front of her, holding Leo’s hand. The kid looked content but tired.

Damn, she’d zoned out for a few minutes. Dangerous. “I’m fine. Ready to hit the road, bud?”

Leo darted a quick glance at Dilby before nodding. Shea figured, if he had his way, he’d stay all night. But he never complained, never objected, not to anything.

She held out her hand and he tucked his much smaller one in it.

“Then let’s go. We’ve just got to make one stop on the way.”

* * *

To look at the building, you’d think it was just another empty brick monstrosity south of Penn Street.

No eteri would ever believe it hid the sanctuary of an Etruscan deity.

Hell, just saying that in casual conversation would make any eteri cross the street to avoid you. Then again, most people didn’t believe in things like curses or streghe or magic. They didn’t examine lightning for predictions of future events or make predictions about their lives by which direction birds flew overhead.

They certainly didn’t slash their forearms and offer their blood in sacrifice to Laran, God of War. And they’d never believe the dark-haired man standing before Gabriel was an actual God.

“You wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

Laran stared at him with hard, gunmetal grey eyes, his sharp expression set in stone cold lines. The god didn’t look much older than thirty, but he had strands of pure white in his black hair. He stood just a few inches taller than Gabriel, but it was amazing how much bigger he seemed. His presence overpowered everyone in the vicinity.

Guess godhood did that to you.

For a brief second, Gabriel thought about not answering Laran’s question. And decided he didn’t want to take his life in his hands.

“I was checking a tip in South Carolina.”

Gabriel held his breath waiting for the next question. He figured Laran knew he hunted Dario. He was a god, after all. But he’d never said a word about it to Gabriel.

Serena had forbidden the grigori to hunt Dario. Something about Dario’s destiny being tied to breaking the curse.

Well, fuck that. He wanted to kill the bastard. Laran had to know that.

Gabriel stared back into the god’s eyes, deep-set in a face full of sharp angles and broad planes. If Gabriel swung that way, he’d say Laran was attractive. In a compelling, Tommy Lee Jones’ kind of way. Not a man you wanted to fuck with.

And if Laran decided he’d overstepped his boundaries, Gabriel would pay a price. The God of War suffered no fools or dissenters.

But after a few seconds of silence, during which Gabriel heard worry in the hushed voices of the other six grigori gathered for the ritual, Laran nodded once and turned toward the altar.

Dodged that bullet.

Gabriel released the breath he must have been holding and joined the other men at the altar as Laran began the ritual.

“Great Tinia, Father of all Etruscans.” Laran’s deep voice carried through the open space, reverberating off the brick walls enclosing the courtyard filled with a small forest of oak, pine and birch trees. “Accept the sacrifice of my blood and the blood of your mortal sons as tribute for our gratitude. Give your sons the strength to fight against those who would harm your children.”

“Accept our offering,” Gabriel and the grigori chanted as Laran drew the dagger he held in his right hand from his left elbow to wrist. “Bless us with your strength.”

Laran extended his arm and let his blood drip onto the breasts of the red-headed woman splayed on the altar. Though he vaguely recognized the woman’s face, Gabriel didn’t know her name. He’d never seen the same woman here twice.

In ancient times, Laran would’ve had a temple full of priestesses as well as a cadre of priests who attended his every need and performed this ritual. But over the past two millennia, as the Etruscan civilization dwindled, the old ways had adapted.

Today, Laran performed his own rituals. Which didn’t exactly look like a hardship to Gabriel, considering. A little blood for sex.

The combination was so important to the Etruscans, it fueled most of their power.

“Great Father,” Laran moved to the base of the altar, where the woman’s body was positioned at exactly the right height for Laran, “feel the strength and power I offer to You on our behalf.”

A soft breeze blew through the space, rustling the leaves and ruffling the woman’s hair, sending red strands dancing. Laran grabbed her hip in one hand and his cock in the other and fitted their bodies together with one lunge.

The woman gasped in ecstasy as Laran sank deep and closed his eyes.

“Let our offering please You as it pleases us.”

Laran’s hips began to move, thrusting and retreating, never faltering in his recitation of the ritual. The grigori continued the accompanying chant as the air in the temple thickened, the spell increasing in intensity. Laran’s voice deepened, as well, until he was nearly growling. The woman’s ecstatic cries lent potency to the spell and when she finally broken into orgasm, Laran came, as well.

Their combined climaxes infused the air with a heady power that blasted into the grigori like a nuclear wave. It drenched them in magic, seeped into their bodies, into that part the Great God Tinia had given them that made them grigori.

Closing his eyes, Gabriel breathed through the almost overwhelming sensation as the power sank deeper, clawing its way into his blood and his bones and his mind. So much power. Almost too much. Never too much.

When he could manage, Gabriel opened his eyes and looked around, his enhanced vision picking out the distinctive blue auras surrounding his fellow grigori. In addition to detecting emotions in auras, grigori identified the type of magic user by the underlying color of their aura. Blue for grigori, purple for streghe, yellow for versipelli.

The black tinge around Larth’s aura told Gabriel he needed to get laid. Diego was worried about something according to his maroon-ringed aura. And Aulus lusted after either the woman or Laran, Gabriel couldn’t tell which and didn’t care either way.

Lucumo and Joseph’s auras were untainted by any hint of stress. He’d never actually seen the brothers pissed off about anything, but they were relentless machines when it came to protecting their charges.

And Digger… Well, Digger sought redemption with the same intensity Gabriel wanted revenge. Not that any of the other grigori would see that in his aura. He’d gotten damn good at submerging his true feelings.

The other grigori would only be able to tell that he was pissed off, which was no surprise to anyone. Only Laran might see more, and probably had, but he’d never interfered, never questioned.

Of course, what God of War would question a man’s right to revenge?

“Hey, Gabe. You want to stop at The Cellar?” Aulus called to him as the grigori broke the circle and headed through the courtyard to the exit, allowing the woman and Laran a little private time to get cleaned up. Or go again, if he interpreted those moans correctly. “These other pansies are wimping out on me.”

Gabriel considered hitting the local banquet hall, run by the small tribe of monacielli who made their own wine and cooked like gourmet chefs. They looked like smaller, rounder versions of that Food Network guy his mom loved to watch and cooked even better.

Sounded good but he shook his head. “Not tonight, wiped out. Maybe next time.”

Tonight, he needed a few hours of sleep.

Tomorrow, he’d start over. And when he finally found that bastard Dario, he’d rip out his heart and burn him into a little pile of ash.

Chapter Four

“I am in need of a grigorio.”

The voice, husky and feminine, made Gabriel’s libido jump up and beg her to do him, even through the pounding hangover.

But her use of the word grigorio rang all his warning bells, even through the headache from the combination of ritual and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed over the past few days. Add in the fact that he’d only just gotten to sleep a half hour ago, and he’d actually thought about ignoring the damn door. But the knocking had been too loud and he didn’t want to attract the neighbors’ attention.

Who the hell was this woman who knew what a grigorio was?

Eyes narrowed, he checked out his visitor from head to toe, though there wasn’t much to see. Baggy jeans, good running sneakers and a gray hooded sweatshirt that concealed her face and most of the rest of her. She had something to hide. Hell, didn’t they all?

She couldn’t hide the fact that she was strega, though. Her purple aura pulsed around her, tinged with neon green. Stress. She was tiny, no taller than five-three, but he’d been deceived by size before. And was smarter for it.

Crossing his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the ice pick digging into his temples, he leaned against the doorjamb, paint flaking to the ground in a snowfall.

“What the hell’s a grigorio? Some new sex act? Since when do hookers go door to door?”

She didn’t flinch but her body stiffened. “I was told you would help.”

He snorted. “Help what? And by who?”

“Celeste.”

Holy fuck.

He had to work at keeping his expression blank. Celeste was one of the cursed streghe. She’d disappeared more than twenty years ago and no one had seen her since.

Still…”I don’t know anyone named Celeste—”

“She said all is done in time.”

Fucking hell. She had the correct code words. Was this the female who’d called Phil to speak to him earlier this week? How the hell had she known his call name and how had she gotten his address?

And what did she know about the grigori?

“What’s your name?” He flicked an impatient hand toward her hood. “And take that down. I don’t deal with people I can’t see.”

After a split-second hesitation, her hands emerged from the front pocket of the sweatshirt. Slim and pale, they trembled slightly. Not as calm as she pretended.

His eyes narrowed as the hood fell, revealing dark, rumpled waves that disappeared into the sweatshirt. With her head bowed, he still couldn’t see her face.

Annoyed, he placed a rough finger under her chin to tilt her head back. And pulled back as if burned.

Shit. Arus coursed through her like water in a fast-moving stream. And her face…she looked familiar. She wasn’t one of the cursed streghe. He’d memorized all their faces as part of his training. Still…

“Who the hell are you?”

She lifted her pointed chin and flashed flat brown eyes at him. Colored contacts. What the hell?

The woman’s long black lashes snapped down and her pink tongue emerged to lick full lips. “I need a grigorio. I was told you would help. I have… There are complications.”

No shit. “Honey, there’re always complications and you still didn’t tell me your name.”

Her lashes flickered again and her lips quivered. Vaffanculo, he really didn’t want to have to deal with a weeper. Not that it would’ve swayed him. He actually had more respect for her when, after a few seconds, her mouth firmed and she looked him straight in the eyes.

“I have a child. We need your protection.”

Oh, fuck no. Pushing away from the doorjamb, he backed through the door, ready to close it in her face. “I don’t do kids, babe. Whoever Celeste is, she wasted your time.”

He caught a quick glimpse of the shock in her eyes before her arm shot out to grip his forearm for one brief second before letting go. “Please.” Her voice sounded strangled, as if she didn’t use that word much. “My…child needs protection. If you really are a grigorio, you have to help. He’s grigori, too.”

Holy shit. How the hell had she gotten her hands on a grigori child? He knew every grigorio in the Americas. Had one of them been stupid enough to father a child without knowing?

Someone had screwed up big time. But even though he had a sworn duty to protect this kid, there was no fucking way he could.

He stepped back, his heart as cold as winter ice and his expression probably the same, if the look on her face was any indication.

She took a step away from him, her heel catching on a crack. She reached for the wall to steady herself but missed and his reflexes kicked in. He grabbed her arm before she hit the sidewalk.

A small body streaked from the darkness of the doorway to the girl’s side and a pair of dark eyes flashed up to his.

Fuck. His heart froze and the cold extended through his veins.

The woman’s mouth parted but no words emerged.

“Figlio di puttana.” Gabriel realized he was about to crush the bones in her arm and released her.

This time she did fall on her ass.

Gabriel barely noticed, his gaze locked on the child. He could have been Nino’s twin. Nino, who’d been only nine when that bastard Dario had killed him.

“How old is he?” His voice menaced like the low growl of a Harley.

The woman rose, dusting off her ass, then gathered the wide-eyed child to her side and dropped a light kiss on his midnight-black hair.

“Six.”

He cursed again, this time in Romanian and nasty enough to strip paint from the side of a building.

In a flash, the woman’s expression went blank, but the boiling-hot look in her eyes told him he’d crossed a line. She’d translated.

“I don’t appreciate your language, Mr. Brown.” Her frigid tone made his balls try to crawl back into his body. “You’re right. We’ll find someone else.”

Wrapping the boy’s small hand in hers, she turned and picked their way down the broken sidewalk to a muddy green Dodge two-door on the next block.

She never looked back. The boy did, just once, pinning him in place.

Air rasping in his throat, Gabriel drew in a huge breath. Then he cursed in three languages, one long dead, and slammed the door.

* * *

Hands trembling, Shea got Leo in the back seat, made sure he fastened his seatbelt then kissed his dark head before locking and closing the door.

Walking to the driver’s side, she made sure to check their surroundings, look for danger. Fear settled into her stomach, making her slightly nauseous.

In the car, her hands started to shake like leaves in a hurricane. It took four tries to get the key in the ignition and two twists for the car to start.

When the engine caught, she winced as the sound shattered the pre-dawn silence in this rundown neighborhood south of Penn Street. Potholes lined streets littered with trash. The air hung stale in mid-July, smelling like Leo’s sneakers when he wore them without socks.

Gods-damn son-of-a-bitch. That mother-fucking bastard.

Tears threatened to fall but she bit her tongue until they retreated. Couldn’t let Leo see them. Didn’t want to scare him more than he already was.

Damn, she’d been so stupid. But what the hell had she expected? That the man she’d watched drown in alcohol the past three nights would turn out to be their savior? What kind of imbecile was she?

How had she screwed up so badly? That ceffo knew what they looked like now. They’d have to leave Reading. Whoever had killed their parents and was looking for Leo was close. She could feel them, like a malevolent shadow creeping closer.

She would not let those fiends get Leo. But she was so tired of being alone, of being Leo’s sole protector. Icy talons of fear gripped her stomach.

What now?

Leo, bless him, sat in the back seat, staring out the window at the early morning shadows. How much of the conversation had he heard? Had he understood what that man had said?

That alcohol-soaked bastard was a disgrace to all grigori, men of unquestionable dignity. The asshole wasn’t supposed to turn them down.

They needed to get out the city. Needed to go far away. Needed—

Wait, deep breath. One thing at a time. First, they needed to get back to the apartment. Taking a deep breath, Shea put the car in gear then pulled a wide u-turn. Pink tinged the edges of the horizon. They’d go back to the apartment, get some sleep. Then she’d have to—

She slammed on the brakes as Mr. Brown stepped into the street half a block in front of them, a muscle-bound gorilla in worn jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched over his massive chest. He looked pissed off.

Join the club, buddy.

Why the hell had she been so attracted to him earlier tonight? Must have been the euphoria spell.

She’d either have to go around him or through him. Grigori had superior strength, which made them extremely hard to kill. Right now, she’d love to test that fact by introducing him to the bumper of her car. At sixty miles an hour.

“Thinks he’s Superman,” she muttered under her breath. “Arrogant ceffo.”

She slid a quick look over her shoulder at Leo, now staring out the front window. She really had to watch her language or the kid would be swearing like a sailor before his next birthday. If he were still alive.

No, none of that.

Her foot twitched on the gas pedal then she pushed it to the floor.

Mr. Brown just stood there, arms across his chest as if he played chicken with cars all the time. Maybe he did.

At the last second, she flipped the steering wheel to the left, feeling the car want to slide. She kept her foot on the gas and passed within inches of him. A hard grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. Her father hadn’t taught her how to drive their old Jeep through the forest for nothing.

In the rearview, she found Leo, his eyes so wide she could have drowned in them. Then she looked through the back window. Mr. Brown still stood in the middle of the street, hands now on his hips.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s still in one piece.” Lucky bastard. “We don’t need him anyway.”

She didn’t add “because he’s an asshole who turned us away.” Leo probably knew understood exactly what had happened back there.

Glancing into the rearview again as she navigated out of this armpit of the city, she tried to gauge Leo’s response from his expression. It was like trying to scry in a muddy creek. Did he realize that she was all he had and, if she couldn’t protect him, he could end up like their parents or worse?

Okay, deep breath.

“Leo, you okay?”

He met her gaze in the rearview and nodded.

He was fine. For now.

But what about later?

* * *

Gabriel stood in the middle of the road for a good two minutes, staring after them.

The girl was gutsy. Terrified, but not wanting to show it. Willing to stand up to him, and, by the Gods, he could be a scary son-of-a-bitch.

The kid… Vaffanculo. The kid was so damn young.

What connection did they have to Celeste?

The sharp blast of a car horn tore through his thoughts and he sidestepped the cherry-red vintage Mustang bearing down on him, passing close enough for him to feel the engine’s heat.

Someone in the car shouted something foul in Spanish and a hand emerged from the window to give him the finger. Stupid kids.

With a wave of his hand, Gabriel directed a quick spell and a small stream of power at the car’s metal bumper, loosening the bolts that held it to the frame. That bumper would fall off in a couple of blocks. His affinity for metal wouldn’t have done a damn thing to a newer car with a fiberglass bumper. Guess it was his lucky night.

Then again, not really.

His concentration shot, he walked back to the deceptively dilapidated building that had been in his father’s family since the late 1800s. He closed the door behind him and set the state-of-the-art security system as well as binding the protection wards again. In the kitchen, he picked up the rotary phone hanging on the wall and dialed.

“Crimson Moon Productions. Please hold.”

He heard a click then silence. Thank the Gods, no Phil and no Muzak. The last time he’d called, some idiot had decided New Age elevator tunes were appropriate hold music.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was husky with sleep and wariness. Good for her.

“Serena. It’s me.”

A soft sigh escaped the woman on the other end of the phone line. “Hello, sweetheart. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Had some visitors tonight.”

She paused. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No. A young woman and a boy. Said Celeste sent them.”

She gasped. “Oh sweet Goddess. Who was she?”

“I don’t have any idea. But she knew what to say.”

“Describe her.”

He paused, taking time to choose his words. “Long, dark hair. Five-three. Had a kid with her. Said he was six. Didn’t get names.”

“But they mentioned Celeste?”

“Yeah.”

Serena fell silent and Gabriel knew what was coming. It’s what he should’ve done in the first place, if he wasn’t such a screwed-up ass.

“Do you think you could—”

“I’ll bring them up to you.”

He hesitated a split second too long to hang up and heard her say, “Gabriel?”

“Yeah?”

Another pause, this time on her end.

“Will you bring them? Will you come yourself?”

He heard the longing in those words and ruthlessly squashed the small flare of warmth it lit in him. He didn’t have time for it.

“Yeah, when I find them.”

He heard the smile in her voice. “Good. It’s been too long.”

“Goodbye, Serena.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

He depressed the cut-off then lifted his finger to dial again.

* * *

Serena set the phone in the hook, letting one hand linger on the silver handset while the other clutched the iron key hanging from the leather thong around her neck.

Her heart pounded furiously, making it hard to breathe.

She’d last seen Celeste twenty-five years ago. A year after that, her best friend had disappeared off the face of the earth.

And a year ago, Celeste had died.

Serena vividly recalled the night she’d woken from sleep, screaming in agony, knowing Celeste was gone. The psychic tie that bound their boschetta was strong. A death among them felt like death for all.

Serena still missed her with a nagging ache.

Which made the appearance of this girl and her child such a mystery.

Why would they approach Gabriel with Celeste’s name as a calling card? Who was this girl and how had she known Celeste? Why did she have a grigori child and why had she specifically asked for Gabriel?

What had happened to Celeste?

Now there are only nine.

There had been thirteen at first, thirteen women with a sacred duty to the Etruscan Goddess Menrva to protect her most precious treasure. Today, the remaining nine were scattered around the world, living in fear for their lives, under assumed names. Or hiding in luxurious holes.

Because that bastard Fabrizio Paganelli had screwed them six ways to Sunday. Cursed them to this never-ending life, removed them from the natural order of life. Condemned them to wait hundreds of years for the rebirth of their blood-bound mates.

And set his son Dario on them like a rabid dog.

Rage rose like a storm-fed creek, boiled in her chest like the old friend it was until the force of it nearly buckled the floor beneath her feet. Five hundred years she and her fellow streghe had lived—cursed by a distraught father over the death of his beloved son.

With the floorboards still shaking beneath her, she released a scream that would have leveled trees in the forest if the house wasn’t warded to deny the passage of sound. She screamed until she was hoarse, arus swirling around her, threatening to suck everything in the room into a vortex.

Damn it, she didn’t want to have to buy new furniture. Not again. With a final sob, she fell into a heap on the floor, trying to catch her breath.

“Idiot,” she chided herself. “You need to get a grip.”

It was time to get off her ass and break this damn curse.

Her first attempt had failed nearly thirty years ago, when she’d made herself a whore for one night to seduce her most hated enemy.

She’d debased herself because the Goddess Menrva had promised, despite Fabrizio’s curse forbidding the streghe to ever bear another female, that one of the thirteen would indeed have a daughter who would end the curse.

The Goddess Menrva had sent a vision to the boschetta’s seer, Dafne, just before her death. Dafne hadn’t cried or screamed or begged for mercy when the villagers the streghe had cared for all of their lives had tied her to the stake at Fabrizio’s urging.

Instead, she’d lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. And when the flames licked at her feet, Dafne had looked straight at Serena and said, “Do not despair. The Goddess has promised there will be a daughter. Menrva has not abandoned us completely.”

Then Dafne had thankfully passed out before the flames consumed her.

Burning flesh of any kind still made Serena nauseous.

Rising from the floor, she dusted off her skirt and bowed her head. She wrapped her hand around the key again and fed just a bit of arus into it until she felt it return to its natural state. An iron nail.

“Great Goddess Menrva, She who guides us with her wisdom and entrusts us with Her most sacred possession,” she said. “I’m holding You to that promise. Please don’t let us down.”

Chapter Five

The alarm rang at four p.m.

Shea tossed her hand toward the bedside table to swat the clock into submission. The little black box emitted a sharp, bat-like squeak then went silent.

Without opening her eyes, she reached across the bed and laid a hand on Leo’s chest. Still asleep. She swore the kid would sleep through an earthquake.

Sighing, she rolled out of bed to a chorus of squeaky springs, walked the few steps to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Dropping her boxer shorts and tank top on the floor, she set the shower several degrees beyond hot to ease the dull ache in her temples.

Damn, she wished she could stay in here forever. Let the water wash over her skin, washing away her…what? Her sins?

To hell with that. She didn’t believe in sin. Only right and wrong. She didn’t steal, she didn’t cheat. She’d never taken another life.

But she would. To protect Leo.

Would that be so wrong?

Sighing, she dropped her head down and let the water soak her head, work some of the tension from her neck. It hurt like a bitch, but she couldn’t afford to call off work. They needed the money, especially if they were going to be on the road for a while. Especially after last night—

No. She shook her head and reached for the shampoo. She refused to think about last night. Or about what might happen today. She couldn’t change the outcome of one and worrying about the other would make her sloppy. And that could be deadly.

Leo needed her to be on her toes. She couldn’t bear to let him down more than she already had.

With a sigh, she raced the hot water heater to the end of her shower then walked back to the bedroom. Wet hair cool against her back, she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, not bothering with underwear. Just have to take them off when she got to work anyway.

She hated to do it, but she was going to have to give notice tonight. Harry had been good to her these past four months and she’d been able to put aside some money. Not a lot. But it might be a while before she found a job that paid as well.

If you find one at all.

Yeah, probably not something she wanted to think about right now.

Instead, she dropped to her knees in front of the altar, opened the circle and began her daily devotional. Holding her mother’s lead athame across her palms, Shea lifted it to the sky and bowed her head.

“Uni, Mother Goddess, give me the strength to fight should I be called on to do so. Menrva, Vessel of all Wisdom, grant me the knowledge I need to defeat our enemies.

“Great Goddesses, let me not falter in my duty.”

Please don’t let me get my brother killed.

With that cheerful thought, she felt eyes on her and turned to find Leo watching her from the bed.

She dredged up a smile for him. “Hey, bud. Did I wake you?”

He tilted his head to the side. “You look like Mom.”

Her mouth dropped open but nothing emerged.

Those four little words were so sweet and so devastating. Like he’d taken the athame and stuck it in her heart.

She forced herself to hold the smile, wanting him to continue but almost afraid of what he’d say next. “I’m taking that as a compliment, babe.” She tried to keep her tone light, but it was so hard. They never talked about their parents. It was just too difficult for both of them. “Hungry?”

Those wide, dark eyes regarded her with…what? Anger? Fear? Despair? She waited for him to say something else. Anything. But after a silent minute, she caught back a sigh.

“Leo, come here.”

She opened her arms and he bounced off the bed, throwing his arms around her waist and squeezing tight. She hugged him back just as hard.

Her heart pounded almost painfully. Goddess bless her, she loved this little boy with all her heart. He was all she had left of family and she was terrified of losing him. Terrified of screwing up and losing him to the monsters that chased them. Of getting herself killed trying to protect him and leaving him alone.

Without help, how long did they have until the men who’d killed their parents—who’d been so much stronger and had still gotten caught—found them?

They had to run.

“I love you, Leo.”

He squeezed tighter but didn’t say another word, his small body warm against her own.

Damn that bastard Brown for refusing them. They needed to get the hell out of Reading. Tonight. After one more night of work to get her last check.

Then they’d go. And maybe…maybe there was something she could do to help them get away.

“Hey, Leo. You want to help me with a spell?”

Pulling out of her arms, he looked up at her, eyes bright as he nodded.

She smiled, trying to look excited. And confident. Yeah, right. “Alright, bud. You sit here for a sec.” She pointed to the space in front of the altar then grabbed her backpack from beside the bed and pulled out their mom’s grimoire.

She paged past spells to cure warts and heartburn, spells to induce comas and even one titled Love Potion. She’d had a few private laughs over that one.

But now… There it was, near the back. Concealment Spell.

Glancing through, it didn’t look that difficult, and she had all of the ingredients they needed on the altar. Of course, nothing ever looked difficult until you were ass-deep in frogs, as her dad used to say.

Oh, Daddy…

Shaking off those thoughts, she grabbed what she needed and sat in front of Leo, placing the abalone moon bowl between them.

“Okay, bud. Let’s do this.”

In the bottom of the bowl, she placed the bloodstone and sprinkled dried heliotrope over it.

With the grimoire on her lap, she held out her hands and waited for Leo to place his in hers. She’d been teaching Leo as much as she could about spell casting. Which wasn’t as much as it should have been.

She’d been a lousy student, which was why she hadn’t attempted this spell before. It took a lot of power and an equal amount of control. And she didn’t have much of either.

She closed her eyes, knowing Leo would follow her lead.

“Great Goddess Uni, Mother of all, protector of the Etruscans. We, your children, beseech Your aid.”

Their hands warmed as power built between them, causing goosebumps to coat her arms. Lowering their hands, she wrapped Leo’s around the edge of the bowl, then did the same with her own, funneling the power into the bowl and the bloodstone.

“Danger follows us. Evil tracks us. Bless us, Great Goddess, with a veil to hide us from those who seek us and mean us harm. We beg You to answer our plea.”

The bowl shook beneath their hands, rattling against the floor, making the moonstone dance like a Mexican jumping bean in the bottom.

Shit, that was so not good. They were drawing too much power. She wouldn’t be able to contain it for much longer.

Please, Goddess, just long enough to charge the stone.

“For your aid, we thank you, Uni, Lady of the Sky, the Earth and the Water.”

Okay, time to release the spell into the stone.

“Leo, let go of the bowl. Slowly, bud.”

He did it perfectly, sliding his palms then his fingertips from the lip of the bowl until he was no longer touching. As if he’d been casting for years. He probably had been. Her mom had started her training when she was four.

The bowl continued to rattle.

Shit. This is gonna hurt no matter what—

Sharp pain sliced into her temples right before the power blew her across the room. Pain shot up her spine as her back hit the wall, milliseconds before her head connected.

Yeah, that was going to leave a mark.

“Sissy!” Leo scrambled across the floor after her, eyes wide.

She held up her hands. “I’m okay, bud. I’m fine.” Except…scorch marks covered her hands, making pain shoot up her arms and into her head. Her palms felt like she’d dragged them through a bed of red-hot coals. She dredged up a smile. “You and me together, kinda like Mentos and Diet Pepsi, huh?”

Leo never looked away from her hands, teeth latched into his bottom lip as his dark head tilted to the side. Before she could react, he placed his small hands over her burns. She drew in a sharp breath, steeling herself against the pain—that never came. Instead, she felt heat, not burning red heat but cool white—

Shit. “No, Leo, don’t—”

He wrapped his hands around hers, holding on so she couldn’t get away without possibly hurting him, his grip was that tight.

And then she felt the tingle of Leo’s arus working against her own. The relief was immediate as her burns disappeared. Fear rose close on its heels.

Great Goddess, please let him be okay. “Leo, let me see your hands.”

She braced herself for the sight of burns on his small hands. With empathic healing, you took the injury on yourself—

No burns. His hands were perfectly soft and smooth.

She took a deep breath. Only six and he healed with no side-effects.

Such a special little boy.

“Leo.” She looked straight into his eyes. “How long have you been able to do that?”

She couldn’t heal without retaining some of the original injury on herself for a certain period of time, depending on the severity.

He just stared at here, as if he didn’t know the answer to her question. Or he just didn’t want to answer.

With a sigh, she gathered him onto her lap and held him, until she remembered the spell they’d been trying to work.

Looking down, she saw the bloodstone at the bottom of the moon bowl. It looked like a charred piece of wood. Her chest contracted like someone had punched her.

So much for that. Failed again.

Why her mother had ever thought she was special was beyond her.

Leo followed her gaze, little shoulders drooping as he caught a glimpse of the stone.

“It’s okay, bud.” She hugged him tight. “We’ll be okay without it.”

But she swore she felt those damn frogs biting her ass.

* * *

They left the building at seven.

Gabriel had to hand it to the girl. She’d hidden them well. She’d only screwed up once. But once was all it took.

He’d called in a favor with the local police and ran down her license plate. The registered name and address were bogus but she’d gotten a parking ticket two months ago on this block.

He’d been staked out since early afternoon and it’d finally paid off.

Her apartment was in an older building in center city. It had character but wasn’t rundown. Her neighbors appeared to be young and single, coming and going at all hours. Probably never even realized there was a kid living there.

He was pretty sure no one saw her or the boy leave the building. In her baggy jeans, grey sweatshirt and red ball cap with her hair tucked under, she looked like every other city kid with a backpack slung over her shoulder. The boy walked at her side, dressed exactly the same, though his hat and sweatshirt were blue.

From a few blocks behind, his enhanced sight allowed him to track them in the fast-falling dusk. He was careful, but obviously not careful enough.

She realized she had a tail after five minutes. She didn’t stop or look around, but she stiffened and her feet faltered for two steps. Then she continued on as if nothing had happened. It wrung a reluctant grin out of him.

He followed them easily for five blocks. Then they turned down an alley off Chestnut Street. And vanished.

“Fuck.”

“Sure, buddy, but it’ll cost ya.”

A glassy-eyed teen stood on the corner. Gabriel would have ignored him but his dad’s ingrained habits kicked in. He pulled a couple bills from his pocket and shoved them at the boy.

“Eat.” With a small spell, he planted a mental picture of the Chinese restaurant up the street in the kid’s head. “No drugs.”

Staring at the two twenties in his hand, the kid nodded.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Gabriel didn’t wait to see if the kid obeyed. He ran into the alley, searching the dark shadows and hidden spaces for any trace of the girl and the kid. And found nothing.

Well, hell. It’d been a damn long time since anyone had gotten the better of him. That it was a girl… Hell. That just made it worse.

When the alley dumped him onto Spruce, he stopped, eyes narrowed.

Where the hell was she headed?

She wasn’t dressed like a waitress but there were a few restaurants in the area. There were also a couple of funeral homes, one manufacturing operation, a few bars, a few—

Shit. Shit. He knew why she’d looked familiar.

She was one of Harry’s girls.

* * *

Like much of the rest of the city, The Spyder had seen better days.

Once the lodge of some benevolent order of animal, the building retained its original stone façade, but the grand arched windows had been boarded over and painted black. Only the decorative wrought-iron grills remained. The front door was arched, as well, and wouldn’t have looked out of place on an English castle—thick-planked and iron-studded.

Only the Etruscans knew the oak door and iron studs were natural spell repellants.

A bas-relief border of trees and deer and rabbits cut the building between the second and third floors. If you looked closely enough, you could see the toothy creatures that lurked behind those trees.

After returning to the girl’s apartment to retrieve his Audi, Gabriel parked the car close to the alley at the back of the building then walked to the front door.

“Dan, how’s it going?”

“Hey, Gabe. How’s it hangin’?” Shaved head gleaming, ebony skin shining in the dusk, Dan Ferryman gave him the once-over before letting his gaze slide back to the street. “Not planning on using any of that hardware tonight, are you?”

“Not unless I need to.”

Dan’s normally grim face split in a toothy grin, showing the elongated incisors that marked him hereditary versipellis. Harry employed mostly skin-shifters, from bouncers to bartenders to dancers. With their superhuman strength, they gave him an edge on any eteri who might want to pick a fight. “That’s what I like about you, Gabe. You know how to sling the shit. You wanna talk to Harry?”

“Just here for the show.”

Dan’s snort could be heard through the thick door.

Pausing in the hall, Gabriel gave his olfactory sense time to adjust to the smell. How the hell the lucani dealt with it, he’d never understand. Their sense of smell was a hundred times better than his and his was three times better than a regular human’s. The amount of alcohol, cigarettes and sex in the air could be a lethal combination.

Shaking his head, he stepped into the main room.

At one time, the club’s public space had been a grand meeting hall with high ceilings, stained glass windows and rich wood paneling fit for an English manor.

But years of hard living had decayed the interior until it resembled a whore who’d stood on her corner too long.

Paint peeled from the paneling in rainbow flakes. Faded red velvet curtains covered the gaping holes where the windows had been, dust clinging to the folds like lint in a fat man’s gut.

Heading for the bar on the left wall, he avoided the tables on the floor and the dozen or so men who watched three dancers gyrating on the catwalk. None was the girl he was looking for.

He took a deep breath of stale air thick with smoke from substances legal and others not so much.

“Gabe.” Harry set a shot of tequila in front of him, slim white hands working fast, pale gray eyes never wavering.

Gabriel downed the alcohol before saying, “I need one of your girls.”

Harry’s bland features tightened infinitesimally. “Nothing kinky and no marks. A C-note for the first fifteen minutes. Which one?”

Gabriel let his gaze roam the murky room. “I’ll let you know.”

He tossed a twenty on the bar for the drink and the info and moved to the table farthest from the stage. After a few minutes of lazy pole-dancing, the three strippers left, and the girl he’d followed appeared.

Holy shit.

Dressed in black leather shorts made for a five-year-old and a couple strips of red leather that barely covered her nipples, she slinked onstage to some music he didn’t recognize. The heavy bass thudded low in his gut and lust grabbed him by the balls as she rubbed her body against the silver pole in the middle of the stage.

Heat drenched him as she tossed her thick mane of hair over her shoulders and bent backward until it swept the floor. Breasts straining against the straps, she rubbed her crotch against the pole then swung around it.

And then she began dancing in earnest.

Holy fucking hell. Gabriel’s mouth dropped open, allowing him to drag in a little more air so his lungs didn’t quit on him.

How the hell had he not noticed the girl was damn hot last night?

Oh yeah, hangover.

Shit, he must have been further gone than he’d thought.

She wasn’t tall, but she had a natural grace that should have looked out of place in a hole like this. Her hair, a silky brown-black curtain, veiled her face, hinting at secrets. But those flat brown eyes stared straight ahead, making no eye contact with anyone as she gyrated down the catwalk with the lazy stride of a porn star.

He wanted to watch her eyes but couldn’t tear his gaze from her breasts, jiggling beneath the constraint of leather. Oh yeah, he was a breast man.

Not that he didn’t appreciate her firm ass. The strip of material between her legs wasn’t wide enough to completely cover the lips of her sex when she bent at the waist and shook her ass at the crowd. The move elicited a few whistles from the men and made Gabriel shift in the hard wooden chair to alleviate the binding pressure of his jeans on his stiffening erection.

He had the insane, caveman urge to jump onstage, grab her and run.

At that moment, her gaze locked with his. Shock froze her in mid-move, her mouth—damn, what he could do with that mouth—fell open then closed tight. A second later, she whipped around, hair flying out behind her, and walked off stage.

Gabriel walked back to the bar and threw five hundred-dollar bills in front of Harry.

“I want her.”

Harry made the bills disappear and nodded to the door at the end of the bar.

“Room three.”

* * *

Shea fidgeted on one of the room’s two wooden chairs, foot tapping, listening for the sound of his footsteps.

She thought she’d lost him on the street earlier. How had he found them? Had he finally remembered her from the past nights he’d drunk himself stupid?

And why the hell had he followed her in the first place?

His response last night had been crystal clear. He wouldn’t help them.

Had he changed his mind? Hell, did she even want his help after last night?

She sighed and heard despair in the sound. She couldn’t afford to say no if he offered. There was too much at stake. Leo’s life was worth any aggravation he could dish out.

Especially after that spell she and Leo had attempted today.

She needed this man and, boy, did that piss her off.

Down the hall, a door opened then closed, footsteps approaching.

“Okay, deep breath, relax.” She breathed in. “You can do this.”

Her back tightened as the door opened, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes straight on. His dark gaze, however, slid all over her, from her unbound hair to the tips of her red toenails, visible in her open-toed black-leather stilettos.

Heat burned over her like an open flame. Which didn’t make any damn sense because he wasn’t looking at her with any kind of sexual intent.

Which just frosted her cookies.

Vaffanculo, what the hell is wrong with you?

He was just a guy. And she so did not need a guy. But she did need a grigorio and this one exuded strength as some men reeked of cologne. He wore his confidence as casually as he did the black coat and dark, tight jeans. The combination drew her like a cat to cream.

Her stomach clenched and her fingers itched to run through his ink-black hair and over his broad shoulders. She had the completely foreign urge to curl her legs around his waist and cling, let those huge hands run up and down her body and—

And, boy, did that piss her off. She hadn’t had to sell herself to survive. Not yet.

She would sell herself to this man if he agreed to protect Leo. From the look on his face, he realized that and she hated him for it. But her body certainly didn’t.

After what seemed like forever, his gaze locked on hers. Closing the door behind him, he took the seat across from her. A grin ghosted around the corners of his mouth. Waiting.

Ceffo. Did he think she was going to run screaming? If the bastard wanted a lap dance, she’d give him one that left him with a hard-on for a week.

Standing, she forced herself to relax, to treat him as just another guy who saw her as an object, not a person.

Stopping two feet in front of him, she met his gaze.

“I assume you know the rules,” she said. “No touching. If you do, I leave and you are removed and banned. Don’t bother to offer me money for anything other than the dance. I’m not for sale.”

She didn’t wait for him to say anything, just looked away and started to dance.

* * *

Damn, she was actually going through with it.

Gabriel hadn’t come to talk, and he certainly hadn’t come for a lap dance. But when he’d seen her in that skimpy outfit, with those beautiful tits and toned legs and long, dark hair…well, he was a guy.

A guy who’d been impressed as hell by her backbone yesterday. She’d told him off then walked away. In her position, he would have done the same.

Tonight, he’d come to take her to Serena, to find out who the hell she was. He wouldn’t put up with any shit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun first.

Well, maybe fun wasn’t the right word.

Because a hard-on the size of his was not fun unless he was naked and the woman was willing.

And from the expression on her face, that wasn’t the case.

She began facing him, gyrating her hips then letting her upper body get into the motion. She moved in perfect rhythm to the piped-in music, every inch of her body a sinuous delight.

Her legs—long and sleek in four-inch stilettos—looked strong enough to break his neck, but not overly muscled. Her hips and ass curved in a way only women should and her stomach, though flat, wasn’t hollow. She was no cocaine-starved junkie who weighed ninety pounds and had breast implants.

No, her tits were her own. Firm and high, with just enough jiggle to prove their authenticity.

His gaze caught and held on her chest as she raised her arms over her head and did a slow turn. When she faced away from him, she bent at the waist, wrapped her arms around her legs and wiggled her ass at him.

His cock, already hard, began to throb as painfully as if she’d reached out and grabbed him. Hell, he was as close to coming without physical contact as he’d been since he was a teen.

And that made this woman dangerous.

When she straightened, throwing her hair over her shoulders, he’d had enough.

He snaked one arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, clapping his hand over her mouth before she screamed.

He trapped her easily, but her desperate squirming made his cock kick in his jeans. He took a deep breath, which didn’t help because it was filled with her scent, spicy and clean, and whispered in her ear.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to protect you. And take you to talk to someone. I’ll let you go when you stop struggling, then you’re going to come quietly.”

* * *

Shea finally made sense of the words the dirty, rotten ceffo had whispered in her ear, and anger replaced her fear.

Her heart still beat at heart-attack pace, but she forced herself to relax and he released her the second she stopped trying to get away.

Instinct took over and she jabbed her spike heel into his combat boot as she stood and faced him. The guy didn’t even flinch.

“Vaffanculo. You are a Grade-A bastard. What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?”

Crossing her arms under her breasts, forcing them tighter against the straps, she watched his gaze dip for a few brief seconds, making her nipples ache against the leather.

Son-of-a-bitch.

He smiled as if he’d read her mind. “You came to me for help, babe. Either you take it or they take the kid. I’ve seen what’s after him.”

Damn him. Her stomach rolled and, for a minute, she thought she might throw up. He was deliberately trying to scare her.

And since she’d seen first-hand what those men would do…she was terrified.

They could be anywhere. Sitting in the audience. Next to her on the street. They were close. She could practically feel them, like a dark presence that lingered on the outer edges of her consciousness. They’d killed her parents. There was no way she’d let them have Leo. But if something happened to her, Leo would have no one.

Unless she trusted this man with the steady dark stare and rock-solid jaw under a finely trimmed beard that covered his chin and continued up to meet his sideburns.

She sighed. “Why are you here now? You made yourself perfectly clear last night.”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Look…last night…I wasn’t expecting you. I was tired and…” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend you. So, may I please offer you my protection?”

Her lips twitched at his apology during which he never apologized and at his purely male look of exasperation. He had to know she wouldn’t say no. There was too much at stake.

“Can you at least tell me your name? And who wants to talk to us?”

His head inclined the slightest bit. “Gabriel Borelli. And all your questions will be answered when we get where we’re going. But we gotta go now.”

“Fine. Just let me change—”

Borelli held up one hand to silence her as his eyes narrowed. He turned toward the door, revealing, for a brief second, the armory beneath his coat.

A brief flash of memory sparked as she recognized a few of the weapons under that coat. Her father had had many of the same in his own collection. Gabriel Borelli was a warrior, exactly who she needed to keep Leo safe.

His intense concentration as he listened to something outside the room actually calmed her. She didn’t hear anything but he obviously did. Something that set him on edge.

After a few seconds, Borelli made a sharp motion with his head for her to follow him.

Slipping off her heels, she watched as he opened the door and looked both ways. Then he waved her into the hallway that connected these small rooms to the dressing room at the end.

Where Leo waited.

Borelli dogged her heels, a gun the size of a small cannon in his hand. They reached the dressing room in seconds. No one appeared in the hall as they slipped inside.

“Leo,” she whispered. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

His dark head popped up from under the vanity table where he’d probably been playing his PSP. His eyes widened when he saw Borelli and he looked back at her with fear in his eyes.

“It’s okay, bud.” She smiled at him as she shrugged into her hoodie and pulled on her sneakers. No time to change the shorts. “He’s here to help.”

Leo looked again at Borelli, who swiped a quick look at Leo before returning his intent gaze to the dressing room door. Her brother took a second to make up his mind before he moved to her side.

She grabbed his hand and her backpack…

And froze as her skin tingled. Someone was using a spell to search for them. Someone powerful.

Oh, shit. They’d been found—

Borelli grabbed her shoulder and shook her, breaking through the fear that’d nearly paralyzed her. He didn’t say a word, just motioned toward the door at the rear that led to the back alley.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Holding tight to Leo’s hand, she’d barely pulled him through the door when the shooting started.

Chapter Six

The dressing room door muffled the first few blasts.

But as the wood splintered under a barrage of bullets, the sound of the gunshots pounded her ears.

“Get to the end of the alley and wait for me there,” Borelli hissed before he turned back into the room.

He fired twice, the sound reverberating off the walls of the narrow alley, making rats scurry from their hiding places. Leo flinched but never hesitated as Shea forced him to run faster down the alley.

Stopping where he’d told her, she put Leo between herself and the brick wall of the building and watched Borrelli.

Walking backward to keep an eye on the door, the grigorio continued to shoot. Gunsmoke hung in the air, the stench thick and choking.

When he reached them, Borelli slung Leo over his shoulder like a sack of flour and grabbed her arm. Then he ran like hell.

She had a hard time keeping up, but she kept her mouth shut. Her heart flooded with adrenaline and fear made her stomach roll. Afraid to slow them down, she concentrated on not stumbling. As a kid, she’d learned to run on deer trails in the forest in her bare feet, her dad right behind her, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

“Shit.” Her foot snagged on something and she nearly fell. Gabriel dragged her until she had her feet under her again.

“Concentrate or we’re dead,” he hissed. “I can’t carry you both.”

He was right, damn him.

They didn’t run long, but it was a flat-out sprint up the alley. Shea’s lungs burned and her calves sang with pain.

But when Borelli skidded to a halt, she wanted to scream at him to keep going.

Until she saw the three men at the end of the alley.

Borelli nearly dropped Leo in his haste to put the boy behind him and against the wall of the building. Then he grabbed Shea’s arm and pulled her behind him, as well.

He kept his gun leveled at the men, two of whom had guns aimed at them.

The other was a boy, tall for his age, but still only a child. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. He looked like an angel with strawberry-blond hair and a face full of curves instead of angles, though his body was almost painfully thin, at that awkward stage between teen and man.

He smiled then, sweet and innocent. His expression sent a chill through her entire body. Goddess, the vibe she got from him slithered on her skin like slick black oil. He was anything but innocent.

Borelli’s voice hissed between his teeth. “We need to get to the tan car behind them. When I tell you, grab the kid and follow me.”

“Hello, grigorio.” His voice just beginning to deepen with age, the teen made the title sound like a curse.

Gabriel never looked away from the two men with the guns. “Don’t even try it.” Borelli stared straight at them. “You’ll both be dead before you pull the trigger.”

The teen laughed, a weirdly young sound. “You wouldn’t dare shoot that thing in my vicinity, would you, grigorio? A bullet is such a small thing to alter. One tiny flick of the air and it can land somewhere you didn’t expect.”

As if to demonstrate, one of the men squeezed off a round, straight at Borelli’s head. Shea gasped, but the teen waved his hand in the air and the bullet veered away and lodged in the building.

Goddess, the boy was grigori, like Gabriel. Cold terror spread through her body. This is what Dario wanted to turn Leo into. Oh, Goddess, please—

“You know, you’re right about bullets.” Borelli’s gun didn’t so much as waver. “But then, I never was much for machinery.”

Faster than her brain could process, Borelli’s hand, still holding the gun, shot out and connected with one of the men’s chins before tossing a left hook at the other.

As the men fought, Shea kept her eyes on the teen. He stood to the side, his unwavering gaze stuck on Leo. Waiting.

Shea hated waiting. Damn it, she wanted him to make a move so she could do something. Not only had her dad taught her how to drive, but he’d taught her how to take care of herself, too.

Finally, the teen’s eyes narrowed and he began to inch forward, seeing a tiny gap in the fighting between Borelli and the other two men.

Come on, bastard. Come on.

He came at her first with magic. His arus brushed against her and she braced herself against it. It was so cold, it burned. A fierce hatred fueled it, one she couldn’t fully grasp. She only knew it hurt, and her head began to pound.

Steady.

When he was close enough, her fist swung out and clipped him on the jaw. Pain radiated up her arm at the force of the blow and the kid rocked back on his heels. But a second later, he smiled and slugged her back.

She saw it coming, knew it would hurt like hell, but she took it like her father had taught her. And when it didn’t drop her, the boy’s smile finally faded.

And hers spread.

“Hey, kid. Didn’t your mom tell you it isn’t nice to hit girls?”

She grabbed his shoulders, catching him off guard. Then she pulled him forward and kneed him in the groin with everything she had.

He hadn’t been expecting it, stupid kid, and he fell to the ground with a strangled screech, clutching his balls.

“Run, now,” Borelli yelled as he finally knocked one of the men to the ground and kicked the other away. “The car.”

Shea obeyed mindlessly. She picked up Leo, her brother’s arms wrapping around her neck, the warmth of his body sinking into her skin. Hugging him tight, she ran.

They were nearly to the car when the men caught up to them. One grabbed for Leo, the other hit Borelli with enough force to knock him into her.

She stumbled against the car and hit her hip hard. Still, she twisted, struggling. She had to get Leo away. Had to—

Someone began to scream, someone close.

A shaft of pain shot through her head, nearly blinding her, but she struggled toward the car, holding onto Leo as tightly as she could.

She didn’t realize until the man grabbing for Leo fell away that he’d been the one screaming. He dropped to the ground, writhing and waving his burning arms, the flames quickly spreading.

“Get in the car!” Borelli shouted at them. “Get in the car!”

Her mouth hanging open, she stood there, motionless.

Blessed Goddess. Leo. Leo had done that.

“Sissy.”

Startled by the sound of his voice, she turned to look into her brother’s deep brown eyes. She saw his fear so clearly, it jumpstarted her body. She turned to wrestle open the front passenger door and slid in with Leo.

Boosting him over the backseat, she said, “Stay down and don’t move.”

She watched while he did that then turned to see Borelli slide into the driver’s seat.

The car came to life with barely a sound, a fact that struck her as funny. With all the rest of the drama, there should be roaring engines.

The thought didn’t last long as Borelli pulled a tight U-turn and peeled out in the opposite direction. Turning to look through the back window, she saw one of the men lift his arm, point the gun and shoot.

“God damn it, get down.” Borelli palmed her head and shoved it onto the leather seat, even as he turned the next corner one-handed and at nearly fifty miles an hour. “I don’t want you to get fucking shot.”

He took another turn without braking, his hand still on her head, and she heard a small “oof” from the backseat. Habit made her say, “Watch your language.”

His fingers tightened in her hair. He wanted to respond. She could practically hear the words on the tip of his tongue.

He didn’t. Instead, he released her, replacing both hands on the wheel.

Sitting up, she let her gaze roam over their foul-mouthed savior. Except for a split lip, a decent-sized bruise on his cheekbone and a bloody tear in his pants at the knee, Borelli looked okay.

She felt awful. Her jaw throbbed from the right hook the teen had landed and her head throbbed with the onset of a migraine. She wanted to curl into a ball and pass out.

Closing her eyes slowly, she tried to suck in a few deep breaths but the pain wouldn’t let her.

No, can’t afford this now. Leo…

With a force of will she didn’t realize she possessed, she pushed the pain back into a tiny corner of her brain until it was manageable…or at least simmered below agonizing.

When she felt she could, she shot a look at Borelli. He was focusing an enormous amount of concentration on his driving. It was a palpable force that didn’t encourage conversation.

Fine by her. She needed a few minutes to regroup. With a grimace, she muttered the pain-blocking spell her mother had taught her years ago, knowing it would only delay the inevitable.

They drove for at least fifteen minutes, winding around the city streets before Borelli broke his silence to speak to Leo.

“You okay, kid?”

Gingerly, she moved her head to see Leo nod. He looked steady, as if he hadn’t just made a grown man cry in agony.

Then Borelli glanced at her and lowered his voice. “You okay?”

And here she thought she’d been hiding it well.

“I’m fine.”

“You took a pretty good shot to the jaw.” He raised a hand. “Did you—”

“No!” Hell, no. If he touched her, it’d be like throwing gasoline on the fire of her impending migraine. “No, it’s fine. I just need to eat.”

Hopefully that would help hold back the gnawing pain in her head. She refused to take one of the pills in her pack. She couldn’t afford to be knocked out right now.

“Check the glove compartment,” Borelli said. “There’s usually something in there.”

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she sat up cautiously, checking the back window first to see if anyone was following them, seeing Leo, huddled on the seat behind Borelli.

He looked up at her at the same moment and she no longer saw fear in his eyes. Questions, yes. Even a little excitement.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded once then looked at Borelli. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

Head still throbbing, even through the pain-blocking spell, she turned to Borelli. “Where are we going?”

Late-night traffic was nearly non-existent, but the man didn’t spare her a glance as he pushed the car even faster. “We’re gonna find a hole to crawl into for a while.”

Now, why didn’t she like the sound of that? “Where?”

“Somewhere safe.”

* * *

“What do you mean, you lost them?”

Peter’s chin shot up, a wild look of fear in his eyes. “They’ve got a powerful grigorio with them now. And the boy’s strong. He killed Phillips, made him burn with his hand.”

Dario Paganelli raised his eyebrows, surprised. Not something he felt every day. “What do you mean? He lit a match and set him on fire?”

Peter shook his head. “The kid touched him and he burst into flame. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Now, that was interesting. The boy had la tocadura de bruja. And how convenient was that, considering?

Rising from behind the desk in his St. Pete Beach home, Dario went to the window to look out at the warm Florida sunshine. “Do you at least know which way they went?”

“Yes. Yes, we do. They headed north.”

Dario nodded, though he wasn’t condoning Peter’s actions. His men had been chasing this boy for a year, ever since Kelsey, his latest grigori protégé, had felt his very strong energy from halfway across the continent.

The deaths of Kyle and Celeste Tedaldi, a grigorio and one of the original thirteen streghe, had been an unexpected bonus, but they’d hidden their son too well. His men hadn’t been able to find the child at their home in Wisconsin and, with her dying breath, Celeste led him to believe the boy was on the west coast. His men had spent a few fruitless weeks chasing down that tidbit of information.

Now, they’d lost him again.

Dario hated setbacks. The boy was more valuable than even he’d thought and would make his mission, the mission with which his father had cursed him, that much easier.

All of the boys he had stolen from the streghe over the centuries had served their purpose well. Kelsey, especially, had been most helpful. But Celeste’s son could prove to be the strongest of all.

“Why would they return north when we believe the grigori stronghold is somewhere in the west?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “Possibly to throw us off.”

Dario nodded. “That could be. But it could also mean he’s taking them to the women. I’ve long thought they were holed up somewhere in the northeast, but they’ve concealed themselves well.”

He paused, knowing Peter hung on his every word. The other man remembered what had happened to the man who’d filled the position before him. That man had allowed Kyle and Celeste to escape almost twenty-five years ago. He had to have the carpets and wallpaper replaced after he’d freed the man’s head from his body.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to say this. Too many movies, I guess.” Dario turned and let his gaze linger on Peter. “Find them. Find him and bring him to me. I want the boy alive.”

Peter swallowed audibly. “Yes, sir.”

“Kill the girl and the grigorio. They’re unimportant.”

* * *

Gabriel didn’t speak as he drove over the Bingaman Street Bridge then east on Route 422 before turning left onto Shelbourne Road.

The urban sprawl of Exeter Township soon gave way to the farmland of Oley Township. Frequent checks in the rearview revealed no tail, but he wanted to be sure before he took them to the safe house.

He still couldn’t quite believe what he’d seen. The kid had the tocadura de bruja, the touch of the witch. It was rare, even among grigori.

No wonder Dario wanted the kid so badly. The kid had power, more than he should at his age, but he didn’t look any worse for wear for using it.

Shea, however, hadn’t opened her mouth since she’d asked where they were going. He slid a glance at her. Her skin shone ashen in the faint light of the dashboard. She looked ready to faint.

“Hey, are you okay? You weren’t hit, were you?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, the girl shook her head. “No, I’m…I’m fine. Just a headache. I’m fine.”

Headache, his ass. She didn’t look fine. Far from it. Maybe some food would help. There hadn’t been anything in the glove compartment when she’d checked. He’d have to resupply his stash of granola bars.

“Hey, kid.” He waited until the boy looked at him in the rearview. “Spread out for a while, take a nap. You’re tired.”

He flicked a tiny sleep spell at the kid, just enough to make him yawn before nodding.

“Please,” Shea spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her, “don’t do that. Not to me, either. We’re not…” She paused. “Just don’t.”

“He needs to sleep. We need to talk.”

She sighed and those gorgeous lips pursed, but he was right and she knew it.

A few minutes later, she stole a look over her shoulder. The kid had already gone lights out.

“So where are we going?” she asked.

He deliberately didn’t answer. It was guaranteed to piss her off and that’s exactly why he did it. She looked a little too shocky. He figured pissed off was better than terrified.

Shea gave a disgusted hmph. “Where. Are. We. Going?”

He glanced at her and watched the lines in her forehead deepen. Not at all detracting from the exotic beauty of her face.

Which he really didn’t need to be thinking about right now.

Shit.

“I want to make sure we don’t have a tail before we double back and head to a safe house. When I think it’s safe, then I’ll take you to talk to Serena.”

“Who’s Serena?”

Could she really not know who Serena was? Especially if she knew Celeste, it seemed really fucking unlikely that she wouldn’t know who Serena was. Still… “Someone you’re going to want to talk to.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lift one hand to her head. She rubbed her temple, as if trying to ease a headache.

Join the club, babe.

“What’s your real name?” he asked.

“My real name is Shea. Shea Jones.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Listen, Mr. Borrelli—”

“Back to mister, huh? What? Asshole’s not working for you anymore?”

For a second, he thought she might actually laugh. He’d really like to hear that. Then she shook her head. “Watch your language, please.”

“The kid’s asleep.”

She glanced over her shoulder and the tough exterior she’d been holding on to seemed to melt away. Making her look years younger. And exhausted. “I know, it’s just… He’s so young. I…” She frowned. “I need to thank you. For…back there. I don’t know what I—”

“Don’t.” He cut her off before she said anything about undying gratitude. This was his job. Hell, it was a sworn duty, and he still felt like shit for turning them away last night. “Everybody’s fine. Just answer my questions. I need to know who sent you to me. Start with your parents. Who are they?”

Shea hesitated, torn between her parents’ deeply ingrained admonitions against revealing anything personal and the need for answers from her only source of information.

That source was scowling at her, and he had a perfectly gorgeous scowl. It made his sharply defined features even more handsome, from the straight slope of his nose to his high cheekbones.

She frowned in return but said, “My parents are Celeste and Kyle Tedaldi.”

She bounced against the door as the car hit the shoulder. Borelli jerked the wheel back to the left as he steadied the car. Then he shot her a long glance that took her in from head to toe.

“You’re lying.”

Her mouth dropped open. Of all possible responses, that hadn’t been one she’d imagined. “Why would you say that?”

He snorted, making her more angry and confused by the second. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but you can’t be Celeste’s daughter. Is the kid your son?”

Completely confused by his belligerent attitude, she rubbed a hand over her throbbing left temple. “Leo is my brother. Our mother ca— sent for me to get him a year ago. I’d…been away from home.”

“Bullshit.”

Her temple gave a short, sharp tug and she rubbed it with one finger. “It’s the truth. Why would I lie about something like that?”

“Where did they live?”

“Wisconsin.”

She could see him thinking about that, processing the information.

“Look—”

“Listen—”

They broke off.

Gabriel took another look out the rearview then sighed. “Alright, something’s off here and I need to know what it is if I’m going to protect you. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that you’re Kyle’s daughter, but you aren’t Celeste’s.”

Shea’s temples began to pound in unison. “Why would I lie about that? What would I have to gain?”

“You can’t be Celeste’s daughter. If you were, you’d know why.”

What the hell was he talking about? He wasn’t making any sense.

Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know. “Well, I am but I don’t.”

He snorted. “Come on, Shea. You’re smart enough to have gotten this far, but don’t think I’m gonna believe you’re the answer to everyone’s prayers.”

Confusion bit into her headache, trying to breach the wall the spell had erected against the pain. Surprisingly, the voices were a barely perceptible buzz in the background. “What does that mean?”

Gabriel stole another look at Shea, taking careful note of the purple aura that marked her strega. He searched for the black streaks that would identify her as one of the thirteen women he was sworn to protect. He didn’t find a trace of black. Just a whole lot of jagged red lines. Pain.

She managed to keep that pain out of her expression, her beautiful face unmarked by it. She was a true beauty and, from the photo he’d seen of Celeste, she had been, too. Still, there were a lot of beautiful, dark-haired women in the world.

And none, as far as he knew, had yet been born to break a five-hundred-year-old curse.

“Borelli, if you have something to tell me, just spit it out.”

He shot her another quick glance, found her staring straight at him through those lifeless brown contacts, her expression a mix of fear and confusion. Without stopping to think, he released the wheel with his right hand and grabbed her arm.

At first, he felt nothing and that was shocking. Then, as if a wall had fallen, thoughts that weren’t his own flooded his brain, whispered bits and pieces of conversations he couldn’t understand. He could make out nothing coherent, but the intensity of the link began to grow.

He knew he was driving, but, suddenly, it didn’t matter. The voices were speaking to him and he had to listen harder, had to understand—

The voices cut off as Shea ripped her hand out of his with an agonized cry.

Holy shit.

The car veered to the left this time as his hand twitched, jerking the wheel and nearly taking out the car coming toward them. The driver laid on the horn and shot him the finger as Gabriel fought to get the car and his body under control. His muscles shook against the unreasonable urge to grab her hand again and listen to the voices. They needed him.

“What the hell was that?”

He heard fear in his voice and hated it. Hated that she’d done this to him.

“Vaffanculo, what the hell just happened?”

“Don’t touch me.”

No shit. “Yeah, I got that much. Just tell me what the hell that was.”

She made a sound low in her throat, somewhere between a moan and a sob. “My own private hell. Did you find out what you needed to know?”

“No. Explain.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.” She paused and he wasn’t sure she was going to continue. Then she sighed. “The voices have always been there. My mother used to call them my guardians. As I got older, I learned to ignore them. To build a mental wall and keep them to a manageable hum.”

Well, shit. Whatever was wrong with this girl, it was major. She’d managed to keep her and the kid one step ahead of Dario’s men for a year, and that took a fair amount of brains, so he ruled out just plain crazy. Schizophrenia was a possibility, and he was sure there were a dozen other mental illnesses she might have that could account for the voices.

But whatever it was, it was scary. And she lived with it daily.

“Did Celeste ever tell you why you hear voices?”

Shea shook her head and let her gaze meet his. He really hated those contacts.

“She just said it was my curse to bear. I’ve learned to live with them, to mentally wall them up most of the time, but they’re never truly gone.”

Oh, no. No way. No fucking way. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe. “You really want me to believe you’re the one, after all these years?”

She shook her head again. “What are you talking about? The one what?”

She looked dead serious, confused as all hell and terrified. He had the unbelievable urge to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay.

Could it be possible?

Hell, after the life he’d lived and the things he’d seen, he would have admitted that anything was possible. But to think this girl was finally the one, after five hundred years? And she didn’t know?

He wasn’t sure he could accept that.

“Borelli. The one what?”

He wasn’t going there yet. “Did your… Did Celeste ever talk about her family, her boschetta?”

She paused again, this time longer. Then she asked, “Are you telling me she had family?”

“Did she tell you about her past?”

Shea sighed and he heard disgust in the sound. “My mother didn’t talk much.” At least not to her. Her mom just looked at her with those sad eyes, her disappointment so clear in the flat line of her mouth. “My dad…”

“What about your dad?”

A small smile tried to lift the corners of her mouth. “I never doubted his love. He taught me how to fight, how to read, how to write. How to think. I could handle a knife long before I knew how to add. He was a school teacher before he met my mother. He was older than her—”

Borelli snorted as he navigated the dark back roads.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“Oh, come on. If you really are Celeste’s daughter—and I’m not saying you are—then you know how old your mother really is. You know the history. And if you don’t, then it just proves my point that you’re not her daughter.”

Shea didn’t know what to say to that. Well, she had a few things, but telling the man who’d saved Leo from certain death that he could stick his head in his ass probably wasn’t a good choice.

Still, his denial of her parentage was starting to grate. Even she could see the resemblance between her and her mother. More than she wanted.

But if Borelli wanted to play twenty questions then she’d play along. But she wanted some answers of her own.

“Tell me why you’re so sure I’m not…Celeste’s daughter.”

“What did Celeste tell you about the curse?”

She frowned. “You mean the voices?”

“No, I mean the curse.”

A cold shiver made its way up her spine. That one word sound so…ominous. She really didn’t want to ask but knew she had to. And she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer. “What curse?”

He fell silent again, eyes checking the rearview every so often.

Something too much like terror started to creep through the agony of her building migraine. “Borelli, what the hell’s going on?”

The minute the question left her lips, she wished she could take it back. She didn’t want to know.

Blessed Goddess, she was so screwed up. Which should be expected from someone who’d been twelve years old before she’d seen another person other than her parents. Before she knew there were things like telephones, televisions and radios.

This curse he kept talking about…something else her parents had failed to mention. But Borelli would, if she had to pester, sweet talk or bully him all the way to wherever the hell they were going.

She took a deep breath and started on her second option. “Please. I need to know.”

He shot her another look, his eyes narrowing. “When we get where we’re going. Rest until then. You don’t look too good.”

That’s because the blocking spell was wearing off and the migraine was gaining strength.

For a brief second, she considered badgering him until he gave her the answers she wanted. But her head hurt too much.

With a huff, she turned to look out the passenger side window. A few crowded developments gave way to open fields filled with waist-high corn on both sides of the two-lane road. They passed a few old stone farmhouses and brick churches and drove through a covered bridge to more fields.

At the edge of the fields, a forest reared up as they climbed a hill.

Her lids grew heavy and she must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes, the car was bumping along an unpaved road, shooting spikes of pain through her head. After what seemed like hours, Gabriel pulled the car to a stop.

Nauseous, she looked out the window, barely able to make out the outline of a two-story house. Gods-be-damned, her head felt like someone was trying to cut a path out from the inside with a dull spoon.

Vaguely, she realized Gabriel was rounding the front of the car, heading toward her door. Behind her, she heard zippers opening and closing as Leo searched for something in the backpack.

A few seconds later, Leo’s hand appeared over the seat, clutching her brown prescription bottle.

She turned to give him as much of a smile as she could. “It’s not that bad.”

“What’s not that bad?”

Borelli’s low-pitched voice sounded just beside her. He’d opened her door, ready to reach in and pull her out.

She flinched away. If he touched her now, it’d feel like nails driving into her temples.

Before she could say anything, Leo grabbed Borelli’s arm. “Don’t.”

Borelli glanced from Leo to her and back again. His jaw clenched, but he nodded and backed away, leaving the door open for her.

Okay, she could do this. She could. She just needed to get out of the car, walk into the house and get horizontal. Surely there’d be a bed somewhere. She just needed to lie down for a little while.

Sliding off the seat, she had to grab the car door as a wave of nausea rolled through her. She barely avoided throwing up at the grigorio’s feet. And how embarrassing would that have been? “Where are we?”

“Safe.” Borelli grabbed her bag from the back seat and waved Leo up the short flight of stone stairs looming ahead of them. He waited for her to move before following.

With every step, the pain in her head intensified. She couldn’t let it take her down. Not yet. Alone, she could dissolve, but not now. Not in front of Borelli. She didn’t want him to think she was weak.

Grabbing the metal railing to the side of the stairs, she pulled herself up each step. When she reached the top, she felt like she’d climbed Mount Everest. And was about to die from exposure.

Leo stood before the large front door, waiting.

“Hey, kid,” Borelli said. “Never stand in front of a door if you can help it. Leaves you vulnerable.”

Borelli stepped to the side of the door as he reached for a string around his neck. Pulling it from beneath his shirt, he revealed an antique silver key that he slipped into the lock. The door opened without a sound, and he stuck his head inside for just a second before he waved them through.

Goddess, please, just a few more steps.

The nails in her temples became railroad spikes, crushing against her brain. Her knees started to buckle and she stumbled and nearly fell. Only Leo’s small body by her side kept her from hitting the ground.

“Through the atrium and dining room, the bedrooms are at the back on the left.” Borelli’s voice rumbled in her ear. “Lay down.”

Barely able to see, her eyes squeezed nearly shut, she wasn’t sure she was going to make it until Leo took her hand, guiding her.

She stumbled ahead, agony increasing with every step.

Chapter Seven

Gabriel watched them make their way through the rooms, watched Shea take every step as if it were killing her.

He felt useless and he abso-fucking-lutely hated that. He was grigorio. He’d been raised to believe he could find a way to fix or fight anything.

He wanted to pick her up, tuck her in bed and make her better simply by the force of his will.

Which was really stupid. He could only perform rudimentary healing spells. And the kid had told him not to touch her. Probably aggravated the migraine.

What he should do is check the house, tucked into a forest in the southeastern Berks County hills. The wards had been in place when they’d arrived but that didn’t mean he should let his guard down.

His gaze tracked to the back of the house. Or maybe he should follow Shea and Leo to make sure they found the right room.

Yeah, it was a lame-ass excuse, but he needed to make sure she was okay. And maybe the kid would need his help with something.

The door to the first room was open, and Leo knelt beside the bed, his back to the door.

Shea lay on the bed, curled into a ball, arms over her head, as if warding off blows. Her eyes were squeezed tight but she looked to be asleep.

He’d seen this woman take a right hook to the chin and smile. The pain had to be excruciating if it had her laid out like this.

“Leo.”

The kid spared him a quick glance over his shoulder but immediately went back to staring at Shea. Leo looked almost as pale as his sister, and Gabriel spent several gut-wrenching seconds debating what he should do.

What would he do if it that was Nino sitting there, looking like his heart was bleeding?

Walking over to the bed, he shut off his internal critic and let instinct take over. Bending, he picked up the kid and held him. Little arms twined around his neck as Leo started to cry. The sound made his chest ache so badly, he wondered if he’d broken a rib during the fight.

Bullshit. You know you didn’t.

He walked out of the room, the boy now wrapped around his body and clinging like a monkey. If he loosened his arms, Leo wouldn’t have fallen. But Gabriel didn’t let go. When they got back to the atrium, he sat on the couch in the living room and let the kid cry himself to sleep.

* * *

After he’d put the kid in the room next to Shea’s, Gabriel picked up the phone and dialed.

“Serena.”

“Hello, Gabriel. Is everything alright?”

Not by a long shot. “Tell me about Kyle and Celeste. Everything you know.”

He heard Serena take a deep breath, caught off guard by his unexpected demand.

As a grigorio, he’d been taught the history of the boschetta, had had it drummed into his brain until he could recite it in his sleep. He knew Celeste had been Serena’s best friend. That Celeste and her husband Antonio had been blood-bound before Antonio’s death five-hundred years ago. The ancient rite of mixing their blood together during sex had enabled Celeste and Antonio to find one another each time they were reborn. Like a magical homing beacon. He knew that Kyle had been born with Antonio’s soul.

He knew that they’d disappeared, seemingly off the face of the earth, more than twenty years ago.

“What exactly are you looking for?” she asked.

His heavy sigh reverberated through the phone line. “Just… Do you know if Kyle had any children before he met Celeste?”

“Gabriel,” Serena’s voice held a breathless quality he’d never heard from such a pragmatic woman before. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know.” Great Goddess, he didn’t even want to think about what he was trying to say. What it would mean to this woman. “Just answer the question. Could he have had other children?”

Serena went silent for several longs seconds. “Celeste found Kyle when he was fifteen but did not take him for her own until he was twenty-one. I suppose there could have been other children. But not after he and Celeste were together. They were devoted to each other.”

Yeah, that’s what he’d thought. Still, he’d had to ask.

“Gabriel, the girl. Is she… Does she say she’s…”

Hell, even Serena couldn’t finish the thought. Not out loud.

So he did it for her. “Yeah. She claims she’s Celeste and Kyle’s daughter.”

Another pause. “Do you believe she is?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? After all these years—

“Gabriel, what do you think?”

His sigh made the phone line crackle. “I don’t know what to think yet. We’ll be there as soon as we can. I want to make sure we don’t have a tail.”

* * *

“Quinn, I believe Gabriel may need your help.”

Quinn Kennett ignored the familiar tug Serena’s husky voice always gave his libido and flopped onto the sofa in his apartment in Philadelphia.

“Hello to you, too, babe. How’s it going? I’m fine, by the way.”

He heard her sigh, heard her disappointment. And couldn’t care less.

“Quinn, please. I know things haven’t been good between us—”

He snorted, his upper lip curling back in a snarl. “Yeah, well, considering the fact that you only call when you need something, I think I pretty much deserve to be pissed off.”

Shit. Shit, that sounded so damn whiny. Why did he let this woman do this to him?

Because he was an idiot, that’s why. A gods-damned reincarnated, blood-bound idiot.

And wasn’t that a cosmic fucking joke?

For seven years now, since he was seventeen, he’d been pining after this woman. The woman who was supposed to be his. The woman who, five-hundred years ago, had bound herself by blood and love to his soul.

And the woman who, today, wouldn’t allow herself to love him back.

“Quinn, please.” Her persuasive voice floated over the phone lines. “We don’t have time for this now. Gabriel needs you.”

“And you don’t, do you, babe?”

She didn’t answer right away and he held his breath waiting for her reply.

Gods, you’re such an idiot.

“Quinn—”

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t refuse her anything. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go to him. Keep him safe. And Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“You stay safe, too.”

Then she was gone and he sat there, staring at the black plastic receiver in his hand until it began to beep.

Anger built until he hurled the receiver across the room. Reaching the end of the cord, it snapped back and nearly clipped him on the shoulder. He growled at it then dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Damn. He had no back bone. No matter what Serena asked him to do, he did. Why didn’t he just hand the woman a leash and a collar to put on him? He was already whipped.

Well, at least he’d get to see Gabe. They hadn’t been in the same place at the same time in at least six months. He missed his best friend, though he’d never say that to Gabe. Gabe would shake his head and shrug him off. It wasn’t that Gabe didn’t care. He just wasn’t into public displays of emotion. Hell, Gabe had been trained not to show emotion at any time.

That’s okay. Quinn usually had enough emotion for both of them. And they were in an uproar now.

Serena tied him in so many damn knots every time they talked, he’d been avoiding her for months. Which was pretty fucking easy since she never left her home. And lucani business kept him so damn busy he didn’t have the time to camp out on her doorstep. Not that he would.

Fuck no. He was sick of chasing her.

Yeah, and what a load of shit that is.

It was nearly two a.m., the nearly full moon a pale disc hanging in the sky, calling to him. He pulled on his sneakers.

He’d walk as far as he could then change and let his wolf run to its heart’s content. Or at least until he wore himself out.

* * *

The world slowly came back into semi-focus.

Shea reached for the glass of water Leo always set by the bed after she slept off a migraine.

It wasn’t there.

Groaning, she sank back into the firm mattress. She didn’t want to open her eyes yet. She knew she had to get her contacts out but she was going to enjoy the blessed calm for a few minutes more. She hated to take the prescription pills because they knocked her unconscious, but, oh blessed Goddess, it felt wonderful to wake to complete silence in her head, even if it would be short-lived.

She reached for the opposite side of the bed.

Leo wasn’t there.

Her eyes flew open and she sat straight up, the previous hours coming back to her in a rush. The drive, the fight, Leo’s power.

“Hey. Take it easy.”

Gabriel sat in a chair next to the bed, a glass of water in one hand. “Drink this.” He placed the glass in her hand before she could reach for it. “Leo’s fine.”

Jeez, could the guy read her mind now? She hoped not. She had way too much to hide.

She sipped, eyes still closed. Yes, she was in high-avoidance mode but she figured she was entitled for a few minutes.

After placing the empty glass on the bedside table, she looked around the room, noting its bare walls, plain wooden dresser and short bedside table. She looked anywhere but at Gabriel, who stared straight at her.

“Where are we?” She nodded at the room in general. “This doesn’t look like a hotel.”

“It’s not. It’s a safe house built by the lucani.”

Her eyebrows raised, she met his dark eyes, but his expression showed nothing.

“It’s been here for years,” he continued, motioning toward her neck. “Available to anyone with the right key. Yours would work. It was your mother’s, right?”

She reached for the iron key on the leather strap around her neck, feeling the metal warm in her hand. She released it before it transformed into its natural shape. Her gaze narrowed as she digested his words. “So you’re saying you believe me now? To what do I owe your sudden change of heart?” She threw back the covers—and grabbed them back again when she realized she was naked. “Hey! Where are my clothes?”

He smiled, and her breath stopped in her throat as heat pooled between her legs. Those lips, framed by that dark scruff, drew her gaze. She wanted to lean in and put her mouth over his, feel the rough scratch of his beard against her skin. She wanted him to kiss her, to wipe her mind of everything but her desire for him.

And that was really not good. Not now, on top of everything else.

Forcing herself to drop her gaze, she hoped he never realized what she was thinking.

“Pick new ones out of the chest,” he said. “There’ll be something in there to fit you. Meet me in the atrium and we’ll talk. Don’t wake the kid. He’s next door.”

Then he walked out, leaving her sitting there with her thighs clenched and an ache low in her gut.

* * *

Before Gabriel headed to the front of the house, he stuck his head into the neighboring bedroom to check on the kid.

Sound asleep and looking even younger than he was.

Too damn young.

Hell, they were all too young when they started.

Gabriel had been three. He still had the wooden practice knife his dad had made for him. He’d gotten the real deal when he was a year older than Leo. The following year, he’d gotten a gun.

Leo hadn’t said anything about training. Hell, the kid hadn’t said anything at all. But, Christ, the kid had power. Too much. Maybe Kyle had been killed before he could start Leo’s training. Then again, maybe Kyle had never intended to train him.

So many maybes. His eyes burned and he felt like he could sleep for days. But there was no time. Shea was on her way. They definitely needed to talk.

He headed for the atrium, the main gathering space in the house, and dropped into the sofa, willing his body not to fall asleep as his thoughts raced through the information he had. And more importantly, what he didn’t.

After a few minutes, he heard her footsteps on the wooden floor, measured steps, as if she were taking her time, looking around.

Cautious. Good. That he could handle. Pissed off was okay, too.

The way she’d looked at him in the bedroom, when he’d smiled at her… That was a complication he didn’t need.

Gods’ balls, the woman hit all his buttons. And when he’d undressed her earlier, every single one of those buttons felt like they’d been pressed, fondled and hung out to dry.

He’d realized after he’d pulled her shorts down those long, smooth legs that he shouldn’t have started on her clothes. Shouldn’t have even thought about it.

But he’d tried to be a nice guy.

Oh, yeah. You’re a real prince. Just admit you wanted to see her naked.

No, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d wanted her to be comfortable. Which was completely out of character for him. He was a damn good fighter. A damn good grigorio. But he was, by no stretch of the imagination, a humanitarian. He didn’t play well with others.

But he couldn’t stand to see her uncomfortable.

So he’d undressed her. And stared, hard and aching, at her naked body as she lay passed out on the bed.

Pervert.

Maybe he was.

“In here,” he called, cutting off that train of thought.

She came through the dining room, skirting the upholstered chaise lounges and low side tables that replaced a typical table and chairs, her expression showing every ounce of her wariness. That he’d expected. The clothes she’d chosen to wear…not so much.

She’d picked a dress. And not a slinky, sexy dress, but an honest-to-Gods girly dress. Soft pink fabric dotted with tiny purple flowers draped over her slim body while the neckline only hinted at the generous curves of her breasts. The high waistline began right under her breasts and the skirt fell below her knees but the sleeves ended high on her arms.

Hell. She looked young. Girl-next-door college student, not the prophesied savior of the women he’d sworn to protect. One of whom he loved more than his own life.

Shea claimed to have never heard of the curse. If that was true, she probably didn’t know how to break it either. And that was the real bitch of the situation.

No one knew how to break the curse.

And he had to tell her. The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders like ten tons of bricks.

“What?” She frowned and her hands landed on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Never seen a dress before?”

He swallowed a smile and nodded toward the couch across from him. He really was starting to like this girl more than he should. Especially when she was pissed off.

“I’ve got questions you’re gonna answer. Now. And,” he added when she started to object, “I’ve got some answers. But no more bullshit, Shea. I need to know how much you know about the curse.”

She moved closer to the couch, continuing to stare straight into his eyes, and he realized she’d taken out the brown contacts she’d been wearing.

Oh holy shit. Her eyes.

He swore his heart stopped for a full five seconds before it started beating again like he’d just jumped off a cliff. Blessed Goddess, it was true. The answer to a five-hundred-year-old curse stood in front of him, staring at him through eyes he’d only seen on the thirteen cursed streghe.

Anyone catching a quick glimpse of them would think they were hazel, that indiscriminate mix of colors that could range from blue to green to brown and any variation in between.

But when you looked into a cursed strega’s eyes, you saw how truly odd they were, like someone had shattered a stained glass window then set the shards in a round frame. It was so unusual, most of the women wore contacts when they went out among the eteri.

As if his intent scrutiny embarrassed her, she looked away as she sank into the chair across from him. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Christ, this was a nightmare waiting to happen. One he wasn’t prepared for. One he needed to get prepared for right now. “Your mother never mentioned a curse? Did she ever talk about Italy? About the time she spent there? How long ago it was?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“She never mentioned Serena or Andrea? Tullia or Madrona or Furia?”

Again, she shook her head but a tiny flicker of her expression told him she knew the names.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “You know the names, don’t you?”

Her chin lifted slightly. “Yes, I know the names of the Priestesses. I have to. It was part of my training.”

Holy freaking hell. Celeste had trained her to take her place as a Priestess of Menrva and, after her death, the nail, hidden in the shape of a key, had passed to Shea. He’d seen it hanging around her neck when he’d undressed her. He just hadn’t wanted to believe.

“And Celeste never said anything about a curse?”

“No.” Then she frowned. “But I always knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. Something to do with the voices, something I didn’t realize until I’d left. But I couldn’t go back, not then.”

“What do you mean, when you left?”

Swallowing, she dropped her gaze and let it rest on her hands in her lap. “Until I was twelve, I didn’t realize there was a world outside the boundaries of my home in Wisconsin. There was only my mom and my dad and me.”

Damn. Kyle had hidden them good. But that wasn’t anything they needed to discuss right now. “Do you know how old your mother was?”

Now she returned his gaze steadily. “I’m assuming not forty-three like she told me.”

“Try five-hundred-and-forty-seven.”

He thought for a second she was going to faint. Her mouth parted and she started to draw in fast, shallow breaths. When her eyes glazed over, he reached for her and pressed her head down between her knees. She didn’t fight him.

“Slow, deep breaths, Shea.” Leaving his hand on her nape, he rubbed, trying to comfort. “Come on, don’t pass out on me now.”

Because there’s more.

If it had been anyone else, he would’ve continued to hammer away, try to trip her up. But he had to respect a woman who smiled when she took one on the chin.

And that did not bode well for his future.

“Not…going…to pass…out.”

It took her a minute, but she finally caught her breath. When she sat up, the look she gave him burned. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He leaned back into his chair, squashing a smile. “What makes you think there’s more?”

She waved a slim hand in the air, her skin still pale. “Oh, please. There’s always more. There’s probably more you don’t know.”

Smart ass. He liked that about her. “You sure you’re ready to hear the rest?”

She swallowed and blinked. She looked ready to say no.

Then she nodded.

“In 1495,” Gabriel began, recalling the tale every grigorio memorized as a child, “Fabrizio Paganelli cursed the thirteen Priestesses of Menrva, living as simple streghe in a Tuscan village, to outlive their loved ones and to never produce another strega. He blamed them for the death of his youngest son. And because he was a powerful Malandante, the curse worked.”

From the shocked look on her face, he could tell Shea knew what that meant. The Mal, like streghe, were born with the ability to work magic. But the Mal used that power in dark ways. An ancient secret society of Etruscan descent, the Mal orchestrated much of the chaos in the world, benefiting from death and destruction.

“The women didn’t know that right away,” he continued. “At first, they dismissed Paganelli’s ravings. He was distraught with grief, and no one in the village believed the streghe had killed his son. But years passed and the women didn’t age.

“Eventually, the town turned on the streghe, burned their seer at the stake and murdered their families. They attempted to kill the remaining streghe by slitting their throats.” The thought made blood lust boil in his veins. “But their bodies healed and they left the village, scattering across Europe, hiding wherever they could, eventually making their way to America.

“At the time, the streghe didn’t know Paganelli’s curse had also trapped his three remaining sons in never-ending life. Paganelli’s son, Dario, made it his mission to kill every one of the women. That’s why he wants Leo. To use his powers to hunt the streghe.”

Gabriel took a deep breath, trying to rein in the fierce anger he felt whenever he thought about Dario. “Any of this ring a bell?”

She nodded, her expression shell-shocked. “Mom told me that Dario is trying to find and kill the Priestesses, that he wants Leo to use against them. But she never… Mom never…” She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze to the floor. “This is the first time I’ve heard anything about a curse.”

Gabriel shook his head. Why the hell had Celeste not told her?

Then again, how do you start that conversation?

Surprise! You’re the key to breaking a five-hundred-year-old curse. Welcome to the world. Now all you have to figure out is how to do it.

After a few moments of silence, she looked up. “What did they do? After they found out they’d been cursed.”

“They begged the Goddesses, Uni and Menrva, to release them. No go. Then, before the villagers burned her, Dafne foresaw the birth of a daughter to one of the original thirteen to end the curse.”

Shea blinked and swallowed, the only outward sign to give away her fear. He wanted to reach for her hand but stopped before he touched her, remembering what had happened the last time. The voices and how they had aggravated her migraine. He didn’t want her to repeat that.

So he waited for her to make some signal that she was ready.

Shea’s eyelids fluttered then she drew in a deep breath. “Do you know how she’s supposed to do that exactly?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Neither do the women.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Dafne didn’t tell them?”

He shook his head.

And waited. He expected more questions. Hell, he expected anger, fear, maybe tears.

Instead, she sat there, staring at her hands. Finally, after what had to be at least two minutes, she drew in another breath, but didn’t lift her gaze. “Do you think Dario knows…about me?”

She sounded exhausted. Defeated. Lost. The urge to grab her out of her chair and set her on his lap, put his arms around her and hold her, made his muscles twitch.

Instead, his fingers curled into the arms of his chair, anchoring him in place. “We didn’t know about you. We’re not sure Paganelli even knows about the prophecy. He was away at school when the townspeople burned Daphne and tried to kill the others.

“I figure your mother discovered fairly early in her pregnancy that she was having a girl and she and Kyle disappeared before anyone could find out. Your father was a damn good grigorio, descended from Dafne’s line. He’s probably the one who realized your mother was carrying a girl. From everything I’ve heard, Kyle was damn good with the sight.”

Gabriel was right, Shea thought. Her dad had been the best. A well of sadness hit her chest and tears burned in her eyes. An image of her dad popped into her mind, his brown curly hair always in need of a trim, his quick smile and steady dark eyes. Blessed Goddess, she missed him.

She took a deep breath, pushing down sadness. “He was. He always managed to be wherever I needed him, right before I fell out of a tree or tripped over rock.” She took another breath, trying to steady herself against an encroaching dizziness. “Is your mother one of the thirteen?”

He nodded. “But I can’t tell you which.”

“Why not?”

“Safety precaution.”

She figured that seemed logical. “What about your father?”

“Davis Borelli.”

“Is he still—”

“He died several years ago.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He smiled again and her eyes widened. Damn, the man was gorgeous when he did that. Luckily, he didn’t do it often because it made her want to lean in and taste him. “Nothing you need to know right now. Look, Shea, I know this has been a lot to take in. But now you’ve got to think. Did your mother ever say anything about the curse? Something you might not have thought was important at the time, something that might make sense now but didn’t then.”

Muscles twitching with nervous energy, Shea stood and began to pace. “My mother taught me how to draw the circle and work spells. She taught me what I needed to do as a Priestess. To protect the nail at all times.”

Her hand grabbed and held onto the key again. Without conscious thought on her part, the key drew on the arus in her blood and transformed into the nail. One of Menrva’s twelve Nails of the Ages.

From the time she’d been old enough to understand, her mother had drilled her on the ancient spells and rituals the priestesses would need when they were called on by Menrva to resume their duties.

Every day they’d studied a new spell or reviewed an old one. She’d grown to hate it. The spells made her head hurt, so much so she constantly screwed them up. And her mom had looked so sad.

Over time, she’d come to dread the day her mom would hand over the nail to her. She didn’t want it. She couldn’t do the spells, she couldn’t protect it. She was defective.

Not once had her mom mentioned anything about a curse. Her five-hundred-year-old mother. Something else she couldn’t wrap her mind around.

Still, she’d known there was something her mom wasn’t telling her. She’d sensed it, like a current between them.

That old pain, the one she’d gotten whenever she and her mom argued, was back, lodged in her chest like a dagger she couldn’t pull out.

Mom, why didn’t you say anything?

But the feeling of betrayal by her dad was worse.

“Shea. Did your mom ever say anything about a curse?”

Gabriel’s repeated question cut through her thoughts and she turned to face him, anger beginning to replace shock.

“My mom was difficult to talk to. And she never, ever said anything about a curse.”

Gabriel’s expression remained unreadable. “I guess she felt she had good reason.”

Fuck that. No reason would ever have been good enough to keep this from her.

Jesus, Mom—

“So why’d you leave?” he asked.

Gabriel watched as her mouth tightened as Shea’s gaze disconnected.

“I didn’t know there was a world beyond the forest we lived in until I was twelve.” The bitterness in her tone cut through the air like tiny knives. “A lost hiker somehow found his way through the wards on our property. My dad hustled him away pretty fast, but it was too late. The secret was out.”

She met his gaze then. “Ballet was the one thing my mom and I actually enjoyed doing together. She’d taught me since I was three or four. It was the best part of the day, when my mom and I would go into the studio to dance.”

Her smile turned bittersweet. “When I was twelve, my dad introduced me to the wonders of TV and movies. I must have watched ‘The Red Shoes’ and ‘A Chorus Line’ and ‘Center Stage’ hundreds of times. And I decided I wanted to be a ballerina.

“When I was fifteen, my mom told me I’d never be a ballerina. That I would live the rest of my life alone because no one could be trusted. That’s when I started to plan.”

“Plan what?”

Her hands did that wavy thing again. “My great escape. I was fifteen, after all, and I wanted to see the world. My mom was just as determined to keep me away from it. I started exploring past the boundaries my parents had set. I found out we lived several miles from a small town and I used to sneak there. I was fascinated to see so many people in one place.

“My dad used to leave the door to the communications room open sometimes and I could watch whatever I wanted. I had the biggest crush on David Boreanez from ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer.’ Until I realized he wasn’t a real vampire. You know that whole cross deal is a hoax, right? And the sunlight death?”

Her lopsided smile reached inside his chest and grabbed the air right out of his lungs. Holy shit, he didn’t need this now.

Her smile faded fast. “Anyway, I heard my parents fighting sometimes. About me. I think my mom wanted to lock me in my room and never let me out. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t lo—why she wanted to keep me hidden.”

She stopped pacing to stare at an abstract painting on the wall, her expression tight. What was she thinking? Hell, at this point he didn’t have a clue—

Leo’s terrified scream reverberated through the house and they ran for the bedroom.

Chapter Eight

Lea Tulane’s eyes flashed open, immediately awake from a deep sleep.

She reached out and laid her hand on Brian’s back, sleeping beside her, listening for the sound of his breathing. She released a relieved sigh at his slight wheeze. He was okay.

Brian was only seventy. Not old. Not really.

Oh, hell. Who was she trying to kid? Every morning she woke, she thanked the Great Goddess he was still here.

They’d been lucky. They’d had a good fifty-five years together. This time. But life had started to take its toll. Brian’s blood pressure was too high. His knees creaked and he didn’t recover from their lovemaking as fast as he used to. Not that it wasn’t good.

Alright, at least she could be honest with herself. There hadn’t been enough of it lately to be good. Brian wasn’t as interested in her sexually as he had been. Some of it had to do with the way his body had changed over the years. And some of it had to with the way hers hadn’t.

And there went her chances of getting back to sleep tonight.

Sliding out of bed, she walked to the window, drawn by the light of the almost full moon. Summer treguenda was approaching and she’d thought about returning east to celebrate.

She enjoyed southern California, possibly the only place on earth where she, stuck at twenty-eight, and Brian, at seventy, could live without being stared at. Much. But she wanted to see her sister—

An odd shadow shifted across the grass. Just a palm frond moving in the ocean breeze? Or someone sneaking onto the property?

She shivered, straining to distinguish two a.m. shadows from potential intruders. Brian always told her she worried too much. But after five-hundred years on the run, she figured she could cut herself a little slack.

The shadow moved again, and now she could see it was a palm, one of the large ones flanking the patio—

A floorboard creaked on the first floor.

Adrenaline pumped through her bloodstream, covering her skin in goose bumps.

Her hand crept to the silver chain around her neck and the iron key hanging from it. Someone was in the house. The housekeeper had left hours ago and they didn’t have a security guard, although many who lived in this gated community did.

Brian wouldn’t hear of it. He’d protected her on his own for years. Why would he need help now?

She glanced back at the bed. Brian still slept soundly.

Had Dario’s men finally found her? Should she run? Wake Brian? Draw them away?

Or…was she ready?

Even if it meant death the way Dario dealt it, maybe it was worth it. Brian would soon be taken from her again. She’d spent more than fifty years alone before they’d reunited. Before that, it had been more than a century.

Time was a bitch she couldn’t escape.

Concentrating on the open door to their room, she could just barely hear the scrape of soft-soled shoes on the wool carpet covering the stairs.

If she gave herself to them without a fight, would they leave Brian alone?

No, she knew that was too much to ask. But maybe Dario would make it quick…

She wondered if it would hurt.

Footsteps in the hall now.

Slipping the key from around her neck, she dropped it into her wooden jewelry box. Her sister would find it there. She had to believe that.

* * *

Shea was closer to the bedroom but Gabriel was faster.

He burst through the door, gun in his hand. The room was dark, even with his enhanced sight.

Shea tried to move past him but he barred her way. How the hell could someone have slipped past the wards without him knowing?

He flipped on the light switch, trying to see everything at once. Leo huddled on the bed, pillow clutched to his chest, rocking back and forth.

“Borelli, let me in.” Shea insisted.

“Stay back,” he hissed. “Leo, are you okay?”

“Dark,” Leo whimpered.

“Gabriel, move your ass now.”

Shea’s tone nearly singed his eyebrows. But his given name coming out of her mouth… Well, that singed other, lower places. Since he didn’t sense anyone else in the room, he let her by. She ran for the bed as Leo launched himself at her and clung like a baby monkey as she sat on the side.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“Dark,” Leo wimpered.

“I know. I’m sorry. Calm down, bud. Deep breaths.”

Gabriel took a couple of deep breaths to calm his own runaway heartbeat.

Shit, the kid wasn’t being kidnapped or murdered. He was afraid of the dark. And Gabriel had put him in the darkest room of the house.

Fuck.

He caught Shea’s glance, expecting to see condemnation there, but she only shook her head.

“My fault,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have checked on him. I always leave a light on for him if I’m not here. You didn’t know.”

Because he hadn’t asked.

As Leo clung and drew in deep breaths while Shea held him and rubbed his back, Gabriel complicated the situation by sitting on the bed next to them. He should keep his distance. It was one of the first things his dad had taught him. It was why Davis hadn’t been his mother’s true mate, merely her companion.

“Hey, kid. Wanna know what scares the shit out of me?”

Shea and Leo looked at him. Shea’s mouth tightened at his language, Leo’s eyes still wide and terrified. But after a couple of hitched-in breaths, he nodded.

“Spiders. They freak me out. All those legs and some of them bite. I know they’re tiny and I could crush them before they get to me, but I had to learn how to overcome that fear because sometimes there’s gonna be spiders.”

The terror in Leo’s eyes began to fade as curiosity settled in. He released his death grip from around Shea’s neck and moved a little closer to Gabriel. “How?”

Shea’s indrawn breath drew his gaze for a second before concentrating again on Leo.

“By studying them, learning everything I could. Then they weren’t so scary anymore. If you want, I can teach you some stuff. Maybe then the dark wouldn’t freak you out so much. The dark can be good. We can hide in the dark. And you and me, we can see things in the dark other people can’t.”

Leo’s eyes widened even further.

“Some are kind of cool,” Gabriel continued. “Come here.”

Gabriel stood and held out his hand. Leo stared at him for a second before slipping his small hand in Gabriel’s larger one and sliding off Shea’s lap. Surprise lit her expression for just a second before her eyes narrowed. She watched from the bed as he took Leo to the window but didn’t open the blackout shade.

“Now, I’m going to have your sister turn off the lights, but I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Leo’s hand tightened on his and he drew in a sharp breath. But he didn’t say no.

“When she does that, we’ll be able to see things only a few people in the world can see, okay? Grigori are born with special powers. These powers make us protectors.”

“I’m a grigorio. Daddy told me.”

“Yeah, you are. Shea, hit the switch and close the door.”

He knelt down beside the kid, still holding his hand. Shea hesitated only a second before she rose and the room went dark.

“Leo, hey, look at me, bud. I know you think you can’t see me, but you can. You just have to know what you’re looking for.”

“Dark.”

“No, it’s not. Not really. Focus on the sound of my voice and I’ll help you see.”

* * *

Dario stood at the top of the stairs, watching the strega walk into the hall and close the door behind her. Her calm expression told him she was not surprised to see him.

His eyebrows lifted. Did she think she could defeat him? By herself? From the reports he’d gotten, her grigorio was old, slow. Not a threat to him or the three men he’d brought with him.

“Dario.” Her voice was steady, her gaze locked on his.

“Tullia.” One of his men stepped forward but Dario made a swift motion with his hand, ordering him to stop. “You’re not surprised to see me.”

The strega smiled and he had a flash of another life, the life he’d had before…all this. He’d known Tullia from the village, one of only two members of the boschetta he’d known personally. He hadn’t seen her in more than four centuries, but, of course, neither of them had changed. At all.

“No, not surprised,” she said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

He saw no fear in her eyes. Curiosity, something he hadn’t experienced in years, made him continue the conversation when he should finish this. “Yes, it has. Are you ready to stop running?”

Tullia’s chin lifted, and her eyes, those strange, shattered-glass eyes he and the cursed streghe shared, blinked back tears. “Yes. But I have a request.”

Now, this was new. The streghe he’d dispatched before had fought him with all their power. They hadn’t wanted to die. And still, he’d defeated them because his cause was right. Still… “And that is?”

“I don’t want Brian to suffer.”

Understandable. “If he does not put up a fight, I can honor that request.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

Even more interesting. “And what about you, Tullia? Don’t you want me to spare your life?”

She smiled, a bittersweet twist of her lips. “I am not a fighter. But do you honestly believe killing us will release you from the curse, Dario? Will murdering thirteen women ensure entrance into your heaven?”

Yes, that’s exactly what he believed. “This is not murder, Tullia. I’m releasing you. Don’t you see? You, too, will benefit from this. We’ll all be free.”

Tullia’s smile was sad as she shook her head. “I’m tired. And I’d like to believe you’re right, that my soul will be free to be return in another body. But nothing is ever simple, is it?”

No, of course not. But nothing would be right until the streghe were all dead. “I’ll make it fast, Tullia. And Brian will not suffer.”

Pulling the dagger from his jacket pocket, he motioned two of the men into the bedroom and held out his hand to the strega.

“Then let’s finish this,” Tullia said and took his hand.

* * *

Shea leaned against the door and held her breath, one hand on the light switch in case Leo freaked again. She was willing to give Gabriel a little leeway here, but not at her brother’s expense.

“Don’t focus too hard,” Gabriel said. “Don’t try to force yourself to see what’s in front of you. Relax.”

Oh, man, that voice. Shea felt tension ease out of her at Gabriel’s tone. It was mesmerizing. Deep and raspy, it should sound rough. Instead, it made her shiver. And boy, was that a huge, fatal hole just waiting to swallow her.

And when the hell had she made the switch from Borelli to Gabriel? It seemed so much more…intimate.

“Now, look for the outline of my face. Use your eyes but also use your inner sight. Do you know what I mean?”

When Leo shook his head, Gabriel said. “Use your arus as well as your eyes. Relax and let that power seep out of your body a little, then look around. Now look at me. What do you see?”

Leo paused then gasped. “A cloud around you. It’s…blue.”

“That’s right. Now, look around, see if you can see your sister.”

Leo turned toward her. “She’s not blue.”

Shea frowned.

“That’s right, she’s not.” Gabriel didn’t sound surprised or worried. “What color is she?”

Leo looked at her for a few more seconds. “Purple.”

“Good, now I’m going to open the curtains and we’re going to look outside.”

“Okay.”

Leo’s excitement rang loud and clear in his voice as Gabriel opened the curtains and introduced him to his heritage.

She’d been kidding herself for too long. She’d believed that once they were safe, after she’d found someone to help them get rid of the men on their trail, she and Leo would be home free. They could set up house somewhere. Leo would go to school. She’d get a real job, although what that would have been, she didn’t know.

They’d live a normal life, one without magic she couldn’t work or monsters who wanted to take Leo from her. No sacred duties to Etruscan goddesses who abandoned their priestesses.

All a stupid dream.

She had a counterfeit high school diploma from a defunct Colorado school, but she didn’t have the knowledge to go with it. She could read Latin and ancient Etruscan and knew her multiplication tables, but she’d never had to balance a checkbook. Or use a bank, for that matter.

Her father had taught her to protect herself with her hands but she didn’t have enough magic to keep Leo safe. And she didn’t know the first thing about getting a real job that didn’t involve taking off her clothes.

“What’s that? A dog?”

Leo’s excited voice drew her back to the present. “It’s a fox. See the color around it. Wild animals have a different color than pets.”

And the curse. That big freaking curse her parents had never told her about. The one she’d been born to break.

What the hell did she have to do for that? She was pretty sure she didn’t want to know.

“What about the bears?”

“Where do you see bears, Leo?”

“In the trees.”

Gabriel paused. “I don’t see anything there, Leo, but maybe I’m not looking in the right place. Are they close to the house?”

Leo shook his head. “They’re walking away.”

Another pause. “Do they look like the other animals?”

“No, they’re kinda…foggy.”

“Okay, Leo. You did really well. Bet you’re hungry, huh? Let’s see if we can find something to eat.”

When Gabriel closed the curtains, Shea turned on the light. And found Gabriel staring at her.

A chill shivered down her spine. Something was wrong. She could tell from his expression. And she was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

* * *

After a quick, silent snack in the kitchen, Shea told Gabriel she was taking Leo back to bed.

Since the little boy could barely keep his eyes open, he figured she was right. But when she didn’t come back, Gabriel headed to Leo’s room and found them both asleep on the bed—Shea on her side, Leo curled into the curve of her body.

They looked damn near angelic—for a girl who held the key to a five-hundred-year-old curse and a boy who had powers greater than his own.

Leo had been able to see trace energy left behind by the versipelli who took care of this house. Gabriel couldn’t. He wasn’t that good.

Back downstairs, he picked up the phone in the living room and dialed the one man he trusted most in the world.

“This better be fucking good,” Quinn growled into the phone. “It’s six o’clock in the fucking morning.”

Gabriel smiled. “Good morning to you, too, ceffo. Gettin’ your beauty sleep or just gettin’ old?”

“Gabe.” Quinn sounded wide awake now. “You okay? Serena called earlier. Said you might need help.”

“We ran into a little trouble—”

“Hey, you alright?”

Gabriel’s lips curved at the worry in Quinn’s voice. “We’re fine. We’re holed up in the safe house in Oley.”

“What’s up?”

“You need to see it to believe it. Just get up here.”

“Gabe, what—”

“Just get here. I need back up because if anything happens to me, I know I can trust you to take care of them.”

“Them who?”

“Leave soon, Quinn.”

“Whoa, Gabe, you’re really freaked out, aren’t you?”

Yeah, he was. “And Quinn? No chasing cars.”

“You bast—”

Gabriel hung up, feeling a little better.

Chapter Nine

Gasping for air, Serena woke from a restless sleep.

Gone. Another one gone.

Hands shaking, she reached for the light on her bedside table, knocking over her glass in the process. As water dripped onto the thick carpet by her feet, tears she couldn’t control ran down her cheeks.

Tullia.

Her gaze flew to the photos on the built-in bookcases on the far wall. The last time they’d had their photo taken, only six had been here. Pretty, round-faced Tullia—or Lea Tulane as she called herself now—with her brown hair and sweet disposition hadn’t said much, but Serena could tell she’d been tired.

Hell, weren’t they all tired?

Unable to go back to sleep, she left her room and headed for the basement.

As she was the only one in residence at the moment, the house was silent except for the tick of the clock in the front room. She bypassed the lights on her way to the back. She could see as well as a cat in the dark, and she knew this building like she knew the lines of her face.

Everything had a place.

Perhaps, if Gabriel had the girl, her boschetta might have a place in the world again.

Down the west hall, she bypassed the main atrium and the dining room, a study and two bedrooms. At the end of the hall, she pushed through the door and headed into the basement.

At the bottom of the circular, iron stairwell, she flicked a switch and blinked until her eyes adjusted to the light.

The pinball table pinged and the Pac-Man game beeped as they came to life in the cavernous room. The pool table Davis had loved gleamed to her left. A widescreen, plasma TV dominated the wall to the rear along with a sectional couch big enough to fit twelve. A library of DVDs filled shelves on either side of the screen.

Picking up the remote from a table by the bottom of the steps, she turned on the television, hitting the favorites button until Cartoon Network appeared. Typically, this early in the morning, they showed old Tex Avery and Chuck Jones cartoons.

She was in luck. Bugs Bunny. Thank God it wasn’t that stupid “Ed, Edd and Eddy.”

Next she headed for the bar and poured herself a double shot of Jack Daniels, enjoying the burn as it sank into her gut and warmed her from the inside. Never too early for Jack.

Several Road Runner cartoons and five double shots of Jack later, she felt sufficiently warm and pleasantly buzzed.

When the phone rang, she knew she shouldn’t answer it. Not in her state. But she had to. Others would have felt what she’d felt. They would call to commiserate. The grigori would have questions. She’d have to alert those who didn’t know.

“Hello.” Oh, dear, she sounded a little tipsy.

“Serena? Hey, are you okay?”

Quinn.

Oh, Sweet Uni, not now. Not while she felt so alone, so…desolate.

She covered the bottom of the ancient black receiver and took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm her racing pulse.

“Serena, is something wrong?”

“No, Quinn. Nothing’s wrong. What do you need?”

Quinn paused and she could practically hear him thinking through the phone lines. He’d never known her to drink. And since it wasn’t a pretty sight, she didn’t want him to even suspect.

“Gabe called,” he said finally. “I’m meeting him at the safe house in Oley.” He paused, but she knew he wasn’t finished. “Then we’ll be up to the compound. You gonna be glad to see me?”

He didn’t expect an answer. He was merely yanking her chain. But the words escaped before she could stop them. “More than you know.”

The silence from the other end of the phone was deafening.

“Serena—”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “No, don’t say anything. Just hear me out.”

She paused, listening to the nearly tangible silence on the line.

“It’s been hard, so hard, to stay away from you. But you’ve got to understand, I’ve lost you twice before. The first time nearly killed me.”

Quinn huffed at the old argument. “I’m. Not. Them. I’m not your other husbands—”

“No. No, I understand that. I know you want me to love you for who you are. And I do, Quinn. I really do. But I can’t separate the past and present anymore. It’s been so long. Too long.”

She felt tears threatening, but she’d be damned if she broke down now.

“Christ, Serena—”

But she couldn’t shut herself off, either. “I ache for you, Quinn, and I can’t have you. It would be the death of me this time. When you die, I’ll walk straight to Dario and let him cut out my heart, cut off my head and burn my body.”

“No!” Quinn’s voice sounded strangled. “No, Serena, what if—”

“There is no ‘what if’!” Oh Goddess, now she was yelling. She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I can’t let myself consider ‘what if.’ You need someone, Quinn, someone who can love you. Someone—”

“Oh, fuck that! Damn it, you listen to me now.” Quinn’s voice took on a tone she’d never heard before. Hard and forceful, and Goddess forgive her, it made her thighs clench.

“There is no one else for me. There won’t be, not ever. From the first moment I saw you, I knew. That’s the way blood-binding works, right? There will never be another woman and if I die a virgin, then, fuck it, I will.” She could hear him breathing now. Sharp, shallow breaths that sounded harsh over the phone line. “I’m through giving you time. If you want to ignore me, you’d better get fucking good at avoidance, baby. ’Cause I’m gonna shadow your every footstep until I die.”

Now their silence held another kind of power. If Quinn had been standing in front of her right now, she would have grabbed him and dragged him to her bed. Instead, he was safely out of reach.

Damn.

After what seemed like an hour, Quinn broke the silence as she knew he would.

“Shit.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. Damn, I’m sorry. That wasn’t right.”

She loved the hint of South in his voice that came from being raised in Maryland for several years. She loved the deep tone and she wanted to hear him whisper that he loved her while he stripped her naked and threw her on a bed, on the floor, up against a wall. Hell, she didn’t care where.

She just wanted him. And he would be here soon.

“Serena, you still there? Hey, I’m sorry, babe. I got carried away. It’s late and I’m tired and—”

“No, Quinn. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’ll see you when you get here. Stay safe.”

She hung up before he could say anything else and make her break down in tears.

Which she did anyway.

* * *

Gabriel couldn’t wait any longer.

He’d let Shea sleep for four hours while he sat and flipped through more than two hundred channels in the TV room off the atrium, finally settling on Cartoon Network. He had a thing for old Bugs Bunny cartoons.

But now, they had to talk. He eased open the door to the bedroom and looked around.

Shock gripped him by the throat when he realized she wasn’t there. Only Leo slept on the bed.

Where the hell was she?

Not caring if he woke the kid, he turned and began pushing open the rest of the doors on that side of the house. She had to be here somewhere. She wouldn’t abandon Leo. But she wasn’t in any of the other rooms.

He pushed open the last door and got a blast of flower-scented steam.

“Hey, don’t let all my hot air out, Leo. Shut the door.”

Shit. This was not good.

He should leave. He knew he should close the door with him on the other side, putting solid wood between them. Instead, he stepped into the bathroom and enclosed them in the warmth together.

The bathroom didn’t have a tub, but it did have an enclosed shower stall in the far corner opposite the toilet. On the sink to his right sat a small bag.

“Hey, Leo, I want you to take a shower when I’m done, okay? I know you hate the idea, but it’s been two days and you’re starting to smell a little ripe, buddy.”

Come to think of it, he hadn’t a shower in, oh, a couple hours, at least. What would she do if he shed his clothes and stepped in there with her? His balls tightened and his cock began to harden.

He could just make out her silhouette through the heavily frosted glass, twisting muscles low in his gut. What was it about this woman that made him feel like a teenager with raging hormones? Yeah, she was beautiful, but hell, he’d been with beautiful women before, and it’d been easy to walk away every time.

He’d learned to control his base emotions, but when they became overwhelming, he took care of them with one-night stands and forgettable women.

He’d never met his soul mate. Was pretty damn sure he didn’t want one. His dad had taught him you couldn’t have ties, not real emotional ties, to a woman and still function efficiently. You couldn’t split your concentration. Something or someone always suffered for it.

After Nino and his dad had been murdered, it’d been easy for Gabriel to shut off his emotions. Easy not to let anyone in, get too close.

Now, he wanted to get close to this woman, get inside her.

“Leo, come on. I’m done.”

Before he could respond, she opened the shower door and stepped out. Naked.

She paused when she saw him and her eyes widened, but she didn’t scream. Or hurry to cover herself.

In fact, she acted like men stared at her naked body all the time.

Shit, he really was losing it. He’d forgotten how she’d made a living. Thousands of men had stared at her smooth, olive-toned skin, full breasts and long, toned legs.

“Sorry, I thought you were Leo.” She reached back into the shower to turn off the water then reached for a towel on the rack next to the shower. He watched the sway of wet, dark hair on her back, drawing his gaze to her perfect, heart-shaped ass.

Then she wrapped a towel around her body.

He drew in a deep breath and forced himself to speak. “We need to talk. Come to the atrium—”

“What?” She tossed him a glance over her still-damp shoulder. “The sight of a little naked flesh makes you just another stupid male? You’re here now. Talk.”

He straightened at the challenge in her raised eyebrows. Fine. He could do this.

“I called for backup. I’ve got a man coming. When he gets here, we’re going to head to the compound.”

Pulling a small bottle from the bag on the counter, she squeezed some of the contents onto her palm. “Where is this compound?”

“Outside the city limits.” He watched her rub her hands together then smooth the cream onto her arms. Heat spread over him and he swore he felt her hands running over her skin, along his own skin.

Hell, it was just hot in here. Probably all he felt was the steam from the shower.

“And what is this compound?”

She lifted her right leg and rested her foot on the sink so she could rub cream into her thighs and calves. The towel shifted enough for him to catch a glimpse of dark curls between her legs.

He shifted his gaze to the window. “After the streghe came to America, Serena built a home here. The area was mostly forest, rocky, hard to farm. Today, it’s been preserved as woodlands and provides good cover. There aren’t many neighbors and it’s difficult to get to the house without a four-wheel-drive. And there’re some pretty serious wards surrounding the property. It’s built on a convergence.”

She frowned at him over her bare shoulder. “A what?”

Damn, didn’t she know anything? “A ley line. Like Stonehenge.”

She nodded, her confusion clearing. “So, Serena’s the leader of the boschetta now?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her switch legs and his body temperature rose another five degrees. He couldn’t tell whether she was tormenting him or truly didn’t have a clue.

“Not really. After Dafne was killed, the remaining streghe scattered across Europe. Serena attempts to keep in touch with the others but there are a few who haven’t been in contact for decades. One hasn’t been heard from in a couple of centuries. Serena lost touch with Celeste more than twenty years ago.”

She fell silent as she finished her legs and reached for her clothes sitting on the sink. Finally, she was going to put him out of his misery.

Instead, she moved the clothes so she could open the doors under the sink. Then she bent over to check the contents of the vanity and that was the last straw. He turned away.

“Shea, put your damn clothes on and then we’ll continue this conversation.”

He couldn’t see her, but he knew she’d straightened and was staring at him.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “No, I’m not kidding. I’m not a eunuch and you’re parading around—”

“Parading?” She choked out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Are you really that much of a prude, Gabriel? You’re the one who came in here in the first place.”

No, he wasn’t a prude. And yeah, he’d consciously closed the door behind. But he was fast losing the grip on his control around her and he didn’t like it.

“Look, just come downstairs when you’re dressed and we’ll finish this.”

She went quiet for a few seconds. Then she sighed. “Do you really think this is ever going to be finished?”

She wasn’t talking about their conversation now.

He turned and found her sitting on the lid of the toilet, her head bowed, dark wavy hair draped around her face, shielding her.

Christ, he was an asshole.

“Shea.” He reached for her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Fuck tha— Oh, wait. Those damn voices. He didn’t want to hurt her. Instead of resting his hand on her shoulder like he wanted to, he dropped to his knees beside her. “Shea. Look at me.”

Sighing, she lifted her head. Her mouth was set in a line and her eyes were dry. But despair lurked under the surface.

He fought the urge to take her in his arms. If he did, he was afraid he wouldn’t let go, voices be damned.

“We’ll find a way to finish this, Shea.”

“I can’t let anything happen to Leo.”

“That’s why you came to me. You’re not in this alone anymore. I won’t let anything happen to him. Or you.”

She drew in a deep breath and blinked. “That’s a far cry from three days ago when you didn’t want anything to do with us.”

Rub it in, babe. “Yeah, well, things change.”

She snorted. “Tell me about it. Three days ago I was a stripper. Today, I’m the only hope of reversing a five-hundred-year-old curse. Guess I might just amount to something after all, huh?”

She smiled, just a crooked twist of her lips, but Gabriel swore he felt a crack in the wall of reserve he’d built over the years, the reserve that kept him from getting too close. The wall he’d built after Nino and Davis.

He nodded, afraid to do anything else. “I’d never count you out in a fight. Now, will you please get dressed so we can go downstairs?”

He should move. He should get up and walk out the door. But her gaze continued to hold his, her smile fading.

When she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his, he froze.

God, her lips were soft and mobile against his, but her kiss wasn’t sexual. It was sweet and hot and—

Oh holy hell, this was one big catastrophe waiting to happen.

Heat rushed through his blood and his heart pounded until he was sure she could hear it. He reached for her again, lacing his fingers through the wet strands of her hair.

He let her kiss him, just a light touch, a soft press, almost as if she didn’t know what she was doing. But it was more than enough to completely scramble his circuits.

And make him want more.

With a softly indrawn breath, she pulled away and he forced his fingers to release her hair.

Her shell-shocked expression mirrored his feelings. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her against his chest and kiss her until she gave him what he wanted.

Hell if he knew what that was right now.

Before he did something really stupid, he stood and walked out.

* * *

Shea watched Gabriel pull the door behind him, leaving her alone in the bathroom.

What the hell had she done?

The last two days had been a mess. Information overload and emotional turmoil.

And now she’d kissed Gabriel.

She hadn’t thought about kissing him. She’d just moved in and pressed her mouth against his gorgeous lips. It’d been a surprise response to the strength she found in his words. To the way he’d protected Leo. She knew she didn’t need to do everything anymore. She could transfer some of the burden she’d been carrying onto his broad shoulders.

Three days ago, she wouldn’t have thought a man would enter into her life plans for the next, oh, ten years, at least. She hadn’t met a man yet who could divert her attention away from the mess of her oh-so-screwed-up life.

Today, she couldn’t imagine what she’d have done without Gabriel.

Whoever said they didn’t make heroes the way they used to had never met Gabriel.

If he hadn’t been at the club, those men would have killed her and taken Leo. He’d walked in at precisely the right moment, had gotten them out and away before Leo had fallen into the wrong hands. He’d gone from bastard to hero in hours and now she kept thinking about kissing him, about running her fingers through his hair and wondering how his beard would feel against her skin.

And yet it wasn’t just his physical strength that drew her.

Whenever she looked at him—and she’d been looking a lot—she yearned for something she’d never wanted before.

An emotional connection.

Groaning, she dropped her head in her hands. How could she be so damned stupid?

Hell, he’d been embarrassed by her nudity, not turned on. He hadn’t kissed her back, hadn’t responded to her kiss in any way.

Could a person die of embarrassment?

Chapter Ten

Shea walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later—after forcing herself out of the bathroom—to find Gabriel at the table, steaming coffee mug in front of him, cleaning the barrel of a gun. A radio in the background played smooth jazz. Soothing. So at odds with the man himself.

He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “We’ve got maybe fifteen minutes, half an hour before Quinn shows up. Then we’re going to leave.”

Gabriel sounded pissed off. Business as usual.

Good. That was good.

She didn’t want to talk about that kiss anyway. Didn’t want to want him.

Nodding, she walked to the counter to get a mug, filled it with water then set it in the microwave to heat. There had to be tea here somewhere. “For the compound.”

“Yeah.” He put down the barrel and picked up the stock. “I want to make sure we’re not followed, so I don’t think we’ll get to the house until after midnight. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

Ah-ha, a box of Lipton. She could deal. She snagged a bag and took her steaming mug out of the microwave. “I can shoot.”

“Have you ever had to?”

Dipping her bag, she shook her head as she turned back to face him. “I will if I need to. For Leo.”

“You might have to. They’ve seen what Leo can do and they’ll want him even more now.”

A chill ran through her that not even the hot tea could dispel. “What are we going to do?”

He caught and held her gaze. “That’s what we need to decide. How far are you prepared to go, Shea? What are you willing to do to save your brother?”

She didn’t have to think about that one. She owed Leo so much. “Whatever it takes.”

“Sometimes that’s not enough.”

Although his expression showed no emotion, she heard something in his tone. “You know that for a fact, don’t you?”

He nodded, his gaze never wavering. “What if I told you I could send you away, somewhere they’d never find either of you? But it’d mean you’d be in isolation for years. Could you do it? Would you be willing to give up your life to save his?”

Six years. She’d been out in the world six years. Had it been enough? Was she willing to give up the rest of her life to save Leo?

She blindly reached for a seat at the table and folded herself into it. Guilt and anguish settled on her chest with all the weight of a collapsing building.

She swallowed before speaking. “I was fifteen by the time I got truly pissed off at my parents, about the secrets they’d kept from me. When I was seventeen, I left. I was going to be a ballerina. I was so sure I’d land a spot in the Rock School in Philadelphia.”

That had been just the first of so many misconceptions and mistakes on her part. The teachers had said “Thanks, but no thanks” at the open auditions.

And blown her every hope and dream out of the water.

A soft thunk brought her attention back to Gabriel. He’d set the gun on the table and she had his full attention.

“What happened?” he asked.

His gaze locked on hers, completely focused. Those dark eyes mesmerized, made her want to tell him everything. But after all this time, that rejection still stung like an entire nest of hornets.

She looked away, shrugging. “I didn’t get in.”

“Why?”

Damn him, why wouldn’t he let this go? “Because I wasn’t good enough.”

He snorted and picked up the gun. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen you dance, Shea. You’ve got talent.”

Sudden tears made her blink. What was she supposed to say to that?

He saved her from having to answer. “Why didn’t you go home?”

Because I was too stubborn to admit defeat. “I thought about it after the first few nights on my own. There were too many people, too many buildings, too much of everything.” She’d felt like a complete failure. And she’d wrongly blamed her parents for that. “I knew I’d have to get a job and waitressing looked easy, but you can’t earn enough at a bar to pay the bills. So I started dancing. Clubs always need women willing to take their clothes off and I don’t have much of a problem with that. About three years ago, I got lucky and found a job with a lucani businessman.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “Who?”

“James Riley. He was good to me, gave me a job in Trenton, found me a place to live.”

“What’d you tell him? About yourself.”

“That my parents kicked me out because I was different and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Gabriel snorted. “Yeah, Jimmy can be a sucker for a pretty face and a sob story. Still, he can smell a lie before you open your mouth.”

“I think…I think maybe my dad knew all along where I was and asked Riley to look out for me. He had me waitress for a while but I wanted to dance.”

She’d often wondered what her father thought of that. Had he been horrified? Mortified?

Dad, I’m so sorry, for everything.

“How’d you end up with Leo?” Gabriel asked.

Sighing, she took a sip of her tea before answering. “My mother called to me, just before she was killed.”

Gabriel frowned. “She knew where you were then?”

She shook her head. “I heard her voice in my head, telling me I needed to come home, that I needed to get something and keep it safe.”

Gabriel paused for a few seconds and she couldn’t tell whether he believed her or not. But he didn’t push it. “You got there before Dario?”

“No, they’d already left by the time I arrived.”

His eyebrows shot up. “How’d they miss the kid?”

“My parents put him in an enchanted sleep and hid him in a secret room in the basement. I never would have found him if my mom hadn’t told me where to look.”

And if she’d never shown up, her brother would have remained in that enchanted sleep until his body had withered away and died. She shuddered at the thought.

“After she was dead?”

She nodded.

Gabriel fell silent, staring at her. She didn’t have a clue what he was thinking.

“How’d you find me?” he finally asked.

“Mom left her grimoire and a letter with Leo, telling me how to find you, what to say.”

“But she never said anything about the curse?”

She shook her head, tears starting to gather again. “She must have been pregnant with Leo when I left. Maybe they knew something like this would happen, that I’d be around to care for him if anything happened to them.”

That made sense. What didn’t make sense was why her mom hadn’t told her about the curse. Maybe her mom had been disappointed when the simple fact of her birth hadn’t broken the curse. But why hadn’t she contacted the other streghe and tried to figure it out? Why had they gone into hiding?

“Shea.” Gabriel’s voice cut through her thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

“That none of this makes sense.”

Goddess, that slow smile of his must make women fall at his feet. And she was halfway to the floor.

“Yeah, well, then we’d better start coming up with some answers,” he said.

“And you know someone who should have some?”

“Yeah.”

Gabriel rose and walked to the counter to rinse out his cup, glancing out the window as he did. “We need to get Leo up and—Shit.”

Spinning away from the sink, he ran for the back door.

“What’s wrong,” she called, but he was already outside.

She got to the door just as he walked back into the house, carrying a huge grey wolf in his arms, blood dripping from its back leg.

“Close the door and lock it,” he ordered. “And bring the first-aid kit. Damn it, Quinn. Don’t do this to me, not now.”

Shea grabbed the oversized kit from its spot on the kitchen counter before following Gabriel into the next room. He’d already laid the animal he’d called Quinn on its side on a soft rug by the stone fireplace and was examining the wound, cursing under his breath. Grabbing the kit out of her hands, he tore it open, reaching for a brown bottle.

“I know this is gonna hurt like hell, just don’t bite me, buddy.”

Gabriel ran an unsteady hand through the animal’s fur and she heard the wolf’s low whine. Then he turned to her, a grim look on his face.

“I’ll hold him down. You need to pour this over the wound.” He held out the liquid-filled bottle. “Just do it fast.”

He wrapped his arms around the wolf, holding the animal’s uninjured limbs close to the body. Then he nodded to Shea.

Without stopping to think, she did what he’d said.

The wolf howled loud enough to wake the dead and fought to get away, giving Gabriel nasty scratches on his cheeks, arms and legs. But Gabriel held on until the animal wore itself out.

When the wolf calmed, Gabriel released him and the animal turned toward her, his eyes blue and startlingly human. Then he closed them and went limp.

Gabriel sat there, hands on his thighs, eyes closed. He was working some kind of spell, she realized. She could feel the energy coming off of him, like heat off a stove.

She stayed silent, watching, until Gabriel opened his eyes and snagged her gaze.

“This is Quinn, legatus of the Eastern States Pack. Plans just changed.”

* * *

Gabriel refused to leave Quinn’s side and Shea would not leave him.

Funny thing was, he didn’t mind having her near. She left once to check on Leo and, for the few minutes she was gone, he couldn’t stop worrying. When she returned, the worry lightened and he could almost believe everything would be okay.

Gabriel wasn’t worried that someone had followed Quinn. It was possible but unlikely. Quinn would have let himself die on the side of the road before he’d lead anyone here.

Quinn must have been hit by a car. At least that’s what the damage looked like. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so damn bad. Both back legs were injured, one definitely broken. He’d lost a lot of blood, if the amount on his fur was any indication. Gabriel didn’t know how long he’d spent dragging himself here.

He couldn’t shift back to his human body, the damage was too great. He’d heal at a faster rate than a human or wolf, but until then…shit.

If anything happened to Quinn, he’d… Hell, he didn’t have a clue.

Serena would be devastated.

He sat there staring at the beautiful fur he’d teased Quinn about endlessly as a teenager. They didn’t need this. Not now.

“Your legs are going to cramp,” Shea said. “Why don’t you sit up here for a while?”

He turned to find Shea watching him from the leather couch that faced the fireplace, her eyes wide and concerned.

With good reason. This screwed up everything.

He rose, grimacing a little as his leg muscles protested the movement, and sat next to her on the couch.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel would make sure of that, even if he had to carry the damn mongrel to a vet to have him stitched up. There had to be a versipelli vet around here somewhere. “He should heal pretty quickly. But he can’t change until he’s healed more.”

“He’s lucani.”

“Yeah.” Something in her tone drew his gaze away from Quinn.

“He’s gorgeous.”

Jealousy bit into his ass with sharp teeth. Idiot.

“Quinn will love to hear you say that. Just wait until he’s awake. We can’t leave until he’s healed, though.”

Another day, maybe two. It shouldn’t be a problem, but he’d wanted to have Shea and Leo at the compound by tomorrow. Shit.

“Hey, tell me about Quinn. What does legatus mean?”

He heard her question but ignored it. Gods-be-damned, how the hell had Quinn gotten hurt?

“Gabriel?”

Shea’s soft tone cut through his thoughts and he turned his gaze toward her.

“What’s a legatus?”

He answered without thinking. “Legion commander. He’s in charge of the Eastern Pack’s soldiers.”

“Like in the ancient Roman army?”

“Yeah. The lucani base their command structure on the old Roman legion.”

“How did you and Quinn meet?”

“We were raised together after his mother tried to kill him when he was twelve.” He nodded at Shea’s gasp. “Barb was always a little unstable, but when he shifted the first time after he hit puberty, she locked him in his room and tried to burn the house down around him. She’s got a padded cell at Wernersville State Hospital. He hasn’t seen her since. His father was my dad’s second cousin, so they came to live with us.”

“Where?”

“About an hour outside of Philadelphia.”

“What about your mom?”

“She didn’t live with us.”

“And you won’t tell me who she is?”

He shook his head, his gaze drawn back to Quinn. If anything happened to Quinn, it might be the final straw that broke Serena’s heart. “Can’t. There’s a difference.”

“So you grew up in an all-male household. I can see how that warped your little mind.”

He smiled, though it was weak. She was trying to take his mind off the situation, and he appreciated it. But he had too much to think about to be distracted.

They could stay here indefinitely. In the nearly two hundred years since it’d been built, this house had never been discovered. They were safe, unless Dario’s men could somehow track Leo through the shields on the property. He wasn’t ruling it out, which was why he’d wanted to head out today. But there was no way he’d leave Quinn behind.

And, truth be told, he didn’t want to give Shea and Leo to another grigorio.

There were only three grigori he’d even consider, anyway. Franco was in Europe at the moment. Donal had his hands full with Furia and Madrona in Louisiana. And Matt...

Shit, he should have called Matt the second Shea had told him who she was. Matt deserved to know what was going on.

But Gabriel honestly hadn’t thought about the guy until right now.

He’d should—

Shea’s slender hand cupped his cheek, her skin soft against his two-day growth. His eyelids fell and he let the warmth of her skin soak into his. Damn it, he shouldn’t like her touch this much. It was dangerous.

“Shea—”

“Shh. Just be quiet, Gabriel.”

She sealed her mouth over his and he let her kiss him. Let her lips caress his until all he wanted was more of her mouth, hot and wet, her tongue slick against his.

He settled his hands on her waist and lifted her until she straddled his lap. She settled in, knees sinking into the cushions at his hips, bringing the heat between her legs closer to his aching cock. He wanted to press against her, rub against her softness, but that would require too much energy.

Goddess, he was tired. Too tired to move her away like he should. She was the one in charge. When she lifted her lips, he forced his eyes open to stare into hers.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” she whispered.

His eyelids felt so heavy. No, he hadn’t slept last night, and he wouldn’t get any tonight either…

“You need to rest, Gabriel. You’re no good to us if you’re not thinking straight.”

Damn, she was working a spell, felt it brush against his arus, whispering to him to sleep. He couldn’t afford to sleep now. He struggled against the sleeping spell she’d woven but he couldn’t fight it and the world went dark.

* * *

When Gabriel’s head dropped onto her shoulder, Shea let it stay there.

She could tell he’d been exhausted but wouldn’t give in to natural sleep. So she’d woven one of the simple spells her mother had taught her so many years ago.

He’d be pissed when he woke, but he’d be rested. And since Quinn couldn’t be moved immediately, he could afford the downtime.

Otherwise, he would have sat here and worried about…everything. About her, about Leo, and mostly about the gorgeous wolf lying on the floor.

She sat there another minute, enjoying the feel of him against her. His hair felt like silk against her cheek and before she could stop herself, she slid one hand into the black strands.

It took her a few minutes to realize the voices weren’t buzzing any louder than normal. Whenever anyone except Leo touched her, the voices reacted. As if they were warning them away. They’d nearly screamed when Gabriel had grabbed her in the car but now, even though she was so close to Gabriel, they were almost quiet. Maybe they were getting used to him.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, letting her fingers drift through his hair, winding it around her fingers. Turning her head, she let her lips brush against it, breathing in the spicy warm scent of him. Goddess, she would love to stay right here…

The wolf whined and she turned to find pale blue eyes staring up at her, pain evident in his gaze.

Careful not to jostle Gabriel, she got off the couch and knelt on the floor, unable to resist stroking Quinn’s beautiful fur.

“I can help with the pain, if you want,” she offered. “And with the healing. I didn’t offer earlier because I wasn’t sure how Gabriel would react to what I’m going to do. Just nod for okay.”

The wolf snorted and shook his head.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, I haven’t done this for a while, but I know what I’m doing.”

She hoped. She took a deep breath and lifted her dress over her head.

* * *

Shea regained consciousness with a burning ache in her right leg that she knew would get worse before it got better and the feel of warm flesh against hers. Shifting, she tried to get more comfortable. And realized she was on the floor, her head pillowed on an equally naked, firmly muscled chest.

“Well, darlin’,” a deep voice drawled in her ear. “This certainly beats the doggie doctor any—Holy shit, your eyes.”

She bent her elbow to support her head and stared at the tawny-haired stranger gaping at her. Despite her nudity, his gaze stayed locked on her eyes.

“Jesus, who are you?”

“Shea Tedaldi.”

His mouth opened and closed twice before he smiled and said, “Well, honey, I’m Quinn, and I’m damn glad to meet you.”

Those blue, blue eyes would not look away.

“Nice to meet you, too. How are you feeling?”

“Well, now, I guess that depends.”

She couldn’t maintain that gaze anymore so she sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “On what?”

“On whether or not Gabriel’s going to kick my ass when he wakes up.”

Reaching for her dress, she pulled it over her head before Quinn noticed the huge bruise on her leg. “And why would he do that?”

“Well, considering you and I just spent the better part of two hours naked and pressed together, I’d say he’s gonna be pissed.”

“Then you don’t know shit,” came a growl from the couch. “Vaffanculo, Shea. What the hell’d you do to me?”

Turning, she saw Gabriel rub a hand over his face as he sat up, a look on his face that could only be described as royally pissed off.

Time to pay the piper.

“You needed the rest.” Standing, she shook the dress down her legs as she walked carefully to the couch, trying not to limp. “How do you feel?”

Gabriel shook his head, hair brushing his shoulders. Her fingers actually clenched with the desire to touch it, even through the increasing pain in her leg.

He looked up at her, his gaze hot. “Like I got run over by a truck.”

She lifted her chin. No way would she apologize. “No, apparently that was Quinn. The disorientation will pass in a minute. You could have used a few more hours.”

He scowled at her. “Yeah, well, I’ll decide when I have them.” He looked like he wanted to say more, his lips tightening. Finally, though, he looked down at Quinn. “What the hell are you doing in your skin already?”

“Your girl here worked some powerful mojo.”

“She’s not my girl.”

“I’m not his girl.”

Shea shot Gabriel a look, but Quinn stood, blocking her glare with his long, lean, naked body.

“Oh, yeah.” Quinn laughed. “This is gonna be real fun.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Gabriel stood and got right in Quinn’s face.

Jeez, she did not want to have to break up a fight. Then Gabriel smiled, and her breath caught in her chest. Damn him, he was way too handsome when he smiled.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Gabriel said.

Quinn nodded, his expression softening, as he reached out to grab Gabriel in a bear hug. “Me, too. Looks like you’ve got a tale to tell.”

Gabriel hugged him back then held put his hands on his shoulders and nodded. “Yeah, we do. But first tell me how the hell you got hit?”

Quinn sighed. “Food first.” His gaze shifted to Shea. “And maybe some clothes.”

Gabriel shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “Shea’ll tell you not to bother with the clothes, but you’re so damn gorgeous, you’re distracting me.”

“Vaffanculo, Gabe.” Quinn smacked Gabriel’s shoulder so hard, it had to hurt. “I’ve missed you, ceffo.”

Gabriel nodded his head and returned the affection. “Yeah, well, I missed you, too, Lassie.” He shoved Quinn away. “Now get dressed and I’ll make you a couple of steaks.”

Quinn turned to her and flashed a playboy smile that surely made women’s panties fall to their knees.

“Thanks again, honey.” Then he wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off her feet and planted a kiss on her mouth.

And oh, could the man kiss. Funny, though, that he didn’t make her burn like Gabriel.

When he gently placed her back on her feet and turned to walk through the door, she couldn’t help as her gaze slipped to his naked backside. He had one of the finest butts she’d ever seen on a man. Almost as nice as Gabriel’s. Almost.

“After you put your tongue back in your mouth, you can tell me what the hell you did.”

Shea turned and caught Gabriel’s unamused gaze. With his arms crossed over his broad chest and his black boots spread, he looked like a pissed-off Hell’s Angel.

She mirrored his stance, ignoring the pain in her leg, and lifted her eyebrows. “He’s going to be fine.”

“Explain.”

She huffed. “I inherited my mother’s Gift for healing. Quinn needed help and I healed him. End of story.”

She didn’t add that she knew Gabriel had been so worried about Quinn he couldn’t think straight. She tried but couldn’t hold his gaze, especially when he stared at her with such intensity. She nodded toward the kitchen. “Why don’t we get the food started? I’m starving.”

She had to walk around him to get to the kitchen. She steeled herself against the pain. As she passed, he caught her arm, stopping her, but she refused to look up at him.

“Shea.”

She tried to ease away but he had a firm grip on her. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. How bad is it?”

She released a controlled sigh. “Come on, Gabriel. You must know how healing works.”

“Yeah, I do.” He tilted her chin up with one finger so she had to look into his dark, worried eyes. When she met his, she couldn’t look away, even when he released her. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, though it made her head throb. “I’m fine.”

That beautiful mouth of his flattened and he growled, the sound making her thighs clench in response. “Don’t lie to me. How bad is it?”

She sensed genuine concern and a hint of anger in him. She didn’t know where the anger was coming from and it confused the hell out of her.

“Not that bad.”

“Shea.” He sighed and shook his head, his eyes closing for a second. When he looked back into her eyes, his gaze had softened. “Let me see your leg.”

“No.”

“Shea.”

With a huff, she lifted her skirt. Purple, blue and black bruises covered the entire thigh. Quinn’s femur had been broken and, as a result, she couldn’t put much pressure on her leg when she walked or the pain would make her knees buckle.

It hurt like hell but there was no way she’d tell him that.

Gabriel drew in short breath. “Son-of-a— Shea, that’s—”

“I’ll be fine. Honestly, it’ll heal in a few hours.”

Anger, fear and something she didn’t recognized crossed his expression in waves. When he finally settled on pissed, he shook his head just once. “Thank you. For Quinn.” His hand curved around her nape, massaging the muscles in her neck. Warmth spread, easing the throbbing pain in her head. But it was the look in his eyes that made her heart beat just a little faster.

And when he bent to lay his lips on hers, it pounded like a drum against her ribs.

This kiss was nothing like any they’d shared before. This time, his lips moved on hers with a hunger that made her forget the ache in her head and her leg.

She hadn’t kissed many guys, but none of them had had the skill Gabriel possessed. His lips caressed hers, his hand at the back of her neck urging her to tilt just a little so they could fit together even more tightly. His tongue touched the seam of her mouth, and she opened to let him in, welcomed him with a flick of her own tongue.

He answered with a groan and slid the hand at her nape into her hair, cupping the back of her head.

Dear Goddess, this was bad. She didn’t want him to stop. That was very bad.

And when he wrapped one muscular arm around her waist to lift her off her feet and against his body, she wanted him to do more than kiss her.

Her arms banded around his shoulders, her fingers sinking into his hair. So soft, silky. Like his lips against hers.

She wanted more. More of his mouth, more of his hands all over her body. She wanted to be closer. She bent her leg to wrap it around his waist—and gasped as pain shot through her.

“Shit.” Gabriel grimaced as he pulled away then carefully swung her into his arms. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

Gabriel cursed himself silently as he carried her to the kitchen. He knew she was in pain but the second he’d touched her, he’d completely forgotten everything but her taste.

Gods be damned, she’d come to him for help and, so far, all he’d done was fuck up.

First, he’d turned her away. Then he’d almost lost them both at the club. And he’d literally fallen asleep on the job today while she’d healed Quinn and did untold damage to her legs.

“Gabriel, for the Goddess’ sake, I’m fine. Put me down.”

“Shea, just shut up.”

He glanced down, saw her eyes widen and cursed the anger in his voice. Hell, he wasn’t angry at her.

With a sigh, he eased her onto one of the dining room chairs and pulled another closer to elevate her leg. Her skirt fell away, exposing her thigh, and he caught his breath at the sight. The colors had gotten more brilliant in just a few minutes.

His dad would’ve kicked his ass.

Rising, he went to the freezer for ice packs then to the drawer for wraps. Kneeling by her side, he eased the ice onto the bruise and wrapped it tightly with the gauze.

She didn’t make a sound, but he could tell how painful it was by the way her fingers curled into her palms. His gut tightened in sympathy.

Pushing up from the floor, he shut off his brain and set about making food. Steaks and bags of broccoli from the freezer, potatoes from the pantry.

When he had everything started, he turned to find Shea watching him, an unreadable expression on her face, pain in her eyes.

“You can’t take anything, can you? Nothing’ll help.”

She shook her head and he felt the anger build. He was so fucking stupid.

“Hey, look what I found.”

Quinn reentered the room, dressed in loose cargo pants and a t-shirt, Leo slung over his shoulder. The kid, who’d slept most of the day, must have woken when Quinn went to bathroom. Gabriel heard Shea’s indrawn breath, knew she was worried about Leo’s reaction to the newcomer.

But Leo had made up his mind about Quinn if his excited expression was anything to go by.

“Sissy! He has fur on the inside.”

Seemed the kid had finally found his voice. Gabriel couldn’t remember Leo saying more than a few words the entire time he’d known them.

Quinn set Leo on his feet and he ran for his sister. Gabriel knew the kid was gonna go straight for her bad leg and he wasn’t fast enough to stop him.

Shea winced but picked up Leo and settled his weight on her good leg. She seemed just as surprised by Leo’s exclamation.

“Yes, I know. But how did you know?”

“I can see it.”

Oh, yeah. The kid would make a great trophy for Dario. Christ, could this get any worse?

Quinn stopped at his side. “He knew right away,” he said under his breath. “And he wasn’t afraid of me. Came right up and petted my hair. He was waiting to get into the bathroom. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry. Forgot to remind you.”

Quinn’s expression hardened. “Dario’s not going to stop, is he?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No. At least they don’t know about Shea.”

“What about Sissy?” Leo turned to stare at them.

“Nothing you don’t already know.” Gabriel dug up a smile, walked to the table and lifted Leo off Shea. Then, he transferred Leo to his back, where the boy clung as if he knew exactly what to do.

“Come on, kid. You can help me with the food.”

Setting Leo on the counter next to the stove, Gabriel cooked as the ache in his chest grew every second. The kid reminded him of Nino so much it was starting to mess with his mind. He hadn’t been able to save Nino or Davis, what made him think he could save this child?

And Shea? What the hell was he going to do with her?

He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to take her to bed.

Wanted to strip her naked and lay her out on a bed, wrap one hand in that dark hair and let the other roam that beautiful body she had no problem showing off.

He’d start at her lips, let himself drown in her taste before he worked his way down, let his mouth taste those dark nipples while his hand stroked along her stomach and between her thighs. To the short, dark curls he’d seen there. When he’d sucked her nipples until she could barely breathe then he’d drift down to her ribs, dip his tongue into her belly button then—

“Hey, Gabe. I’m starving over here.”

Shit. His attention snapped back to what he should be thinking about. And away from what he couldn’t have.

The steaks. Quinn liked his bloody, and so did he. “What about you, kid? How do you like your steak?”

“Oh, he’s doesn’t eat—” Shea started.

“Like yours.” Leo cut off his sister’s reply and Gabriel turned to see surprise on Shea’s face as she quickly closed her mouth.

“Shea?”

“A little longer for mine, please.”

When the food was finished, Quinn grabbed the kid off the counter and set him in a chair. Leo immediately dug in.

Gabriel slid a plate in front of Shea as he sat down next to her.

He let her eat in peace for a few minutes before he said, “I want to start Leo’s training.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw the kid’s head pop up but his gaze remained on Shea. He watched as her brow furrowed and her suspicious gaze landed on his. Yeah, he’d known she wasn’t going to like this but it couldn’t be helped.

“What training?” she asked.

“The kid has power, Shea. A lot of it. He needs to know what to do with it.”

Her mouth firmed as she shook her head. But she didn’t say anything.

“Shea, you’ve got to consider—”

She stood, making Quinn and Leo transfer their attention to her. “Leo, I’ll get you some milk. Quinn, you want anything?”

Quinn’s sharp gaze darted between her and Gabriel. “Ah, no thanks. I’m good.”

She nodded and limped to the refrigerator. Gabriel got up and followed her to the other side of the room, where she was slapping open doors to find glasses.

“Shea.” He kept his voice low. “He’s got to know how to handle it, how to use it.”

Finding the glasses, she grabbed one and nearly shattered it when she slammed it on the counter. “He’s six years old. You will not drag him into this.”

“I was three, Shea. Your dad had probably already started with him. He’s powerful and he needs to learn how to control it and what to do with it. Ultimately, this isn’t your decision to make.”

Now her splintered eyes turned hard, that fascinating mix of colors hypnotizing in her fury. “Yes, it is. He’s my brother, my responsibility. I will not drag him into this because I couldn’t— Because I wasn’t…”

She turned away to face the cabinet doors.

He wanted to put his arms around her, pull her back against him but didn’t think she’d let him. “You weren’t what?”

She shook her head, as if she could shake the thoughts out of it. “Nothing. Shit.” He heard something crack and realized it was the glass in her hand. Hairline cracks filled the surface. “Damn it, he didn’t ask for this.”

“No one asked for any of this, Shea.”

She took a few deep breaths and her gaze slipped to the kid, eyes wide, listening to Quinn, who wisely kept Leo engaged with some story.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to his. “Can we just finish lunch? Please. I need… I need to think a little.”

Because she looked liked she’d hit the end of her rope, he agreed.

But he knew it was only delaying the inevitable. Leo had to be trained. Not only would he be able to better protect himself, but he’d learn how to use his power without hurting anyone.

Himself included.

* * *

As the men proceeded to devour everything on the table and Leo clung to their every word, Shea knew Gabriel was right.

Leo needed something she couldn’t give him. Something Gabriel could. It bugged the hell out of her, ate at her all through the meal, picking away at her brain.

One more failure to add to the list alongside her inability to work spells and her failure to make it into ballet school.

Leo looked more excited than he had the whole time he’d been with her. And who could blame him? The men were fascinating. Gabriel and Quinn so in tune, they finished each other’s sentences as they talked about mutual friends. She’d never had that closeness, that sense of belonging, of understanding.

She and her mom had never been close. Celeste hadn’t been one for kisses and hugs. That affection had come from her dad, who she’d worshiped. When she’d discovered the outside world her parents had hidden from her, she hadn’t blamed her dad. Only her mom. It had driven the wedge deeper.

Later, working in strip clubs, she hadn’t really socialized with the other women or met many nice guys. There’d been a couple of decent men who’d asked her out, employees at the lucani clubs she’d worked.

None of them made her burn the way Gabriel did. None of them could make her blood boil with a look or her thighs quiver with a touch.

None of them made her want more.

Of course, none of them had wanted to train her baby brother to be a killer, either.

Damn it, she knew that wasn’t fair. She knew her father probably had started Leo’s training. Leo had never mentioned it, but then maybe she hadn’t asked the right questions. It had taken months for the shock of their parents’ deaths to wear off, months where Leo woke screaming from a restless sleep and hadn’t strung more than two words together at a time. She’d felt useless then.

And the feeling wasn’t going away.

“Shea.” Gabriel voice set her every nerve ending on alert. Her gaze met his head-on. “Are you finished?”

Dear Goddess, what she wouldn’t give to be finished with all of this.

Anger began to bubble in her chest. She’d never asked to be born a Priestess of Menrva, had never wanted to give her life to the service of a Goddess who had deserted her people. She didn’t want to be the answer to a five-hundred-year-old curse no one knew how to break. She didn’t want to hear voices in her head. And she certainly didn’t want her brother to be pursued by a madman or have Gifts he couldn’t control.

How good would it feel to let that anger consume her? To give in to it? To have a meltdown, kicking and screaming until she couldn’t scream anymore?

Then she looked at Leo, still listening to Quinn with wide eyes. So young. And she shoved all that anger back down into the little hole in her chest where she kept it buried.

She looked back up at Gabriel, his gaze knowing and compassionate, and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m finished.” She turned to Leo with a smile. “Hey, bud, I saw a Wii in the TV room off the atrium. You want to vege out for a while?”

Not even hanging out with Quinn and Gabriel could compare to the joys of the Wii, which he’d discovered at one of the strip clubs and had played every night for hours. Nodding eagerly, he headed down the hall. Out of hearing.

Both men stared at her.

No one said anything.

Chapter Eleven

“I want us to split up,” Gabriel said.

“What?” Quinn barked.

“No way.” Shea slashed a hand through the air for emphasis. “No. That’s out of the question.”

Gabriel leaned forward to look into Shea’s eyes. “Hear me out before you dismiss this. I want to send Leo to the compound. And leave him there with Quinn.”

Quinn shook his head, his expression horrified. “Oh, shit, Gabe—”

Gabriel held up one finger before Shea could break in as well. “We’ll go together, but then I want to leave Quinn and Leo with Serena. You and I,” he looked at Shea, “need to see someone who might be able to help you find out more about your…role in all of this. And I don’t plan to leave Leo and Serena alone with Quinn.”

Shea shook her head. “I don’t care who you plan to call to protect Leo. There’s no way I’ll leave him behind.”

Shea’s fierce expression made Gabriel’s chest tighten. She’d fight him tooth and nail over this and he knew exactly how she felt. But it didn’t change the fact that they needed to do it.

“Who are you thinking of?” Quinn asked.

“I want to bring in Matt.”

Quinn’s eyes widened before he started to grin. “Oh, baby, you’re not screwing around, are you?”

He didn’t answer Quinn but looked straight into Shea’s angry eyes. “No, I’m not. And I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

It had nothing to do with the fact that he was getting too close to the kid and he was scared he’d fail. Fail both of them.

After a deep breath, Shea asked, “Who’s Matt?”

“He’s the best grigorio there is.”

“And he’s a fucking lunatic.” Quinn laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Dario’s men think he’s the anti-Christ. I’m still not sure they’re not right.”

“I want him to take over Leo’s training.”

Shea shook her head. “No—”

“Hell, Gabe. Do you think you’ll even be able to get him out of that pit in Vegas?”

Gabriel nodded. “I think he’ll come. For Kyle’s sake.”

“Shit.” Quinn scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think of that. You’re right.”

Shea held up one hand. “Why would he do anything for my father?”

“Because he’s Kyle’s brother.”

* * *

Shea felt his statement hit her like a blow to her chest. Blinking, she drew in a sharp gasp, her hands drawing into fists on the table.

“Brother?” They had an uncle? She’d thought they were alone, she and Leo. Goddess, did they have other family?

Gabriel must have read her mind. “Your mother had a sister.”

“Is she still…”

He nodded. “Yeah, she is. She was cursed, too.”

They had an aunt. Another member of the boschetta. More secrets. So much their parents had hidden.

She took a deep breath, trying not to hyperventilate. She let her gaze catch and hold Gabriel’s. Like a lifeline. “I didn’t know. Dad never said anything about other family. I never…never thought to ask.”

Gabriel reached across the table, almost but not quite touching her hand. “No reason you would have. Like I said, grigori are trained from an early age not to discuss family connections. It can get…complicated.”

She snorted. “Good word.”

Gabriel sat back in his chair. “So we’re going to see someone who might be able to uncomplicate things.”

“Who?”

“Madrona. She’s the historian. She and her sister, Furia, live in New Orleans.”

“And what do you think she’ll be able to tell me?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m hoping she’ll be able to tell us what you need to know to break the curse.”

She dropped her gaze. “Yeah, well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? Why the hell am I here?”

No one had an answer. She didn’t have an answer. Maybe this Madrona would have an answer. But it would mean trusting an uncle she’d never met with her brother’s life.

“So,” she sighed, “if I agree to this, and I’m not saying yes, but if I do, what time frame are we looking at?”

Gabriel’s expression didn’t change at all. “It’ll take probably a day to get hold of Matt and at least two days for him to drive. He doesn’t fly. Until then, I want to start Leo’s training.”

Just the thought made her stomach roll. But she knew Gabriel well enough by now to know he wouldn’t let up. “And what does that include?”

“Self-defense, weapons, tactics, skills development. I need to find out what he can do before I’ll know what else we’ll need to teach him.”

Quinn stood. “Hey, I’m gonna leave you two to hash this out. I’ll go keep the kid company awhile.”

Gabriel turned to grin at Quinn. And all the air left the room. How did Gabriel manage to make her hot with just a smile? “Maybe you can finally beat someone on that damn thing.”

Quinn flipped him off with a smile. “I’d kick your ass, buddy.” Then he turned to her and winked. “Don’t let him bully you, Shea.”

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone with Gabriel. Strange things happened when she was alone with Gabriel. Emotions she had no time for, kisses she shouldn’t want, desires she couldn’t fulfill.

All wrapped up in a man she’d met only days before.

She stared into his steady brown eyes that never flinched. “You think Madrona will have answers?”

He nodded. “I think she’s our best bet.”

Not “your” best bet. “Our” best bet.

A simmering warmth began in her stomach, making her shift in her seat. Gabriel twisted her emotions in knots, an odd feeling for her.

“I still can’t believe Celeste never said anything about the curse,” he said.

“My mom wasn’t big on heart-to-hearts.” She shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position for her throbbing leg. “And I think my dad—”

Gabriel stood and carefully lifted her out of the chair. “Come on. Let’s find a better place for this conversation.”

She slid her arms around his neck without thought then tried to ignore the strength of his broad shoulders. And the warmth of his thick arms banded around her as he carried her through the hall. And the spicy male scent of him that made her stomach tighten in knots.

She didn’t look up at him. If he looked down, he’d see every one of her emotions.

And that would be a disaster.

So she stared at his jaw, at the black whiskers of his beard. And wondered what they’d feel like against her skin.

She barely noticed they’d walked back to the front of the house, past the room where Quinn and Leo played games to a backdrop of grinding metal and screeching guitars. She finally dragged her gaze away when he pushed open a door and carried her into a dark space. Setting her on a soft surface, he walked away. A few seconds later, the door clicked shut and light flooded the room.

She gasped. “Oh wow.”

From her seat on a soft leather club chair, Shea didn’t know where to look first.

The library was open to the second floor and its four walls were covered in books. A spiral staircase to the left of the door led to a small landing above. Two ladders ran on a rail system around the entire room, tall enough to the reach the top shelves under the ceiling.

“Cool, huh?” Gabriel’s smile reappeared as he sat in the matching chair across from her. He didn’t settle in, though. He rested on the edge, feet on the floor, elbows on knees.

Ready for action.

“What are they all?”

Her gaze continued to roam the walls, picking out what looked to be ancient stone tablets on a shelf between the floor and the first landing, and whole sections of books by some of the most famous fantasy writers in the world. An avid reader growing up, Shea had always imagined this was what heaven looked like.

“A lot of everything.” Gabriel’s voice echoed slightly. “The versipelli started this collection centuries ago. Some are grimoires, some are journals. There are whole sections devoted to different histories.”

“I could spend hours in here and never be bored.”

“This was where I spent most of my time when my dad and I would lay over here. The versipelli are rabid about history. I think you’ll be able to find better answers to some of your questions here than I can give you. Serena has the women’s journals at the compound, but the grigori histories are kept here. I never met your father but I heard he spent a lot of time here before he and Celeste disappeared.”

She nodded, smiling. “I can believe it. He had a story for everything. When I left…”

Her heart tightened in her chest, unable to finish. A memory of her parents flashed into her head. Her mom’s quiet laughter as her dad told Shea some outlandish story. He’d been good at stories, especially the ones about beautiful folletti with butterfly wings and foolish boys who swiped gold from mean Etruscan orciuli.

Would the pain of losing them ever diminish? And could she ever forgive them or understand why they’d never told her about the curse?

Gabriel didn’t say anything. She knew he wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t and, for that, she was grateful. She looked at him and found him watching her. So intently, she felt heat bubble in her stomach. “So, did you bring me in here just to let me look or do you have something to show me?”

His grin reappeared, the one that made her stomach drop to her knees. “Let me get your grandfather’s journal. Maybe he’ll have some answers for you.”

He walked to the wall behind them and climbed the library ladder nearly all the way to the ceiling. He stood there for at least thirty seconds looking at the spines before grabbing one and climbing back down.

The book he held would have made Buffy’s Rupert Giles giggle with glee—a thick, leather-bound manuscript. But Buffy was fiction. This was the real deal.

And this one had been written by her grandfather.

“I’ve never read this,” Gabriel said. “Not sure anyone else has, either. The grigori aren’t required to keep journals. And if they do, they’re not supposed to mention the cursed streghe by name. But if Marcus wrote like he told stories, it’ll be a hell of a read.”

She ran her hands over the cover, not opening it yet. She wanted Gabriel to talk more. Just the sound of his voice eased something inside her. “You knew him?”

“Yeah, I got to meet him a few times. He died when I was around ten.”

Which meant he’d been alive at her birth. She’d always assumed her grandparents were dead. Her parents had always talked as if they were. Still so much she didn’t know. “What was he like?”

“He trained as a grigorio, but because his father was still alive and caring for his strega, Marcus became a soldier. He was Special Ops for the U.S. government for years. Fought in World War II. Then he raised two of the best grigori there have ever been.”

She held onto the book but didn’t want Gabriel to stop talking just yet. “So my grandfather’s mother was a cursed strega?”

“Yes.”

“And my mother has a sister.”

“Yep.”

She sighed, feeling lost, as if she’d forgotten something she’d never known she needed and now couldn’t live without. “I feel like I’m trying to build a house without the blueprints.”

Gabriel settled back in the chair and she relaxed. He wasn’t going anywhere yet. She wasn’t about to acknowledge, even to herself, how comforting that was. “Maybe your grandfather knows something about the curse.”

She sighed. “That would be almost too easy, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded, the dark strands of his hair falling over his shoulder and drawing her gaze. The guy was just too damn gorgeous.

“Yeah, probably,” Gabriel said.

Shaking her head, she decided on another line of questioning. “So, how can you tell if you’re born grigori?”

“If he’s born to one of the thirteen, it just comes with the deal,” Gabriel said. “If he’s born to a grigorio and a woman who isn’t one of the streghe, there are ways to tell. Enhanced strength, hearing and sight, the ability to manipulate metal. Your brother has the sight, a shitload of arus and the tocadura. Probably more powers we don’t yet know about. That’s why he needs to be trained.”

She dropped her gaze to her grandfather’s journal as a chill whispered up her spine.

Leo was only six.

And I was four when Mom started my training.

“Hey. Shea.” His quiet tone made her eyelids fall. “He needs to know.”

She didn’t really have a choice, did she? She was unprepared for all of this, so in the dark. Even with all her dad had taught her, obviously it hadn’t been enough. And now she was responsible for Leo, too.

Did she want Leo to grow up as oblivious as she had? She realized her parents had thought they were protecting her by not telling her about the curse. But she knew they’d made the wrong choice.

She didn’t want Leo to be as clueless. Or hate her for withholding information.

Didn’t want to lose him to Dario because he couldn’t defend himself.

She raised her gaze to meet Gabriel’s and nodded. “Then I guess you should start.”

* * *

Gabriel left Shea in the library, nose stuck in her grandfather’s journal.

He left because, if he didn’t, he would’ve sat there and watched her read.

Ceffo.

Instead, he walked over to the TV room and stood in the doorway, waiting until Leo and Quinn, side-by-side on the floor, finished their race.

“Hey, kid. You kick Quinn’s a—butt?”

Leo looked up at him with big, dark eyes, so much like Nino’s he couldn’t stifle the slash of pain before it managed to nick him in the heart. He covered his expression well enough, though, because Leo didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s good.” Leo didn’t smile but his eyes brightened. “I’m better.”

“You just wait.” Quinn dropped the controller and leaned back against the sofa. “I’ll get you next time.”

Leo held out his controller to Gabriel. “Do you want to play?”

Damn, the kid was too good to be true. Gabriel didn’t want to like him so much, but it was hard not to.

“No, thanks. I’ve got another game we can play, though, if you want.”

Leo’s expression turned eager and he scrambled to his feet, the top of his head barely reaching the bottom of Gabriel’s rib cage. “Did Sissy say it was okay?”

Gabriel dismantled his smile in mid-formation. She’d taught the kid well. “Yeah, she did. Come on.”

Leo padded after him like a puppy, Quinn bringing up the rear as they headed to a stairway hidden behind a door in the dining room. Flipping the switch for the lights at the bottom of the stairs, Gabriel led them up, smiling at Leo’s gasp as the room came into sight.

“Wow. What is this?” he asked in a hushed whisper.

Gabriel stood aside so Leo could walk into the open space. “This is a training room.”

“For what?”

“Guys like us.”

Leo tore his gaze away from the sights to look at him. “Cool.”

Quinn laughed as Gabriel nodded. “Very cool.”

Overhead, skylights revealed the clear blue sky and illuminated the weapons lining the walls. Gabriel knew all their names, had been trained on all of them. Some were thousands of years old, like the double-edged gladius. Some were ceremonial, and some were experimental prototypes created by Digger and his father and grandfather.

Leo started at the closest wall, examining the cinquedea, the short sword of the Roman gladiators; ran his finger over the shafts of the hasta and pilum. He spent some time staring at the round, razor-sharp chakram before moving onto the Indian tiger-claw blades.

He walked halfway around the room before he stopped and reached for a matched pair of Malay kris. His hands already on the hilts of the blades, Leo turned to look at Gabriel. He never questioned instinct so he nodded.

He let the kid remove them from the wall and hold them in his hands, getting a feel for them.

“They’re called kris,” Gabriel said. “You want to learn how to use them?”

Leo’s eyes widened. “Can I?”

“Yeah, you can.” Gabriel squatted so he and Leo were eye-to-eye. “It’s time to find out what you can do, Leo. You up for it?”

He nodded, his expression becoming serious. “Daddy said I had to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To protect Shea.”

Christ, that was a hell of a lot of responsibility to put on a child’s shoulders, even one as powerful as Leo. But then, Shea was a special case.

“Did he tell you anything else, Leo? About your powers?”

Leo shrugged, his gaze dropping to the weapons in his hands. “Sometimes they scare me.”

Gabriel put his arms around the kid’s shoulders before he even thought about what he was doing. “You don’t have to be scared anymore, Leo. I’m gonna teach you how to control them. Okay?”

The little boy nodded but didn’t lift his gaze.

“Did your dad tell you anything else? About what you can do?”

Now Leo looked up and Gabriel saw something hard flash through the boy’s eyes. “He said Sissy would come for me and we’d have to take care of each other.”

“Well, Quinn and I are here to help you with that now. So…you want to get started?”

When Leo nodded, Gabriel set him on his feet and waved Leo onto the mats in the center of the room. “Quinn’ll get you going. I’ve got a call to make first.”

He had Quinn start Leo on stretches before taking him through some simple moves with the blades. Gabriel made sure they were okay before he headed for an alcove at the rear. He picked up the old-fashioned black receiver, turned a few numbers on the rotary dial and waited until he heard Phil ask, “Party, please?”

“Matteo Michael Tedaldi, Las Vegas.”

Phil paused before answering. “That may take a few hours, Gabriel. I will call you back at this extension when I’ve reached your party.”

He caught her just before she disconnected him. “I need another connection. Crimson Moon Productions.”

“Please hold and I’ll connect you.”

Serena answered on the fourth ring.

“Gabriel, is everything all right?”

He paused, hearing the careful way she tried to hide the slur in her voice. Shit, his mom was drunk. And according to his sisters, that was never a good sign. “Yeah, we’re all fine. Quinn got here this morning.” He decided against telling her about Quinn’s accident. She’d be able to handle that better when she was sober. “But I’ve decided we need to split up. I want to take Shea to Maddie after we bring the boy up to you. I’m going to call Matt in from Vegas for Leo. The kid’s strong. Really strong.”

Serena fell silent and he knew she was biting her bottom lip, thinking it over, trying to look at it from all angles. Damn, Mom…

After at least thirty seconds, she said, “I’ll speak to Maddie, tell her to expect your call.”

“We’re going to move out after I hear from Matt, hopefully later today. We’ll wait for Matt to arrive before Shea and I head to Louisiana.”

“You appear to have this all figured out.”

“Yeah well, I learned from the best.”

She chuckled, but it had a shaky sound to it. “Stay safe, Gabriel.”

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well. Stay safe.”

* * *

Serena’s head throbbed with a hangover and a vague sense of impending doom.

Looking at the bedside clock, she realized it was three in the afternoon. Dribbles of light seeped through the cracks where the curtains met the sill. Her mouth tasted like she’d eaten a whole bag of sour cream and onion chips and her throat was parched.

Groaning, she sat up and eased her legs over the side of the bed. The room spun around her for a few seconds before she got her feet on the ground.

She couldn’t remember coming back to bed. She hadn’t had a binge like that in years—

Quinn. She’d talked to Quinn last night.

Her temples pounded and her stomach rolled as their conversation came rushing back. Served her right. She’d said things to Quinn she’d never meant to say. Things he’d make her pay for the next time she saw him.

Because nothing had changed. Even though she’d told him how she felt, it didn’t change the facts.

She couldn’t be with him.

Losing her husband Nicolo five-hundred years ago had devastated her. But she’d had two teenage daughters to care for and they’d been on the run.

She still remembered that awful night in vivid detail, sometimes relived it in her dreams. After they’d burned Dafne, the villagers—men and women they’d grown up with and cared for for years—had stolen into their homes, slit the throats of the streghe and every member of their families then had carried the bodies to a mass grave.

She’d never forget the terror of her daughters’ muffled screams, the sensation of the dirt pouring down on their bodies. The blackness in the pit, buried alive.

Her lungs starved for air as she clawed her way out from under the dirt. Frantically digging for her daughters. Seeing the horror in her sixteen-year-old children’s eyes.

She hadn’t believed. Not until that moment, when their bodies healed what should have been Fatal wounds, that they had truly been cursed. She hadn’t believed and her husband had paid with his life, along with all the other streghe husbands and children not of the boschetta.

Bending at the waist, she took deep breaths, waiting for the nausea to recede. For the sounds to fade from her memory.

But the pain of losing Niccolo would never fade.

The second time she’d found him, his soul had been reincarnated three hundred years later as Charles Smithson, a farmer in 1820s New England. Losing Charles had hurt just as much as losing Niccolo.

If she committed her heart and something happened to her beautiful Quinn… She knew her heart would not survive this time.

Sliding off the bed without jarring her head or her stomach, she went to the kitchen and mixed a virgin Bloody Mary, adding mint for her stomach and rue for her head. She felt a little better after finishing the glass, enough to banish all thoughts of the physical and concentrate solely on the spiritual.

Down the hall, she knelt before her altar, the familiarity of the tools comforting. The wand from the walnut tree in Benevento, the black cauldron she hadn’t used to cook food for centuries, the athame her father had made for her.

After lighting the candles she made from beeswax, she opened the circle.

“Great Mother Goddess Uni, from whom all gifts emanate. I give thanks for your blessings.”

A whisper of power brushed against her arus, like a cat rubbing against her legs. It soothed her jangled nerves, gave her a sense of serenity she sorely needed.

With a tiny yank, she pulled the nail, in its key form, from around her neck and held it in her hands. Wrapping her fingers around it, she felt it transform, then placed it on the altar.

“Goddess Menrva, whose wisdom is all-knowing, I am humbled by your faith in me to watch your most precious gift. Accept my humble words as offerings, Great Mother Goddess Uni. Grant Your protection to my children and my loved ones. And give safe passage to those no longer with us.”

Poor sweet Tullia. Why her?

It was a question she knew better than to ask the Goddesses because, sometimes, there were no answers.

And in her darkest moments, Serena thought maybe, just maybe there were no answers because the Involuti, the founding deities of the Etruscan pantheon, had deserted them.

After she finished the prayer and banished the circle, Serena fell to the floor and let herself weep for Tullia’s death, her tears pooling in front of the altar. Another offering.

Several minutes later, after she’d worn herself out, she dried her tears and took a deep breath. She had work to do. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

In the office, she picked up the heavy black phone on the desk and called Madrona and Furia first. Her daughters would have only a vague notion of what had happened. Their Gifts, arrested at the time of the curse, were spotty.

The phone rang once before Maddie picked it up, her brisk hello erasing the lingering memories of her daughters’ screams.

“Hello, sweetheart, how are you today?”

“Mama! I was going to call you today. We haven’t heard from you for so long and we both felt something last night. How are you? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Goddess, Maddie could heap the guilt thicker with just a few words than Serena could ever hope to. Of course, they’d had five-hundred years to perfect their technique. But she wasn’t ready to answer her daughter’s last question yet.

“I’ve missed you, Maddie. What trouble are you and your sister getting into now?”

“Nothing much lately. Donal is a more-effective watchdog than the others you’ve sicced on us before. The bookstore is doing well, and Furia’s finally agreed to close that burlesque club and open a respectable business. How is everything up there?”

She couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Tullia’s gone, honey. Last night. I don’t have details yet, but…”

The silence from the other end of the phone throbbed with unspoken questions. Maddie always thought things through before she spoke, looked at all the angles.

“Brian, too?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” So much I don’t know.

“Do you want us to come?”

Oh, Goddess, yes. She missed her children. “Not yet. Soon. And Gabriel will be calling you. He’ll explain why.”

“Mama, is there something going on that we need to know?”

“I miss you, Maddie. You and Furia. I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up before she broke down again. She had other calls to make, calls that wouldn’t be as easy.

Sophia and Nerina would need to be contacted wherever they happened to be in Europe at the moment. She wouldn’t be able to notify Amalia. She had no idea where that girl was, though she’d tried for years to find her. She’d been the strongest after Dafne. She should have been the one to lead, not Serena. Serena didn’t have the strength.

But Amalia had deserted them almost immediately.

Serena would have to find her this time. Amalia needed to be told about Shea. The rest of the boschetta needed to be told about Shea.

But not yet. Not until she’d met the girl.

Then hopefully, together they could figure out how to break this miserable curse.

* * *

It took Shea a few minutes to open her grandfather’s journal.

She had the ridiculous sense that her life was about to change. The knowledge lay so heavy on her chest, she could barely breathe.

Get a grip, it’s just a book. No harm ever came from reading a book. At least not in real life.

“Just open it already,” she chided. “Do you really think you’re going to find a page titled ‘How to Break the Curse’?”

Forcing her fingers to obey, she cracked open the cover, nose wrinkling at the musty smell. Probably hadn’t been opened in decades.

She gasped as the first few pages slid away from the rest of the book, thinking the damn thing was going to crumble before she got to read it. Then she realized the journal was more of a folio. The outer leather covers enclosed several paper notebooks, each labeled with a range of years. The first was 1941-1950.

She read every word of the first few pages, brief entries that talked about his days in boot camp, preparing for World War II. Those pages were fascinating glimpses of a time long gone but not what she needed.

After a while, she started skimming pages, looking for key words—Kyle, Celeste, son, curse.

Her grandfather hadn’t been a real dedicated writer. He’d skipped whole years completely, wrote only a few passages for several years in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s.

Her dad’s birth in 1960 started a slew of entries that continued through the last journal, dated 1990.

Just the sight of her dad’s name made her chest tighten. Damn, she missed him.

Taking a deep breath, she wanted to read everything her grandfather had to say about her dad, but knew it would have to wait until she had more time. Now, she was supposed to look for answers.

She forced herself to skim her dad’s early years, his training as a grigorio, searching for anything that might have something to do with the curse. And then she found an entry from 1972.

Kyle had the dream again last night. Woke up screaming so loud, thought he’d wake the neighbors. Third time this week.

Rina and I haven’t talked about it, but she’s probably thinking the same thing I am. It’s been almost five hundred years since Paganelli’s curse took the streghe out of the natural order of life.

Still no sign of the daughter foretold by D before her death. The daughter to break the curse.

Unless K’s dream is a vision.

He described Dario perfectly, down to the mole on his cheek. K says he sees Dario stick a knife into his chest then into the chest of a dark-haired girl. The girl screams in agony and K wants to stop it but he can’t. It’s like he’s watching it on television. He can see what’s happening but he’s not there.

He says he doesn’t recognize the girl but I don’t believe him. Asked him to describe her, but it made him cry. Figured it wasn’t worth it. There’s so much pain in his eyes. He’s hiding something.

Was it at dream? Or a vision of things to come?

Maybe I don’t want know.

Flipping through the pages with shaking fingers, she searched for any more references to the dreams, anything else her dad might have told his father.

Was it her mother he’d been dreaming about?

Or her?

She found her answer several pages later.

C&K stopped to say goodbye. They’re disappearing. They want the girl to have a life before K’s dream comes to pass. Before the curse is ended.

A low drone buzzed in her ears and her temples throbbed, the start of a headache imminent.

Setting the journal on the table in front of her, she swallowed a few times, trying to keep her stomach from revolting.

That was her destiny? To die with a knife in her heart? At the hands of the monster who wanted her brother?

No. That couldn’t be it. It was too…gruesome.

But if that wasn’t how to break the curse then why had her parents run?

And why hadn’t they told her about the curse? Had they been trying to protect her? Or had her parents been biding their time until she was old enough to be sacrificed?

Her breath started to come in shallow pants, and her gaze fixed on the book in front of her.

No. It’s not fair. It’s not…

Vaffanculo. She couldn’t breathe.

She sat there, trying to calm down, trying not to panic. Not to give in to the feeling that she was fighting a losing battle.

So many questions. Too many questions. But she knew one thing for certain—her parents had believed she could break the curse.

And they’d knowingly hidden her from the rest of the boschetta.

The drone in her head grew, the voices buzzing. But they weren’t angry. No, they were upset.

Damn, her head hurt. She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the pain.

She knew what the voices were trying to tell her. They wanted her to know her parents had loved her. Her dad had told her every night before he tucked her in bed. Her mom… Had her mom ever said it?

She couldn’t remember her mom saying the words. Not once.

Rising from the couch, she started to pace, accepting the still-sharp pain in her leg to bring a little clarity to her brain.

Had her mom just been biding the time until she could sacrifice her daughter to end the curse?

The voices responded with a surge of denial that stopped her in her tracks.

No, she didn’t believe that, either. Her mom might have been aloof most of her life, but she hadn’t been plotting her own daughter’s death.

Come to think of it, aloof wasn’t the right word. As a child, she remembered asking her dad why her mom was always so sad. She didn’t remember his exact response. Couldn’t remember if he’d actually answered her.

As she’d gotten older, she’d translated sad into aloof. So many years she’d spent pissed off at her mom. At her distance, her unwillingness to connect. Her disapproval.

Had her mom just been overwhelmed at the thought that her daughter would have to have a knife stuck in her heart to break the curse?

“Shit, Mom. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Was she supposed to let a madman kill her to break a magical curse on five-hundred-year-old women she’d never met?

She laughed but slapped a hand over her mouth when the sound escaped. She sounded crazy.

Or course, she might be crazy. That would actually make more sense than believing her death could break a curse.

But she wasn’t crazy and she knew it.

If she broke the curse, would Dario stop pursuing Leo?

Could she save her brother by letting Dario kill her?

Fear made her shiver and she rubbed at the goosebumps breaking out all over her arms and legs. It made her stomach roll.

Not fair. So not fair.

“Yeah, like anything in life is fair,” she muttered. “What if…”

She didn’t finish. She had too many questions and no answers. Would Serena or Madrona have answers? And to which questions?

“Stop, just stop. You don’t have the answers and you’re going to make yourself sick with worry.”

And she couldn’t afford that. They couldn’t afford that. She had to think about Leo.

And Gabriel. Actually, she was probably thinking too much about that man. About his dark, steady eyes. Broad shoulders, wide chest and slim hips. She allowed herself one brief minute to fantasize about what she might do with Gabriel and a few uninterrupted hours. The feel of his body covering hers, his hair trailing along her skin…

She stepped forward—and the throb of pain in her leg killed that daydream. Still, it didn’t hurt as badly as it had, and she bent her leg at the knee a few times, testing her mobility. She’d healed fairly quickly. That was a good sign.

Walking out of the library, she heard the ping of metal on metal and followed the sound to the stairs in the dining room. In the stairwell, she heard their voices perfectly.

“You’re doing fine, Leo.” Gabriel sounded pleased. “Just remember to move your feet when you parry. Try that move again. Keep your arms loose, drop your shoulders. There, like that. It makes it easier to maneuver the blades.”

“Did you use these, Gabriel?” Leo’s sweet voice carried down to her.

“No, I started with a bo staff. It’s not something you can carry around, but you can take that training and apply it to most anything you can pick up on the street.”

She could practically hear Leo turning that one over in his brain in the short silence that followed. “You mean like sticks?”

“Yeah and other stuff.”

“Show me?”

“Sure. Hang on a sec.”

Not wanting to miss the show, but not wanting to distract them, she drew on her arus and whispered the spell to pull a glamour over her body, ignoring the slight throb in her temples. She crept up a few more stairs until she could see the room. And the two hot men and one little boy.

Leo sat cross-legged on a corner of the huge mat covering half the floor space, his wide-eyed gaze glued to Gabriel. Quinn rested against the opposite wall, using his discarded shirt as a pillow. He looked tired, a sheen of sweat on his lean body. Quite the sight for any red-blooded female.

But it was Gabriel who made her hormones dance the happy dance as he walked into the middle of the circle, shirtless, holding a long wooden pole. That chest should be classified a deadly weapon. Deadly to her common sense because she wanted to lick the beaded sweat off his skin.

He’d taste amazing, she decided. Salty and hot and…

Well, shit. She dragged her gaze away from his chest and checked out his weapon. And she didn’t mean the one in his pants, though, she decided after a quick check, maybe she—

Bad Shea.

Regretfully, she focused her gaze on the bo staff, looking almost delicate in his large hands, but, she knew from watching her dad train that the pole could be just as deadly as any gun.

Gabriel started slow, the weapon slicing the air with a gentle whoosh. As he picked up speed, she could tell he’d logged many hours with the instrument.

His movements were as graceful as any ballet and just as hypnotizing. Concentration shone in his eyes as he dipped and swayed and swung the staff, gaining momentum.

Gabriel’s body moved in a dance of strength and power, and soon she wasn’t watching the staff. Instead, she watched the play of muscles in his broad shoulders as he swung the weapon over his head, let her gaze glide to his strong forearms as he brought the staff down hard, stopping just before it hit the ground.

Then he crouched, drawing her gaze to the black cargo pants molded over his bulging thighs.

She didn’t notice Quinn had moved until he was in the ring. He’d picked up another staff and now swung it at Gabriel’s head from behind. She managed to stifle her gasp just as Gabriel turned and blocked the swing.

Grinning, Gabriel stood and the fight began in earnest. It looked almost choreographed, like something they’d worked on for years. But she knew by the amount of effort they put into it that this was no memorized routine.

They fought each other with a ferocity that would have been frightening if she hadn’t known how much they cared for each other. Their staffs met with solid snaps as they tried to find the other’s weakness, moving all over the mat. They never came close to Leo, though, and Shea knew that took a high level of skill.

They must have fought for close to ten minutes, neither of them gaining the advantage for long.

When it seemed like Gabriel had Quinn on the defensive, Quinn would retreat then attack with a burst of speed. Gabriel never faltered, no matter what Quinn threw at him. He wore the other man down, letting Quinn get close then beating him back.

And when Quinn finally made one wrong move, Gabriel took out his legs with one swipe. Quinn hit the mat with a hard smack and Gabriel had the tip of the staff pointed at his neck in half a second.

Quinn started to laugh and Gabriel’s intent expression faded into a smile that wasn’t any less fierce. He tossed the staff to the side and extended his hand to Quinn, who promptly tried to throw Gabriel over his head. But Gabriel must have known what Quinn had in mind because he braced and flipped Quinn away. Still laughing.

“I never could get you to fall for that one.” Quinn stood and brushed himself off. “Good to know you haven’t lost your edge with age, buddy.”

“You’re still telling, Quinn. Those cub eyes do you in every time.”

“Yeah, but only because you know me too well. My enemies fear me, kid.” Quinn turned to wink at Leo then looked straight at Shea. “And the ladies love me.”

She should have known the glamour wouldn’t work with these two, and she dispelled it with a huff. Jeez, Leo could probably see through it now.

“Sissy, did you see? I’m going to fight like that.”

Bittersweet emotion filled her chest at the excitement in Leo’s voice. Seemed he’d finally found something to talk about. Standing, she walked up the stairs, aware that Gabriel watched her every move.

“That was beautiful.” She stopped at the top of the stairs, knowing if she got any closer she wouldn’t be able to resist sniffing the sweat on Gabriel’s body, his olive-toned skin shimmering in the bright sunlight from the skylights. The only other outward sign of his physical exertion was the faster pace of his breathing. She had to tear her gaze away before she drooled. “Did you and Quinn train together?”

Gabriel nodded. “For a few years, yeah. Of course, Quinn liked to play dirty.”

“Hey, I had no control over my change back then.” He tried to sound pissed off, but she didn’t think Quinn did anger. She didn’t think he was made for it. “Whenever I got excited or frightened, I’d grow claws. One of the lucani defense mechanisms. We learn how to control it as we get older, but Gabe has a few scars to show for it.”

“So do you.” Gabriel turned to replace the staff on the wall and she noticed the faint scar of claw marks near the waistband of his jeans.

“Yeah, but you never gave me a hassle about yours.”

“Then I guess I was too easy on you.” Gabriel stopped in front of Leo and held out his hand, which Leo didn’t hesitate to take, letting Gabriel pull him to his feet. And he didn’t let go.

Jealousy rose, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Goddess, how stupid was she? Forcing a smile, she reached out to ruffle Leo’s too-long bangs.

“Did you learn a lot, bud?”

Leo nodded, looking a little unsure now that he was standing in front of her, unsure how she would respond. “It was cool.”

Her smile softened at the excitement in his tone. “Then you’ll have to show me. But how about after we get something to eat? I bet you’re hungry.”

Now he gave her the tiniest bit of a smile, as if trying to remember how to do it, and the jealousy abated. A little.

“How about a snack?” she said. “I’m in the mood for chocolate.”

Gabriel laid his hand on her forearm as she turned to go, stopping her in her tracks. His hand felt slick and warm against her skin, making her heart pound. “Shea, give me a minute. Leo, go with Quinn, okay?”

Leo didn’t even hesitate. Just nodded and followed Quinn down the stairs.

“Did you find anything?”

She dropped her gaze and she knew Gabriel would know she was lying. But she wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

“I need more time to go through the rest of journals. There’s a lot of information. I just…need some time.”

When she fell silent, she held her breath, knowing he wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily. Of course, he wanted to hear what she’d learned. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

“Fine.” Surprise made her gaze jump back to his, staring down at her with compassion. “I’ve got a question for you.”

Gabriel dropped his hand and she nearly grabbed for him, restraining herself at the last minute. She needed something to hold onto and he was fast becoming her rock.

“If I tell you to shoot me, will you do it?”

Her mouth dropped open. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He walked to a large chest on the back wall and pulled out one of the drawers. “Just what I said. If I tell you to shoot me, will you do it?”

Had he lost his mind? “Why would you tell me to do that?”

He turned to face her again, a small revolver in his hand. It looked downright silly there, feminine. Walking back to her, he held out the gun, butt first, determination etched on his face. “I won’t be taken by Dario’s men. If it looks like I will be, I want you to kill me. I won’t let them have that pleasure. So, can you do it? Will you shoot me if I tell you to?”

Could she? Gabriel stared at her with his steady dark gaze, hair loose around his shoulders.

The man was gorgeous. He had the body of an Etruscan god—broad shoulders, wide chest, narrow waist and muscular legs. But it wasn’t just the size of his body, so much as the way he held himself. His confidence.

She transferred her gaze to the gun in his hand, a Beretta Px4 Storm. Like the one she’d had to leave behind in their apartment in the city.

Grasping the weapon by the butt, she pointed the muzzle down and away. She checked to make sure the safety was on then checked to see if it was loaded. Yes to both questions.

She wasn’t afraid of guns. Her father had trained her well, and she’d become proficient over the years, though the only thing she’d ever shot had been targets.

She would shoot anyone who tried to take Leo. But could she shoot Gabriel?

She shook her head and looked away. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I could pull the trigger.”

“Come on, baby, you know you want to hurt me.”

His tone teased a reluctant smile out of her. “Yeah, you’re a bastard, but I still don’t know if I could do it.”

“Let’s hope you don’t have to find out.”

He turned and walked down the stairs.

She took the gun to her room and hid it in her backpack then returned to the kitchen where the guys had a smorgasbord of junk food laid out on the table. Quinn had made sandwiches, enough for all of them. But chips, pretzels, cookies, candy and soda littered the table as well. All the things she’d tried so hard not to let Leo get hooked on. A habit she’d picked up from her mom. The first time she’d tasted chocolate, she’d been fifteen. Her dad had given her a Godiva chocolate bar as a birthday present.

Of course, she’d been hooked after that and, when she’d started to make secret forays into the nearest town, chocolate was always the first thing she’d buy.

The males congregated at the table, talking about weapons and fighting, guy stuff. She pulled herself onto the counter to munch Double Stuff Oreos and watch the testosterone show. Men were interesting creatures, particularly in the way they dealt with each other.

Quinn and Gabriel appeared to be on their best behavior, she assumed because of Leo and, for that, she wanted to kiss them. Both of them. Okay, maybe she’d give Quinn a hug, but Gabriel she wanted to keep in her arms for a while.

And that was probably the worst thing that could happen. But damn, he was fascinating.

“When did you know what you are, Gabriel?”

Leo’s boyish voice rang out through the rustle of bags and the background music of AC/DC coming from a small CD player on the counter.

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. “My dad started my training at birth, I think. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know what I am.”

Must have been nice, she thought, to have a purpose in life from the time you were born. She’d grown up without one, never knowing from one day to the next what life held for her. She hadn’t cared until she’d realized there was more to the world than their house and the forest. Then she’d discovered ballet and thought she’d found her reason for living.

“Where’d you grow up?” Leo asked.

“Mostly southeastern Pennsylvania.”

“What about your mom?”

Gabriel paused before answering. “I didn’t see my mom much.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t safe.”

“Why?”

Shea was sure Gabriel would redirect Leo’s question. He surprised her.

“Because those men that are after you, they’re after my mom, too. She didn’t want anything to happen to me until I could defend myself.”

Leo’s expression hardened into one she’d never seen. It was mean with determination, anguish and fury. “They killed my parents.”

Grief, biting and terrible, knifed through her.

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, they did. And that’s why we’re here. The women need us to protect them. They have power, but they’re not fighters. We fight for them.”

Leo looked over at her. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Shea.”

Tears she couldn’t control sprang to her eyes but she blinked them back and smiled at her brother, forty pounds of skin and bones with too-long dark hair, big brown eyes and a solemn expression.

“I know, bud.”

“Hey, Shea.”

Gabriel’s voice drew her attention. She couldn’t read his expression. There was something in his eyes, something she wanted so badly to decipher.

“What?” she asked, but didn’t get answered.

The phone rang.

Chapter Twelve

Quinn waited for Gabe to get the phone but the guy never acknowledged its ringing.

Hell, his gaze didn’t stray from Shea for the slightest second. Probably didn’t even hear the phone, if his expression was anything to go by. He’d never seen Gabe so fixated on a woman before. Any other time, Quinn would jump for joy. Now…

With a sigh, Quinn snagged the receiver off the wall.

“Speak fast.”

“Quinn? Quinn, is that you?”

The voice on the other end of the phone froze him in place.

Shit, not now.

He had to swallow to loosen his tongue. “Hey, Tammi. How’s it going?”

Gabriel turned to stare at him.

Oh, sure, now he had the guy’s attention.

“Quinn, it is you.” The young woman sounded so happy, guilt practically knocked him on his ass. “I thought you fell off the face of the earth. I had to badger your boss all day to get this number. Where are you?”

“Sorry, I…had to go out of town on the spur of the moment. We got notice of an audit at one of the clubs in Maryland. Is something wrong?”

Tammi huffed and, in Quinn’s mind, he could see the woman the outside world believed to be his girlfriend. A twenty-two-year-old Villanova master’s student in theater policy, Tammi Graves was blond, blue-eyed and brilliant. Except for the fact that she considered him the perfect boyfriend. She thought he was a normal guy with a normal life, a steady CPA for a chain of clubs and restaurants.

It was scary how much she didn’t know. Would never know.

Quinn closed his eyes and turned away from Gabriel’s intent stare and Shea’s unspoken questions.

On the phone, Tammi laughed, a sexy little trill that didn’t do a damn thing for him. “No, sweetie, there’s nothing wrong. I just wanted to talk. Are you busy? You didn’t call last night and I got a little worried.”

Christ, he didn’t need this now. Not now. He hated this fucking charade. It wasn’t fair to Tammi, but Cole Luporeale, Legate of the American Legio, the lucani army, insisted he put on the show of a normal life, including a human girlfriend.

“I’m fine, Tam. Just busy. Didn’t get back to the hotel room until early this morning.”

“Where are you staying? The receptionist sounded really strange.”

Stifling a slightly hysterical laugh, he took a deep breath. “A dive. Couldn’t find a real room. There’s some convention in town.”

“So when are you coming home? I miss you already.”

The pain in his chest tightened and he found himself trying to massage it away. Christ, could this get any worse? “Soon. Listen, I’ve got to get moving but I’ll call you later, okay? We’ll make plans for dinner when I get back.”

“Okay. Don’t work too hard, Quinn.”

“Never. See you soon.”

By the time he hung up the phone, the weight on his chest had morphed into a blinding pain behind his eyeballs.

Silence reigned in the room. Even Leo seemed to know not to intrude.

Quinn drew back his fist and hit the wall as hard as he could. Fire shot through his arm and shoulder and down his spine. It cleared his mind of everything but the pain. At least this pain would heal.

“Quinn.” Gabriel’s voice sliced through the tension. He ignored Gabe and pulled back again. Before he connected, Gabriel grabbed his wrist.

“Quinn, you’ll break your hand and we don’t have the time.”

“I hate this, Gabe. I fu—” He caught himself before he singed Leo’s ears. “I just hate it.”

He looked up, found Gabe nodding in agreement. “I know. It sucks. But the alternative, if you’re discovered—if any of us are—is worse. That can’t happen.”

“I know.” He took in a deep breath, held it then let it out again. “I know. But I don’t have to like it. She’s a nice girl. I don’t love her. I’ll never love her. She deserves more than that. And so do I.”

Gabriel heard the frustration in Quinn’s voice, saw the pain in his eyes. He knew where it came from and ached for his best friend. Still, he understood Serena’s reasoning. He couldn’t resist a quick look at Shea. He understood those reasons too well.

He released Quinn’s wrist. “It’s been a long day. For all of us. Why don’t we chill out for a while, get some rest. I’m hoping Matt will get back to me tonight so we can leave. If that’s three in the morning, all the better. Shea.” He turned, found her gaze glued to his, questions he didn’t want to answer right now in her eyes. “Take Leo back to bed, try to get some sleep. I don’t know when we’ll go, but when it’s time, we’ll move fast.”

She paused then nodded, and he was almost sorry she didn’t fight him. He’d given her an order and typically she didn’t take them well. Instead, she nodded at Leo and they left.

His gaze followed them all the way out the door.

When he turned back, Quinn’s grin was shaky but there.

Gabriel glared at him. “Don’t start, furball. Come on. I want to do a little recon.”

* * *

Shea lay with Leo on the bed he’d slept in last night.

He’d fallen asleep the second his head hit the pillow. His sleep patterns were going to be completely screwed up.

Listening to his deep, even breathing in the dark, her hand stroking his back, Shea wasn’t tired at all.

Her heart ached for Quinn. She wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but she could piece together enough to make sense. Quinn had a girlfriend who knew nothing about his real life. A life he couldn’t disclose without putting a lot of people in danger.

Shea had grown up knowing there were other races in the world besides humans, races like the lucani and the winged folletti and the half-hided salbinelli.

What would Quinn’s girlfriend do if he told her the truth? If he told her he could grow fur and become a wolf? Would she laugh and think he was joking? Think he was crazy? Would she run screaming if he showed her?

Would she still want him?

She wondered, for like the millionth time, what a normal life would have been like. To grow up in the suburbs with parents who were school teachers or accountants. To believe magic meant pulling a rabbit out of a hat and that people who could scramble your brains with a muttered spell or children who could make things burn with the touch of their hands only existed in the movies.

Would she want to be so clueless?

Blessed Goddess, no.

Sure, there were scary things in the world, but being clueless didn’t mean they wouldn’t get you. She’d much rather know what was coming.

Which was where her parents had gone wrong. They had withheld information and, somehow, she’d known. She’d run away, thinking she could find answers to all her questions in the outside world.

She hadn’t found a damn thing. And her parents had died.

Heavy footsteps stopped outside their door. She forced herself to close her eyes and breathe slowly when Gabriel pushed open the door to the bedroom.

He had to be able to tell she wasn’t asleep but he didn’t say anything. Seconds later, he pulled the door closed. Seconds after that, she heard them enter a room down the hall.

Might as well forget sleep. She needed a cup of tea.

In the kitchen, waiting for the microwave to finish her water, she stood in the open doorway that led to the garden at the back of the house, barely visible in the deepening shadows of early evening. The scents of oregano, basil, thyme and rose calmed her, reminded her of her mom’s greenhouse, where she’d grown her flowers and herbs used in spell-casting.

Stepping out into the garden, she ran her hands over the herbs, plucking a lemon thyme leaf to crush and hold to her nose. The sound of running water caught her ear and she let her gaze run over the garden until she found the small waterfall burbling from a rocky outcrop at the edge of the tree line.

The water flowed in a steady stream out of the earth, down the fall and into a rock pile before seeping back into the ground. Even in the dusk, Shea saw the runes covering each rock. A shrine to the Moon God Tivr. Made sense considering this was a lucani safe house and the wolves worshipped the Moon God in particular.

She should make an offering. Even though she wasn’t lucani, it couldn’t hurt to have another god on her side. But she didn’t have a traditional votive—a small statue or vase used as an offering.

Looking around, she spied the pale glow of white moon flowers. Perfect.

After snapping off a few blooms, she stood in front of the shrine and pricked her thumb on a sharp rock. Rubbing a few drops of blood on the petals, she tossed the flowers into the water.

“With my blood and this offering, I ask for your protection, Tivr. Lend me your strength to battle those who would harm my brother.”

As the flowers hit the water and nestled in among the rocks, a howl split the air. Startled, she took a step away from the spring. Were there real wolves in these forests? Or had Quinn decided to take a stroll?

A gray wolf emerged from the trees, its loping gait steady but not threatening. Stopping at the top of the fall, the animal sat, staring down at her. He was huge and should have made her fear for her life. But Gods, he was gorgeous, sleek and muscular. And there was something about the way he looked at her, something about his eyes…

Oh, wow.

She dropped into a curtsy, the action a completely spontaneous response to the presence of a god.

“Tivr, Lord of the Silver Light. I am honored by your presence.”

The wolf didn’t come any closer, just stared at her for several moments before inclining his head and letting loose another howl.

Power emanated from him and his beauty amazed her. She wanted to run her fingers through his fur, which looked more luxurious than any mink or sable ever could.

Could you pet a god? Probably not.

So she held her curtsy, even though it hurt her leg to do so, and waited for him to move first.

After a few seconds, he hopped down from the top of the fall to sniff at the flowers she’d offered, then sat at her side, caught her fingers lightly in his teeth and tugged on them. It took her a few seconds to figure out that he wanted her to sit. So she did, cross-legged on the ground in front of the shrine.

Though she knew the Etruscan deities, with the exception of the Involuti, lived among them, she’d never knowingly met one. Should she look him in those silver eyes and tell him what she wanted?

“Yeah, that would probably be a good place to start.”

She gasped as the wolf spoke in a perfectly human voice.

And when he laughed, her mouth dropped open.

“Kinda weird, huh? Wolf talking. You’ll get used to it.” Tivr sat on his haunches and tilted his head to the side. “So, sweetheart. You got yourself a damn fine mess, don’t you?”

For a few brief seconds, Shea considered the possibility that she’d fallen asleep next to Leo and this was all a dream.

“Nope, this is no dream, kid, so just spit it out.”

And what could she say that wouldn’t sound like whining? She so did not want to whine to a god.

“I’m worried about my brother,” she said finally. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect him. That I’ll fail my parents and let something happen to him.” She paused, looking up to meet the god’s silver gaze. “Do you… Can you…”

She bit her lip. Could she ask a god a question? Was it allowed? Oh, what the hell. “Do you know how to break the curse?”

The wolf shook his head. “Sorry, sweets, I don’t. That’s between Uni and Menrva and Veive. None of the other gods know either. Believe me, it’s not the first time someone’s asked.”

Despair hit her with the weight of a ton of bricks. If the deities didn’t have a clue, then her father’s vision was all she had to go on. And that just sucked.

“Hey, now, don’t fall apart on me.” Tivr nudged her shoulder with his snout, his soft warm fur brushing against her arm. “There’s always more than one way to eat a cat, babe. Just because you think you have an idea, doesn’t mean it’s the right one. Sometimes you need to think outside the box. Besides, change is coming, sweets, and you need to be ready.”

The intensity in his tone sent shivers down her back. “Ready for what?”

His fur bristled. “Battle. Gonna be a doozy, too. But then, the Mal never did go in for half measures. You need to be ready, babe. You and the kid.”

The Mal? Battle? Her and Leo in a battle against the Mal? Didn’t they have enough trouble with Dario?

She shook her head, wondering if she’d fallen and hit her head. Was she hallucinating? Goddess save her, she wished she were because Tivr was starting to freak her out. But she really didn’t want to piss off a god by asking too many questions.

“I don’t understand.”

Tivr sighed, a weird sound coming from a wolf. “No reason you would, huh? Not many do anymore. Used to be, we had temples full of priests and priestesses deciphering our every word.” He snorted. “Today, most don’t make it to temple once a month. They don’t practice the old ways. They turn to the Weather Channel to see if it’s going to be a good growing season or watch CNN to know if there’s trouble brewing in the world.

“No one studies the skies, the flights of the birds for omens. Those damn PETA people would be all over us if we started slicing up sheep for entrails. Hell, people aren’t even afraid of lightning any more, which would really frost Tinia’s cookies, if the bastard ever decides to show his face on Earth again.”

Her eyes widened at Tivr’s blasphemy but he didn’t take notice.

“The old ways are ignored but we need them, sweets. We knew when we followed our people to the new world…we knew change was on the way.”

He turned and his mouth curved in a toothy grin. “And you’re the front guard. You and your brother. The kid’s strong. So are you. Gabriel’s a good man to have at your back and so is Quinn. Things’ll work out. You’ll see. They have to. Just don’t make any rash decisions.”

As the wolf rose to his paws, Shea remained seated and bowed her spinning head. “Thank you for your counsel, Lord Tivr.”

“Don’t mention it. And I mean that seriously. This little section of woods has become my sanctuary. I’d like to keep it that way. See you around, sweets.”

With a final howl, the wolf turned and disappearing back into the forest.

Holy crap. She’d just had a conversation with a god.

She needed to talk to Gabriel.

* * *

Wrapped in the power of the spell he and Quinn were working, Gabriel wasn’t aware of Shea’s presence until he heard her step into the second-floor map room behind them.

He’d known she wasn’t asleep when he’d stuck his head in the bedroom, but he hadn’t disturbed her. They could all do with down time.

Besides, he needed to get her off his mind. He’d been thinking about her way too damn much. And there was too much at stake for him to forgo common sense and lose himself in her body for one night.

But, damn, he wanted to.

His tongue tripped over a word and he felt the power around him shift. Shit. He needed to concentrate. He was searching for signatures, life signatures that would pinpoint any persons of Etruscan descent in a fifty-mile radius. His father could have done a hundred miles, but he wasn’t that good. Quinn’s connection to the forces that had built this safe house boosted his powers slightly. It would have to be enough. He couldn’t allow anything—

“Shit!”

He broke the connection with Quinn and the spell when he realized the stupid mistake he’d just made.

He turned to find Shea’s eyes had rolled back into her head and she remained upright only because her knees had locked.

“Shea, downstairs. Now.”

“Gabriel, I can hear them. The voices. They’re—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He ran for her, catching her just as her legs buckled. Holding her against his chest, he took the stairs two at a time back to the first floor.

She was incoherent by the time he got her into the first bedroom he came to.

“Damn, I’m sorry, babe.” He placed her on the bed, completely pissed. “Fuck.”

“Christ, Gabe. Is she okay?” Quinn asked from behind him.

He shook his head, his gaze glued to Shea. “I don’t know. Hey, babe, can you hear me?”

She didn’t answer. She had her eyes squeezed tightly shut but two tears ran from the corners. He wanted to kick something. How could he have been so stupid not to realize what that room would do to her?

When the hell was he going to stop failing those who needed him?

* * *

Shea never really passed out.

She knew what was going on around her, could hear Gabriel and Quinn talking, heard Quinn leave. She couldn’t speak to tell them she was okay, but she thought she was.

She just couldn’t make her body obey her commands because she was listening to the voices in her head. For the first time in her life, she heard them clearly. Distinct voices, all speaking at the same time.

She knew what those voices were now.

When they started to fade, she opened her eyes and looked directly into Gabriel’s dark, worried gaze.

“Déjà vu, huh?” She smiled, thankful there were no painful side effects from…whatever had happened.

He shook his head and the grooves on his forehead deepened. “I screwed up and you paid. How do you feel?”

“Actually,” she swung her legs over the side of the bed so she could sit up, “I feel fine.”

Gabriel’s hands settled with a warm, steady weight on her shoulders. “Don’t move around too much. You might feel okay lying down, but—”

“I’m okay, Gabriel. Really.” She couldn’t help but smile up at him. “I heard them. The voices. Really heard them. I could understand what they were saying, what they’ve been trying to tell me for so long.”

He released her shoulders and sat back on the chair he’d pulled to the side of the bed. “What do you mean?”

She grimaced as she held up a hand. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going crazy. I heard them. They’re not figments of my imagination or schizophrenia.”

Gabriel’s arms crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows lifted, his expression skeptical. “Oh yeah? So what are they?”

Without thinking, she reached out to cup his jaw with her hands, the rough scrape of his whiskers dazzling her skin. “It’s the women. The cursed streghe.”

His expression shifted, became wary. “How do you know?”

“Because I heard my mother.”

He froze for a split second and she saw astonishment quickly followed by doubt flash through his eyes.

Her chest tightened, and she blinked back sudden tears. Damn it, that shouldn’t hurt. She drew back but not fast enough. He caught her hands before she could get far. Still, the damage had been done.

He didn’t believe her. And she cursed him for making her doubt herself.

“Shea, wait.”

“Fuck you, Gabriel.” She lashed out before she could help herself then shook her head, trying to tug her hands away from his. He held on, not enough to hurt, just enough to let her know he wasn’t going to let go.

“Okay, sure.” He nodded as if she’d asked him to clean out her car or feed the dog. “If that’s what you want, no problem.”

She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her but her breath stuttered in her lungs at the image that popped into her head of Gabriel and her and a bed—

Shit. “Gabriel—”

“Shea, just give me a minute here, okay? I’m not saying I don’t believe you.”

That brought her chin up. “I don’t need you to believe me. I know what I know. I have to go back and try to understand—”

He nodded, his jaw losing the stubborn edge it nearly always wore. “Fine. Great.” He tugged on her hands, wanting her to look up. But she knew if she did, she’d get more pissed off and take a swing at that strong jaw. Or kiss it. “I’m glad you know what’s going on. But you’re not going back up there.”

“What? Why?” Now she did meet his gaze and hers was blazing. “Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

“Shea, listen to me. That room will drain you dry. It might even kill you.”

“What are you talking about?” She pulled away, and this time he let her go. Damn him, she did not miss the warmth of his hands. She scowled that much harder.

“Versipelli energy is drawn from nature,” he said. “It’s not inherent, like in the streghe. The versipelli built that room to funnel power. It intensified your innate power before funneling it right out of you. If you’d stayed much longer, it would have killed you.”

His expression twisted again, and he shook his head, drawing her gaze to his dark hair. He’d lost the leather band that had been holding it back and it waved over his shoulders. He had beautiful hair, almost too pretty to be a guy’s.

“I wasn’t thinking.” He rose and started to pace. “I should have told you to go when I realized you were there. God damn it, you could have been really hurt, Shea.”

He was pissed. She saw it in the way he stalked around the room.

“Gabriel—”

“You’re not going back in there.” He slashed a hand in front of him with so much force she swore she heard it slap the air. “So don’t even think about it.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, ready to let him have it, the stubborn, overbearing, pompous—

He slammed his fist into the wall by the door, exactly as Quinn had earlier today. She swore she heard bones crunch.

“Gabriel!” She jumped off the bed and ran to him, grabbed his hand before he could do it again. “You idiot. What the hell are you doing?”

“Vaffanculo , Shea, you could have been killed.”

She looked up and found him staring at her, fear and anger making his dark eyes wild. He was mad at himself, she realized, not with her. It was a strange, warm feeling, to have someone worry about her. It’d been so long.

She took a deep breath and reached for calm. Gabriel had enough mad for the both of them right now. “I’m fine. Gabriel, really. I’m better than fine. Let me see your hand.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at her. She couldn’t handle that intensity for long and dropped her gaze to their hands. His knuckles were raw and bleeding. She felt his pain as if it were his own, felt it in her gut. Her Gift reached out to fix him, to make him better.

Or maybe it was the woman who wanted to take him in her arms and—

He flipped his hand and laced his fingers through hers.

She watched their fingers slide together, felt the roughness of his skin against hers. She blinked when he raised his free hand and tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes.

He drew in a breath and she knew, before he lowered his mouth, that he wanted to kiss her.

Oh, please, yes.

She wanted him to kiss her, wanted that connection, to taste him again…

At the last second, he closed his eyes and let his head drop back.

“We need to get the hell out of here.” He drew in a deep breath and released her hand. “You’re screwing with my head. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“I’m not—”

Gabriel exhaled one short, hard breath. “Shea. Please. Just…give it a rest.”

She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but his expression made her pause. Worry showed in the furrows of his forehead and the flat line of his mouth. And that made her swallow anything she might have said.

Taking a deep breath, Gabriel released her hands. “We’re leaving, as soon as we can get the hell away from here. Get your stuff together and wake Leo. I’m going back upstairs to finish what I started.”

He looked straight into her eyes, worry firmly entrenched there, as well. “I don’t want you anywhere near that room. Do you understand?”

It took everything she had to keep quiet when she simultaneously wanted to beat him over the head and kiss him. Instead, she managed a short nod, jaw clamped tight. He responded with a nod of his own and walked out.

Chapter Thirteen

The trip was uneventful.

And deadly silent.

Gabriel sat at the wheel of the Jeep Wrangler he’d traded for the Audi at the safe house, still berating himself.

Shea and Leo huddled in the backseat, while an unusually silent Quinn sat in the front. They were headed to Crimson Moon, Serena’s compound outside Reading, and Quinn was probably trying to figure out what to say to her.

And he sat here, trying not to think about the female in the back seat. She’d finally fallen asleep about fifteen minutes ago, Leo’s head on her shoulder. She hadn’t spoken to him since they’d left the safe house.

It bugged the crap out of him.

It shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even be thinking about her. But he couldn’t stop.

And he had a lot of damn time to think. He knew the way to the compound on the northeastern side of the city as well as he knew his own name. Located in the forest that covered Mt. Penn, on a narrow path that wound up the mountain, the house was disguised by a complex series of spells and wards that no one who didn’t know the correct procedure to bypass them would ever get through.

Quinn shifted on the seat beside him, and Gabriel heard him take a deep breath then release it. These woods had always called to Quinn, just as they called to Serena.

Which made sense, considering Serena and Niccolo, her husband at the time of the curse, had been blood-bound, their souls tied together throughout eternity.

And Quinn, according to Serena, held Niccolo’s soul.

Hell, if being blood-bound to another person made you as miserable as Quinn and Serena… Yeah, he’d take a pass.

Gabriel slowed then brought the car to a stop. “You want to get out and stretch your legs before we get up there?”

A weak grin surfaced on Quinn’s face as he stared out the front window. “Want a little time alone with Shea, huh?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Vaffanculo, ceffo.”

“Dude, I got eyes. Not that I blame you. She’s great. And she looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Gabriel flashed a look in the rearview, making sure Shea was still asleep. “Baciami il culo, Quinn. She’s a job.”

But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie.

And he knew Quinn wasn’t buying it, if his shit-eating grin was anything to go by. “She’s smart and strong and she doesn’t take your shit. She’s not too hard on the eyes, either.”

Gabriel shook his head but couldn’t dispute a word of it.

Still, he knew why Quinn was picking at him. “Maybe now, with Shea… Maybe Serena will—”

Quinn’s snort cut him off. “You know her better than that, Gabriel. She’s even more stubborn than you. And it’s eating me alive. I’ve been sitting here dreading this but so damn excited to see her I’m shaking. She’s never going to give in. And for my own sanity, I’ve gotta hear her tell me to get lost, so I can get on with my life.” Quinn turned to face him, his expression set in hard lines. “You know I took the Bullet to get through college, right?”

Gabriel nodded. The Bullet was a dangerous cocktail of drugs laced with silver nitrate. It allowed versipelli to control their change during full moons when the urge is most powerful, especially for the younger males.

“I hated it,” Quinn continued. “Hated that it made me feel dead. You have a switch inside, Gabe, that helps you do what the Bullet does for me. I used to think you were a cold bastard, the way you could turn off your emotions. Now, I think you’re the luckiest man in the world.”

“No, Quinn—”

Quinn talked right over him, his eyes staring blankly out the front window. “Did I ever tell you what they used to call me at college? The Monk. So, not only was I an honest-to-God freak with a secret I couldn’t tell anyone, but the guys I lived with thought I was a completely different kind of freak.”

The pain in his friend’s voice made Gabriel flinch. He’d known Quinn had been unhappy at Penn State, but he hadn’t realized how miserable he’d really been. “Hey, man, we’re all freaks in some way. You grow fur. I can stop a bullet in midair.”

Quinn frowned, drawing lines between his eyes. “You know I went out with a couple of girls in college, right? I never wanted one of them. Not Tammi, either. How freaky is that? I can’t live like this anymore. The past six years have been hell, knowing I can’t have the one person destined for me. How bad’s it going to be if I let it go on another ten or fifteen years?”

Quinn turned away to open the door, but Gabriel caught his arm before he could get out. “Serena loves you. Maybe you just need to show her how much.”

Blue eyes considerably dimmed, Quinn shook his head. “I wish I had your switch, Gabe. I brought a couple doses of Bullet. They’re in my bag. Just wanted you to know, so if I start acting weird, you’ll know why. I’ll see you up there.”

Quinn opened the door and stood then shed his clothes and dropped them on the front seat.

“Hey,” Gabriel called to him before he took off. “Don’t be too long.”

“Yes, Mother.” Quinn flipped him off, shook his hair back from his face and let the change roll.

The movies had gotten it more or less right about werewolves, the thought passed fleetingly through Gabriel’s mind. It was painful but worth the grace of the animal.

Quinn rarely talked about the pain, but the howl that erupted from his throat as his spine contorted, his muscles lengthened and his bones reformed said it all.

A soft gasp from the backseat made him look in the rearview mirror. He saw Leo staring out the window with wide eyes. Shea remained asleep, one arm still around Leo’s shoulders.

“Is Quinn okay?” Leo’s voice quivered in the grayish-pink light of dawn.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s almost done.”

Quinn was on all fours now, his back humped as his hands and feet curled into paws and his skin erupted with fur.

With a final shake, Quinn’s tail unfurled behind him and he turned to look at them with his human eyes. With a howl, he shot off into the forest without looking back. Gabriel figured Quinn would need at least an hour before he showed up at Serena’s door.

“Does it hurt?” Leo asked in a quiet voice.

Gabriel put the car in gear and started up the hill again. “Yeah, but Quinn says it’s a fair trade, the pain for the pelt.”

“What’s the pelt?”

“His fur.” He hit the edge of a nasty pothole and the car bucked. “Shit. Hold on, kid. This lane’s a bitch.

“Gabriel, watch your language.”

Shea had woken and, of course, the first thing she heard was his foul mouth. Just add it to the list.

He didn’t bother to answer because it took all of his concentration to stay on what little there was of a road. Neither Shea nor Leo complained about the ride, although he heard them hit the sides of the car more than a few times.

When they reached the end of the line, and he turned off the engine, Leo was the first to see the house. Gabriel could tell by his hushed, “Wow.”

If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you could walk right by and not know you’d passed it. Built entirely of wood, with no windows in the walls but plenty of skylights, the one-story house rambled for close to a city block. Bark lined the outer walls, blending the building into the trees. Though the house was fully electrified and plumbed, you’d never know it from the outside.

Even the stone chimney was camouflaged, due in large part to a heavy network of spells.

“We’ll park in the underground garage then meet Serena.”

None of them said a word as he drove around to the side of the building. After he’d muttered a spell and clicked a remote he pulled from his pants pocket, the wall split open to reveal a descending ramp.

The sun had finally dawned and the light held a hazy blue hue. Then the garage door closed and the overhead lights flickered on, shutting off the outside world completely.

The power, the magic, in the structure of the building shimmered like a low-frequency hum in the air. If you stayed long enough, you got used to it. He hoped like hell it didn’t trigger another one of Shea’s migraines.

Gabriel had the bags out of the car before Shea and Leo climbed from the backseat. The kid hung close to her side, eyes wide. Her mouth set in a straight line, Shea took Leo’s hand and tugged him even closer.

Gabriel fought the urge to pull them both into his arms and ease the fear on their faces. In the short time he’d had them, they’d gotten under his skin. And that, he knew from first-hand experience, could be deadly.

If he wanted to keep them safe, he shouldn’t let them get close.

But isolation sucked and he was sick of living in a vacuum.

“Come on, let’s get inside.” He waved them up the stairs to a door at the top. “Serena’s waiting.”

* * *

Watching Gabriel open the door, Shea had the irrational urge to run. To take Leo and go somewhere no one would find them.

Which is what you tried to do for a year and look how that had turned out.

An insidious fear had started to creep up on Shea since they’d left the safe house, a panicky weight that settled on her chest and constricted her breathing.

Would Serena, a five-hundred-year-old strega, want to offer Shea up on a plate to Dario if Shea revealed what her grandfather had written in his journal?

Or would Serena have another theory on breaking the curse, one that didn’t end with a knife in Shea’s chest?

Hope and fear made her chest tight. Damn it, she was no coward. She wanted answers. If she wanted to get Dario off Leo’s back, she needed to be strong.

Leo’s thin arm snaked around her back, hugged her closer. She looked down, expecting to see fear in his eyes.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered.

So young to be so solemn. She blinked back tears and forced steel into her spine. “I know, bud. Come on, let’s get this done. You and me, just like it’s been for the past year.”

“And Gabriel and Quinn.”

Her smile faltered for just a second. “Yeah. Them, too.”

With one last hug, she took Leo’s hand and forced air into her lungs before she walked through the door into a homey, cottage-style kitchen.

Just in time to see a beautiful, dark-haired woman run one, slim-fingered hand down Gabriel’s cheek while the blasted man smiled at her. Something sharp and mean cut across her chest, some emotion that made Shea want to run her nails across the woman’s perfect cheekbones.

The voices immediately rose up in opposition. They wanted her to get closer, to embrace the woman. They missed her. Shea felt their longing as an almost physical ache.

Shit.

Her entire body stiffened, muscles quivering, ready to run. Away or straight into Gabriel’s arms? Hell, she couldn’t do either.

Finally, the woman, who couldn’t have been more than thirty, turned to her with a sad smile that looked remarkably like Gabriel’s.

“Shea. Leo.” She stepped toward them, her arms lifting just a bit before falling back to her side as Gabriel moved around her to stand next to Shea. “I’m so pleased to meet you. And so very sorry about your parents. Your mother was my best friend. I miss her everyday.”

God, the woman’s voice. Her accent was just the same as her mom’s. The one that came from English being her third language.

“Yeah, well, she never talked about you other than to say you were one of the priestesses.”

Damn. She wanted to take the words back the second they left her mouth. She was being petty but her default setting lately was smart ass.

Banding her arms around Leo’s shoulders, she pulled him back against her, drawing strength from his warm body. She flicked a glance at Gabriel, now leaning against the wall at her side, arms folded across his chest. Watching her.

He’d been ready to kiss this woman.

And that matters why?

Serena’s expression didn’t change. “No, dear, and I understand why. She and your father disappeared soon after you were conceived, as far as I can calculate. If I’d known what was going to happen…”

Despair hit Shea low in the stomach, as if she’d been sucker-punched. A reaction to the same emotion in Serena’s voice.

“Not your fault.” And it wasn’t, not any of it. “I’m sorry, it’s been…”

Shit, how did she finish that? Shea stared straight into the other woman’s odd, shattered eyes—that exactly mirrored her own. The exact same eyes as her mother.

Serena just shook her head. “Shea, please. You have no need for apologies.”

Serena turned to Leo then, and her smile returned. “Welcome, Leo. I must say you look very much like your father. He was such a handsome man.”

“Was” being the operative word, Shea thought with a painful lurch of her heart.

Serena’s smile faded as she met Shea’s gaze again. “I know we have a lot to talk about, but maybe you’d like to have something to eat or take a shower? Maybe Leo would like a nap?”

Leo shook his head, but didn’t speak.

Serena nodded. “That’s fine, too. I understand Gabriel has started your training and that you’re doing very well.” Serena looked to the door then looked at Gabriel. “Is…Quinn still in the garage?”

“He needed to stretch his legs,” Gabriel said.

Serena nodded slowly and sighed, a hint of a shake in it. “Good. That’s good. Then why don’t you show Shea and Leo their rooms and, when you return, we’ll figure out what happens next. I’ll be in the kitchen. I’m sure you’re all hungry…and Quinn will need to eat.”

Serena moved toward Gabriel with a loose-limbed and utterly confident gait. Her old-fashioned peasant dress swirled around her bare legs and she wore no shoes. She appeared utterly comfortable in her skin.

Guess that’s to be expected after five-hundred years.

Raising both hands to his cheeks in a gentle caress, Serena then slid her fingers into the softness of his hair, letting the strands slip across her skin.

Shea’s fingers curled into her palms at the intimacy of the action. Serena smiled, and Shea knew why. Gabriel’s hair felt like silk. She knew the pleasure to be had from running her fingers through it. She would never admit it to Gabriel, but she loved his hair.

And another woman had her hands in it.

Her fingers itched to scratch Serena’s eyes out, which really would’ve been a stupid-ass move. But, Goddess, she wanted to. And when Serena stood on tiptoes to press a kiss to each cheek, Shea felt her nails break through the skin on her palms and forced herself to unclench her fists.

Shit, this was so not good.

When the other woman walked out of the room, Gabriel turned back to Shea.

His hair a little mussed from the other woman’s fingers, he looked sexy and kissable. And she wanted to smack the man.

What was his relationship with Serena? And why the hell had he kissed her back at the safe house if he had a relationship with Serena? Bastard.

His eyes caught hers, and she tried to unclench her jaw, to force the tension from her body. To hide her jealous reaction. Which just pissed her off more.

Of course, she didn’t fool him, not if the hint of a smirk on his lips was any indication.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you your room. I figure you’ll want to stay with Leo.”

He led them through the house but Shea had too much on her mind to notice her surroundings. Leo had a death grip on her hand, and she wasn’t about to let him go.

Halfway down a hall full of doors, Gabriel opened one, stepped in and took a quick look then waved them through.

Shea registered four walls, two beds, a large armoire and an attached bath. No pictures, no TV, no personality.

Leo headed straight for the attached bathroom, closing the door behind him, leaving Shea standing in the middle of the room.

Gabriel walked up behind her and put his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back against his hard chest.

She stiffened even as she soaked in the warmth of his large body. Damn, she really shouldn’t like the sense of being enclosed by him as much as she did. Everything was so complicated right now and adding her feelings for Gabriel to the mix just made everything seem like a powder keg doused in gasoline.

Still…was it so wrong to want to be safe?

“Take a deep breath.”

His words slid past her ear on a warm breath, stoking the fire in her blood. She’d been so cold only a moment ago and now her skin burned where he held her against him. But it wasn’t only her skin that burned. It was a place deep inside that burned as well.

“And drop the attitude,” he murmured in her ear.

His hands shifted around her shoulders as she turned to meet his gaze. “Is she your lover?”

The full-blown smile she’d longed for days to see on his face made her stomach flip.

“She’s my mother.”

Chapter Fourteen

Gabriel’s grin spread as Shea’s jaw unhinged.

“Your mother?”

“Yeah.”

“But…but she’s…” She broke off and looked down, her mouth beginning to tremble at the corners. “Oh, hell. I’m completely lost here, Gabriel. I don’t know what to think anymore. There’s just too much…too much I don’t understand, too… How old are you?”

He took the non sequitor in stride, his hands firm on her shoulders in case she fainted. She had that look. “Twenty-eight.”

“If you’re her son, then you have two sisters who were cursed at the same time as your mom, according to the history.”

He nodded. “Maddie and Furia. You’ll like them. They’re a lot like you. Stubborn, strong. Mouthy. I love them both, but Furia’s got issues.”

Something else I’ll make Dario pay for.

Shea nodded and, for a second, he thought she might lean into him. He wanted her to lean on him, wanted her to need him and damn the consequences.

The door to the bathroom opened and Leo walked out. Shea pulled away, making his hands drop, and turned to smile at the kid. “Think you can eat something, bud?”

Leo looked from Shea to him, his gaze considering. Gabriel stood a little taller and looked the boy right in the eyes.

“Are you gonna take Shea away?”

Smart kid. No one had said anything, but somehow Leo had picked up on the plans. “Yeah. Shea and I have someone we need to see.”

“Will Quinn stay?”

“I don’t know.” He hoped so, for Quinn’s sake and for Serena’s and Leo’s. “He will, if he can. And there’s someone coming to take over your training, someone I think you’re going to like.”

Leo’s mouth quivered. “But…I like you.”

His heart twisted in his chest. This shouldn’t hurt so damn much but he was already in deep with these two. “I like you, too. But your sister and I have something to do.”

Leo blinked, as if trying to hold back tears. “I’m not supposed to leave Sissy, not ever. And I could help.”

Gabriel kneeled down to look into Leo’s eyes. “I’m sure you could help. But you need to train, too. And we won’t be gone long.”

Leo just stared and Gabriel could tell the kid was about to lose it.

The tightness in his throat told Gabriel he was, too. He stood, not all that steady himself. He didn’t want to leave the kid behind. But it was the right thing to do. “Don’t worry about it now, bud. Come on. Let’s find something to eat.”

* * *

Another pot slipped from her hand, making a jarring clatter as Serena tried to put a meal together. That was the second pot she’d dropped. If she wasn’t careful, she’d break something. She’d nearly cut her finger off slicing the ham—

“Serena.”

Gasping, she dropped that pot one more time.

Sweet Mother Goddess, she hadn’t heard Quinn enter the kitchen. That was dangerous. The boy slipped through her defenses in more ways than one.

And that voice. Goddess bless her, his voice tugged at her very soul.

She caught herself just before she turned and threw herself at him, which would have been completely embarrassing for a woman of her age. She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart before she faced him.

Oh…Goddess. This was why she stayed locked in her house on a hill.

He stood in the doorway, sweaty, intense and, Goddess help her, completely naked.

And no longer a boy.

If she was honest with herself, Quinn hadn’t been a boy for six years. Still, he was young. And so damn mortal.

“Are you hungry?” She refused to back down from his stare. “I’ve got pancakes, eggs, bacon, ham, home fries.” Because she knew he loved all of them.

Jaw set, he nodded. “You know I am. I need a shower first, but after I eat, I’m leaving. Gabriel called Matt, so they won’t need me. I’m not staying.”

Her heart contracted in her chest until she was sure she was having a heart attack. “Where are you going?”

He looked at her with weary blue eyes, his beautiful face set in stern lines that looked so out of place there. Those lines were her fault.

“I’m tired of this game, Serena. Tired of waiting. You won.” He moved toward her and she struggled to keep her gaze from slipping lower than his chin as he got right in her face. “But here’s something to think about, babe. Until you decide to take another lover who isn’t me.”

She should have seen it coming. Should have known he was going to kiss her. Maybe she had. Maybe she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and shut off her brain.

Quinn wrapped wiry-strong arms around her shoulders, brought her body flush against his and took her mouth in one perfect motion. His lips, hot and firm, devoured and devastated. The heat of his naked body blasted through the thin cotton of her dress, and the musky scent of his sweat made her sex clench in response.

Quinn groaned deep in his throat, and his body surged against hers. His erection hardened against her stomach and his kiss became more powerful, more desperate.

His lips ate at hers with a hunger she echoed, and her mouth opened to allow his tongue in. His taste seeped into her blood-stream like a fast-acting drug, tantalizing her nerve endings and making her head spin.

She shouldn’t respond, for both their sakes. But she couldn’t help herself. This was her man, the man she’d always loved, would always love. Couldn’t live without. Couldn’t bear to lose him again.

Her arms rose to snake around his waist—and he shoved away from her.

Eyes wide, bare chest heaving, Quinn looked as shocked as she felt. She didn’t know how long they stood there, staring at each other. She couldn’t help but hope he wasn’t done. That he didn’t have the strength to walk away from her. Because she knew if he took her in his arms again, it would be the end of her resistance. She would give herself to him because she wouldn’t be able to stop, wouldn’t want to stop.

Then his eyes closed and he groaned, just a small sound at the back of his throat.

“Gods-be-damned, I love you, Serena. It’s in my genes, for fuck’s sake. But I can’t live like this. If you don’t want me, then tell me. I’ll find someone who does, someone who won’t turn me away.”

Without looking at her again, he walked out of the room.

Despair tore through her body with poisonous agony. Images of Quinn with faceless women bombarded her brain. She didn’t want to imagine him with anyone else, couldn’t bear to think of some other woman’s hands on his lean body or sinking into his shaggy blond hair.

Though Quinn had the soul of her mate, she also knew he was just Quinn. Niccolo had rarely smiled and his mood had scarcely wavered. Quinn’s smile appeared at the slightest provocation and his mood could change in a blink. His fierce loyalty to his family and friends was legendary, but Goddess forbid if you got on his bad side. He could be intractable.

Like now. He wanted all or nothing.

And either would tear her heart out of her chest.

* * *

They sat down to eat in the kitchen around eight. Tension hung in the air like smoke, and Gabriel had had just about as much as he could take.

The kid was too tired to talk so he just shoveled food. Shea looked shell-shocked and only managed a couple of mouthfuls before she started pushing food around her plate.

Quinn couldn’t take his eyes off Serena, and Serena didn’t look at anyone as she floated between the stove and the table, refilling bowls and picking at a few pieces of melon. She never could eat when she was worried. Stress showed in the furrows on her forehead and the ashen pallor beneath her skin.

Gabriel knew his mother. He knew she was worried about Quinn, worried about Shea. But it was Leo that had her tied in knots at the moment.

He’d caught the look of absolute desolation in her eyes when she’d first seen him. The same look Gabriel probably had the night Shea came to his door in Reading.

Leo looked so much like Nino. Her dead son. The brother Gabriel hadn’t been able to save.

Christ, they were lucky the house didn’t explode from the tension.

“So, Quinn,” Gabriel asked the first question that came to mind that didn’t deal with a touchy subject. “How’s the new club in Jersey?”

Quinn jerked then shook his head as if to clear it. “Good. We’re almost ready to open.”

“You gonna work there for a while?”

“Yeah, then I thought I’d head out to Vegas, see how the casino’s holding up.”

At the sink, Serena dropped the plates she’d been holding, pottery clattering on porcelain.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed as he continued. “After that, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll head overseas for a vacation. A few months away might do me some good.”

Serena stiffened but continued to stack dishes in the sink.

Gabriel knew what Quinn was up to, knew he was pushing her. At any other time, he’d be okay with it. But not now. Not—

“That sounds great,” Shea said. “A vacation sounds great right about now.”

She said it in a teasing tone but the longing in her voice made Gabriel’s stomach twist. He wished he could take her and Leo away. Make it safe for them to go to Disney World or the Grand Canyon or hell, even the Jersey shore for a weekend.

“Somewhere with a beach,” Leo added, his little-boy enthusiasm digging the knife just a little deeper in Gabriel’s gut.

“Sure, bud,” Shea answered. “Somewhere with a beach.”

The sorrow in Shea’s voice sent that knife straight up into his heart. He knew she thought that trip would never happen.

And Gabriel’s hatred for Dario burned through his blood like acid.

Carefully, he put down his utensils before he bent them like matchsticks.

Luckily, the kid’s mouth cracked open with a huge yawn and Shea smiled.

And the dagger in his heart became an ache in his groin. Damn, he did not want to be sporting an erection right now.

“Time for bed, isn’t it?” Shea said.

Serena frowned, flashing a look at Gabriel.

“Shea worked nights, so she and Leo slept during the day,” Gabriel answered Serena’s unspoken question.

“Oh, really,” Serena said. “What did you do, Shea?”

“I was a dancer.”

“Really? I love the ballet—”

“I worked for Harry.” She never lowered her gaze, but Gabriel knew she was waiting for Serena’s condescension. “It paid the bills. I had aspirations of being a ballerina, but they never panned out.”

“Sissy’s a great dancer,” Leo piped in.

“I’m sure she is.” Serena smiled at the boy, meeting his eyes for only a brief second before looking back at Shea. “There’s a studio in the house. My daughter Madrona had it built years ago so she could practice her yoga. It doesn’t get much use now, but the floor’s wooden and there are mirrors. You could practice if you like.”

Shea’s expression eased a little. “Thanks, I might take you up on it. It’s been a few days since I stretched and my muscles are starting to tighten.”

“What about you, Leo?” Serena’s eyes skimmed the boy before going back to the dishes she was washing in the sink. “What do you like to do?”

Quinn’s sharply indrawn breath drew Gabriel’s attention. His golden skin went pale beneath his tan and his fingers tightened around the fork in his hand.

Quinn looked like he’d taken a blow to the head. Seemed he’d finally realized why Serena was so upset. Christ, he could practically see Quinn berating himself for his insensitivity earlier, watched his gaze shift back to Serena. Quinn’s desire to take Serena in his arms was written all over his face.

Did he look at Shea like that?

Vaffanculo. He hoped he wasn’t that transparent.

Leo’s second yawn cut through the tension as Shea gave a shaky laugh.

“Come on, bud.” She held out her hand to the boy. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Leo hopped off his chair but stopped at Gabriel’s side, wide eyes looking straight into his. “Will you come, too?”

He didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Sure, kid.”

But he paused before he got up as his gaze caught Shea’s. He saw warmth there and something he couldn’t interpret. Didn’t she want him to come? Hell, she’d just have to get used to him being around because…Oh, hell, he couldn’t even finish the thought.

Idiot. You’re such an idiot.

He stood, watching Shea’s expression. When she smiled, the knot in his stomach loosened.

After a quick glance at Quinn, staring at the table, and his mom, staring into the sink, he took Leo’s hand and walked him and Shea back to their room.

The kid was fading fast, and Shea looked like she needed a break. Hell, they all needed a break. He knew he needed to get back to the kitchen before Serena and Quinn started in on each other and said things they couldn’t take back.

Leo went straight to the bed, kicking off his shoes and jeans before pulling down the covers and crawling beneath. Shea toed off her shoes, leaving her clothes in place, then lay on top on the comforter, drawing the kid into the curve of her body.

Gabriel wanted to lie behind her, wrap his arms around both of them and ignore the rest of the world for a while.

Since the deaths of his dad and brother, his need to shed Dario’s blood had buried any tender feelings he might have had for anyone. He’d let anger and despair dictate his life. Shea and Leo made him realize what he’d been missing.

His feet moved, taking him closer to the bed. His knees bent and he sat on the edge.

Shea’s hair lay like dark silk on the pale blue comforter and he sank one hand into its softness, weaving his fingers through the strands.

Those shattered-glass eyes caught and held his. Heat pooled in his groin, making his cock thicken in anticipation.

Did Shea want him just as much?

He refused to examine her aura, afraid he wouldn’t see her answering desire for him.

Instead, he forced himself to look at the kid, staring up at him, as well.

“You okay, Leo?”

The kid nodded, his eyes already half closed. “Don’t leave, ’kay?”

Gabriel’s heart contracted. “I’ll be in the house the whole time, Leo. I’m not going anywhere.” Not yet, anyway.

“’Kay.”

Leo’s eyes closed, and Gabriel swore the kid was asleep already.

His gaze returned to Shea’s, watching him closely. “You up for talking to Serena or you want some time?”

She didn’t answer him right away, her hand rubbing Leo’s back in small circles. “I think your mom’s probably anxious to talk, don’t you?”

“She’s waited five-hundred years, Shea. Another few hours aren’t gonna matter.”

Nodding, Shea’s lips lifted in a slight smile. That smile lit his libido like a match to a firecracker. Time to get out of here. Still…

He leaned over and laid his lips on his hers. He didn’t linger and it wasn’t sweet. There was no tongue and he didn’t touch her anywhere else. But he needed that connection, no matter how brief.

Their eyes met and held for a brief second before hers closed, and he felt her lips soften, conform. Yield.

Lust roared up but he shut it down in heartbeat. This wasn’t the time.

But later…

When he straightened, she looked a little less pale.

“Come out when you’re ready,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”

Then he headed back to the kitchen to put out the fire there.

* * *

As soon as Gabriel left the room with Shea and Leo, Quinn started to apologize.

“Jesus, Serena, I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry for acting like an ass.”

He’d been so caught up in his own drama that he’d failed to realize the memories Leo would trigger in Serena. Christ, the kid looked so much Nino with his dark hair and eyes.

Serena stood at the sink, her back to him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She turned on the water and started washing dishes. “Are you finished?”

He stood and walked to her side, dishes in hand. He wanted her to turn to him for comfort, wanted to wrap his arms around her and ease the loss he saw in her eyes. “Yeah, I’m finished. You never talk about him. Maybe you should.”

Serena shook her head but wouldn’t look up. “There’s nothing to talk about. I have to live with his death. Not you.”

His arms ached to hold her but knew she wouldn’t allow it. And he didn’t think he could stand to be refused again. “I’m still sorry.” As he put his dishes in the sink, he heard Gabriel leave Leo’s room and head toward them. “I’ll leave you and Gabriel alone to talk strategy.”

“Quinn.” Serena finally looked at him. “Please.”

His heart dropped into his stomach then flew back up to his throat. He didn’t know what she was trying to say, didn’t know how to read her expression.

This whole situation was completely screwed up.

“Quinn, I…”

Gabriel walked into the room.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

Quinn could have cheerfully strangled him. But Shea and Leo needed him too much.

Serena released his gaze to turn to her son. “We’re fine. Have you heard from Matt?”

Gabe put his arm around his mother’s shoulders and drew her close. Serena slid her arms around his waist and held on for a few moments before stepping away. It made him feel like an ass for being jealous of his best friend, but Quinn wanted to be the one Serena needed.

“No, not yet. But he’ll call. And when he gets here, Shea and I’ll leave for New Orleans. Right now, I want to make sure we weren’t followed.” Gabe’s gaze locked onto Quinn. “I need you to give me a hand.”

Quinn shook his head, needing to be gone. He’d done enough damage already. “You don’t need me. Let Shea—”

Gabe cut him off. “No. It’ll go faster if we do this together.”

And it would keep him here longer.

“Gabe—”

“Quinn.” Gabe’s voice lowered but took on intensity. “I need you.”

Quinn didn’t say anything. Gabriel was his brother in all ways but blood and the one person Quinn knew he could count on unconditionally.

He took a deep breath and let it out with a muttered, “Fuck.” Then he shook his head and set his jaw. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Fifteen

Shea sat on the bed next to Leo, rubbing his back, even though she knew he was asleep.

Poor guy was completely worn out from stress, excitement and fear.

Not a good combination for anyone, much less a six-year-old boy whose parents had been murdered and who could make grown men scream just by touching them.

Staring down at him, she saw her parents in his every feature. The ever-present guilt settled on her chest.

If she hadn’t left, would her parents still be alive? Had she made a mistake, left a trail back to them? Had she… What?

She had no answers to those questions. And she shouldn’t be thinking about that now. Right now, she had to figure out what to do. About Leo. About the curse.

About Gabriel.

Simple answer to that last one. Not a damn thing.

Because if what her grandfather had written in his journal was true, there was no point in starting anything with Gabriel. She wouldn’t be around to finish it. She was pretty damn sure that she wasn’t going to be breathing when the fat lady sang.

She swallowed back a sob, not wanting to wake Leo.

Not fair. So not fair.

Would Serena have any answers?

Please, Great Mother Goddess, let her have some answers.

She bent and pressed a kiss to Leo’s baby-soft hair then left the room after lighting the small lamp in the corner.

In the hall, she headed back the way they’d come. Paintings of landscapes covered the plastered walls, which had mellowed with age to a gorgeous sunset gold that most people paid big bucks to have faux-painted that way. According to Gabriel, his mother had lived here for two centuries.

She’d passed several rooms when she heard chanting—male voices, faint but clear—and followed the sound to a small altar room. She stopped well away from the door so she didn’t disturb Quinn and Gabriel, sitting on the floor in the middle of a ritual circle, heads bent over a moon bowl.

They didn’t notice her. They were too immersed in the spell they were weaving. A powerful spell. She felt it undulate out of the room, washing over her then moving on. They were searching, checking to see if anyone had followed them.

So much power. Most of it coming from one man.

Her gaze lit on Gabriel and stuck. The heat that snuck up on her every time she was with him began to pool low in her stomach. It made her wet, made her want to kiss him and have him put his hands on her.

But it was the ache in her chest that was the real problem.

She’d fallen for the guy.

Which was such a dumb-ass move on her part. It ranked right up there with leaving home to become a ballerina. And thinking that a girl who’d been raised to become the priestess of an ancient goddess could ever have what the eteri considered a normal life.

A light tap on her shoulder made her turn with a start. Serena stood behind her, her smile gone now, her eyes deadly serious.

For some inane reason, the “Jeopardy” theme music started to run through her head. Funny, she’d never found it ominous before.

Serena led her through the maze of hallways to a sitting room on the other side of the house, far enough away that they couldn’t hear the men and, more importantly, Shea thought, the men couldn’t hear them.

“Is Leo asleep?” Serena asked as she sank into a deep, comfortable-looking leather chair, curling her legs under her and waving Shea into the matching one across from her.

“Yeah, he’s wiped out.”

“He looks very much like your father, but then you know that. And you look so much like your mother, it’s almost startling. But that’s not what you want to hear, is it?”

Shea took a deep breath. “I’m not really sure what I want to hear.”

Serena smiled. “What is it you don’t want to hear first?”

“How old are you?”

Serena lifted her delicately pointed chin. “I was born in 1457 in a small village in the hills of Toscana. I was thirty-three when Fabrizio Paganelli cursed my boschetta for failing to save his son. If we had known the bastard was Mal, we never would have agreed to help.

“Your mother argued against it from the beginning. She said later she knew there was something wrong with Paganelli but never realized just how evil he was. After the curse, after—” Serena shook her head, as if to get rid of a bad image. Then she glanced down at the leather thong visible around Shea’s neck and pointed to it. “Did your mother… Do you have the nail?”

Shea’s hand automatically lifted to touch the key. “Yes. She hid it with Leo.”

“And you know what it is?”

Shea nodded. “I was trained to take my place among the Priestesses of Menrva. I know the history and the rituals. I know we wait for Menrva to recall us to our duty, and when She does, I know that we will once again use the nails for their true purpose—to sever fate by hammering the nails into the wall of Menrva’s temple, letting our people begin a new year unencumbered by the problems of the past.”

Serena nodded as if she were a star pupil. “Your mother taught you well. But she never mentioned anything about the curse?”

Shea shook her head.

The other woman’s smile softened. “And you don’t understand why she never told you, do you?”

“Not a clue.”

“Did you know that in all the long years of her life, your mother never had another child? Not with her first mate, Antonio. Or with Franco, Antonio’s first reincarnation.”

Shock made her mouth open then close. Well, damn. She’d never even considered that there were other men before her father, much less other children. She barely forced herself to shake her head again. Much more of that and she was going to be dizzy. Screw that, she already was.

“For so many years, your mom prayed for a child. And I know she cherished you with all her heart.”

Shea’s heart pounded with the force of how much she wanted to believe Serena. Pitiful, really, how much she yearned for something that no longer mattered. Her mom was gone.

“Your name is beautiful,” Serena continued. “Did your mother tell you where it came from?”

The question took her off guard. “I looked it up in a baby book once. It means ‘from the fairy fort.’” She shrugged. “I guess that’s self-explanatory. Except, it’s Celtic.”

“Yes, it is. But Celeste didn’t give you the name because of its meaning. Have you ever read ‘The Sword of Shannara’ by Terry Brooks?”

Shea felt her eyebrows lift. “I’m named after a character in a book?” She couldn’t believe it. Her mother had never been frivolous. She’d rarely smiled. And when she had, it had usually been directed at her dad.

“Actually, it was a series of books. Your mother loved them. She particularly liked the character of Shea.”

“Why?”

“Because he had a quest to undertake and when he completed it, all was right in the world. She knew you would have a hard road. One you would have to travel alone.” Serena sighed, her expression sobering. “I wish I could tell you all you had to do was perform a spell and this would all be over.

“But this is a blood curse and blood demands blood.”

A vicious chill cut through Shea’s body. Oh God. Serena knew. She had to know about her father’s visions. What should she say? Should she confess—

Serena grimaced and turned away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been locked away in this house for so many years, I forget myself.” After taking a deep breath, Serena returned her gaze. “Though we know how Fabrizio performed the curse, we’ve never been able to break it. Our seer, Dafne, foretold the end but died before she could tell us more.”

“Burned at the stake.” Shea forced the words through the knot in her throat.

Serena’s eyes filled with tears. “Fabrizio’s eldest son, Remo, had her burned at the stake in 1509, when it became obvious we were no longer aging. Then he incited the villagers against those of us who remained. They killed our families and tried to kill us, too. But instead of burning our bodies or our hearts, which we cannot survive, they merely slit our throats. When we dragged ourselves out of the shallow grave they’d buried us in, we realized we could not die by normal methods.”

Horror made Shea’s stomach seize in on itself, multiplied by the stark agony on Serena’s face. Her grandfather’s journal had made no mention of this. How had they survived?

Blessed Goddess, Mom…

“My daughters, Madrona and Furia, both members of the boschetta, had been cursed as well, but my beloved Niccolo and your mother’s Antonio were lost that night. After…” Serena closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if willing away the images in her brain. “Those of us who remained scattered across Europe.

“What we didn’t realize at the time was that Fabrizio’s curse had returned on his sons. We don’t know what happened to Remo and Parente. But Dario made it his duty to hunt us down and kill us.”

It sounded like some fictional horror story to Shea, better suited to a Stephen King novel. But Shea had seen Dario’s methods up close and personal.

“Dario wants your brother because he has power, power he would force him to use against us. He’s managed to take other children before. I don’t know how he managed to find your brother or your parents but—”

“It was my fault.” The words tried to stick in her throat but she forced them out, forced herself to say them.

Serena’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Shea dropped her gaze to the floor, not wanting to see the condemnation in the other woman’s eyes. “I left six years ago. Left Wisconsin for Philadelphia and never went back. I didn’t see them before…” She shook her head. “I must have left a trail, something… I don’t know. That must’ve been how he found them.”

Serena shook her head. “Shea, I was your mother’s best friend, and I knew nothing about you. Believe me, Dario doesn’t know you exist. You are not to blame for your parents’ deaths.”

Bullshit. She was responsible. She knew it. But instead of allowing Serena to try and change her mind, Shea moved on.

“Was my dad really my mother’s reincarnated blood-bound mate?”

Serena’s laugh wasn’t faked, though it sounded rusty. “Yes, he was. They were very much in love, no matter what century.”

Shea had never doubted her mom’s love for her dad. It had been evident in every look, every touch. “Were you blood bound?”

Serena’s amusement vanished and, in its place, Shea saw pain. Centuries of it. “Yes.”

She should stop. She knew it was none of her business. Still… “Do you know where he is now?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s not with you?”

“No.” Serena sighed. “It’s been more than two-hundred years since his last reincarnation. You learn not to wish for what you can’t have. And you learn that loving is much worse when you know you’re eventually going to lose it.”

Shea’s breath caught in her throat and her chest closed in on itself with pain. And not just her own. Serena’s pain went so deep, it felt cold against her skin, like a bitter fog.

Shea started to reach for Serena, but stopped, curling her hands into fists. Afraid if she touched her, Serena’s despair might drown her.

All five hundred years of it.

“I’m so sorry.” Sorry she hadn’t broken the curse, sorry she didn’t know how.

Yes, you do. Your father’s vision…

Serena’s mouth twisted but not in anger. “Sweetheart, none of this is your fault. My shortcomings cannot be laid at your feet. Yes, I love him with all my heart but…there are complications.”

“Only in your mind, Serena.”

Quinn spoke from behind her and Shea turned to find both Quinn and Gabriel in the doorway.

Quinn’s angry, anguished expression cleared up any question of who Serena’s mate was.

“Did you find anyone?” Serena directed her question to Gabriel, ignoring Quinn.

Gabriel’s jaw set as he glanced from Quinn back to Serena, but he shook his head. “As far as I can tell, no one followed us. We’re safe.”

Serena nodded. “Good. That’s good.” Serena glanced back at Shea. “I was hoping you and Leo would join me tomorrow for the summer solstice treguenda. It’s been a while since I’ve had guests for a ritual. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some work I need to do.”

Shea watched Quinn stiffen as Serena dismissed them, watched Gabriel glance at his mom and his best friend with sympathy in his eyes. Then Quinn turned and headed down the hallway without another word.

After a look from Gabriel, Shea swallowed the rest of her questions and walked out. Gabriel shut the door behind her, closing him in with his mother.

Shea stared at the door for a second. Guilt, fear, sorrow felt like a boulder tied around her neck. She wanted to sink to the floor and crawl up in a little ball.

The voices buzzed, soothing her somewhat. Weird how, for so long, she’d thought them an annoyance. Now…now they were a comfort. Something familiar to hold on to when everything else had turned to shit.

She started to head back to Leo, but the sound of something smashing against the wall in a room behind her stopped her in her tracks.

Quinn. She heard him pacing, like a caged animal. Heard something else break, something crunch. Then…nothing.

She didn’t want to intrude, but Quinn’s agony was palpable. She could feel it, like smoke in the air.

Turning, she stuck her head through the slight open door and into a tiny bedroom. Quinn sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He didn’t look up. “I’m not really up for visitors.”

“I know. I just…It’s your pain. I can feel it.”

He blew out a gusty sigh and, when he raised his head, Shea saw tears in his eyes. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not that good at burying my emotions. But I’m heading out soon so that won’t be a problem. Tell the kid goodbye for me, okay?”

“Do you have to go?” She still wasn’t sure she could leave Leo behind, even if it was for the best. But to leave him in the care of a woman they’d just met, without anyone he considered a friend? “Gabriel wants to leave Leo here but I don’t think he’ll be comfortable without someone he knows.”

Not that they’d known each other long, but it was funny how you could become so close to someone in so short a time, yet live with someone for seventeen years and not know the most important things about them.

“Shea—”

“Quinn, please. Please stay. For Leo’s sake.”

Quinn didn’t lift his head, just shook it. “Serena will be okay with the kid. She loves kids.”

“But he doesn’t know her. He knows you. He trusts you.”

“Shea—”

“Quinn—”

“I can’t, Shea. I’m sorry.” Quinn cut her off then drew a deep breath as he wiped his wet eyes. “Look, there’s stuff…I can’t…” He huffed and stood to grab a duffel bag off the bed. “I guess you figured out whose mate I am, huh? Let me tell you something about love, babe. It sucks. And I can’t stick around anymore without having my heart torn out of my chest.”

His anger and hurt brushed against her senses like sandpaper, raspy and harsh. She knew he was in pain, but she had to make him stay.

“Quinn, please. I’ll beg if I have to.”

He was halfway to the door when he stopped, his head hanging. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Oh, she had a bit of an idea, but Leo was her priority. “Probably not, but I have to ask anyway. Please stay. For Leo. He’s just a little boy.”

He stood still as a stone, his breathing ragged, his back rigid. Finally he turned and she knew she’d won by the look on his face. But at what cost to him?

No, he was a grown man. He’d cope. Leo was just a baby. He needed someone with him. Someone he trusted, someone he knew. He’d taken an instant liking to Quinn therefore Quinn had to stay if she or Gabriel couldn’t.

“Shit. Fine. I’ll stay. For Leo.”

She walked to him, kissed his cheek and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He dropped his pack and hugged her back so she felt the slight tremble in his arms. “Just don’t blame me when the house implodes.”

* * *

“You going to put him out of his misery or do you really want him to leave?”

Gabriel watched Serena rise from her chair and head for the liquor cabinet, where she pulled out the Jack Daniels and a shot glass. She held up both and shook them at him.

With a sigh, he held up his index finger. One shot wouldn’t kill him. And maybe a few would loosen up his mother to the point where they could talk.

“Mom.” He watched her hand falter at the term. He used it sparingly and only when they were alone. He’d been taught early on not to call attention to their relationship. “This is killing him. And you’re not too steady yourself. He loves you.”

“Love is painful, Gabriel.” She poured herself a shot and downed it with practiced ease. “Haven’t you learned that?”

Ooh-kay. It was going to be one of those nights. Usually when his mother started on the hard stuff, he headed the other way. He knew, only because his sisters had told him, that their mom sometimes had a problem with alcohol. The problem being she liked it too much.

He’d never seen her sloppy drunk but after what she’d been through, he couldn’t say he blamed her for using liquor to dull her pain for a while. But he couldn’t stand to see his mom or Quinn in so much pain.

“You taught me,” he took the bottle out of her now shaking hand and poured his own shot, “that love is the most all-consuming emotion in the world and the only thing worth living for.”

He downed his shot then put the bottle on top of the cabinet, out of his mother’s reach.

“Well, then let me tell you something else.” With the flick of one finger, Serena bespelled the bottle off the cabinet and into her outstretched hand, her back to Gabriel as she stared at the Jack. “In the immortal words of J. Geils, ‘Love stinks.’”

He snorted in amusement. His mother was a complete contradiction, full of old-world and pop culture. She made her own clothes though she did it with the most up-to-date sewing machine on the market. She grew her own food but couldn’t get enough Doritos. She made her own shampoos and soaps yet couldn’t live without her satellite TV or radio.

But his amusement turned to frustration when she looked at him. Fat tears rolled down her face as her bottom lip trembled.

“Damn it, Mom, why do you do this to yourself?” He reached for her, pulled her into his arms and felt silent sobs rack her. “He loves you. Yeah, he’s young and he’s a pain in the ass and sometimes he’s furry, but he would die for you.”

She laughed, but it sounded more like a whimper. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’ll leave me eventually. You’ll leave me, and I’ll be alone again.”

Shit. He didn’t know how to answer that because it was true. Unless Shea…

He bent to whisper in her ear. “But we’re here now. And there’s hope. Finally.”

A shudder rippled through her slender frame and she sighed. Then she backed away, the bottle still clutched in one fist. “I’m going to finish the bottle now, il mio figlio caro. You should get some rest.”

“Mom—”

“Gabriel.” Her voice held more than its normal hint of the old country, and Gabriel knew the conversation was finished. “I will see you at dinner.”

With deliberate movements, Serena poured herself another drink.

Gabriel shook his head and left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

“Have you found it?”

“We believe so, yes.”

Dario turned from the window, eyebrows raised. “You don’t sound convinced.”

Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. “We’ve narrowed the area to a couple of square miles. We’ll know for sure in a few hours. They’re closing in on the site now. I sent five men—”

Dario cut off the other man by raising his hand. “I don’t need to know details. Not yet. Report back when you do know for sure.”

Then he waved the terrified man out of the room and turned back to his contemplation of the Gulf of Mexico across the street from his house.

This water was nothing like the murky Atlantic. It reminded him more of the soothing blue Mediterranean. He hadn’t been to Italy in years, and he was starting to feel the irresistible pull of home.

Florida was so different, brown and flat where Tuscany was lushly green and hilly. He’d been living in Florida for the past fifty years, drawn to the proximity of the water and the relative quiet of the jut of land that was Pass-a-grille Beach. The community was secluded and the residents transient enough that he’d never had anyone become suspicious of his never-changing age.

But he wanted to go home, wanted to finish out his natural life in the land where he was born and go on to his reward. Whatever that may be.

His father had died nearly five hundred years ago. Freed from the constraints he’d condemned his remaining sons to bear.

Christo had been the lucky one. He had died—at the hand of the streghe, his father had believed. Dario didn’t have an opinion on that. Frankly, he hadn’t cared enough about Christo to miss him. His youngest brother had been a mean-spirited faccia di stronza.

He’d been closer to his older brothers, Remo and Parente. But they’d been given different directions for their lives. And while they had come to grips with their unnaturally long existence, only Dario continued to fight to release their souls.

Hell, the women should thank him. They should seek him out and ask him to take their lives. And when the last of them was dead, the curse would be broken. Blood for blood. His father had drilled that into his head.

Instead, the streghe continued to elude him, to bear male children he ruthlessly turned—when he could catch them young enough—to hunt the women and destroy them. It was for their own good, of course. They would thank him when this was over and they could return to the natural order of life, death and rebirth.

When he broke the curse.

Now Peter believed he’d found what had eluded Dario for centuries. He didn’t know whether to hope the imbecile had really done what he’d said or laugh in the man’s face.

How could he have found the women’s American stronghold when Dario himself had searched for years? How had they finally given themselves away?

He’d find out soon enough. But God help Peter if he was wrong this time.

Chapter Sixteen

After wringing that hard-won promise from Quinn, Shea fell into the bed beside Leo’s and forced herself to go to sleep.

When she woke, she opened her eyes and found her brother sitting by her side, his face inches from hers, staring straight at her.

She yelped and sat straight up, knocking Leo off the bed as he dissolved into laughter.

“Gotcha! I gotcha good, Sissy.”

It took her a minute to orient herself, to remember where they were, why they were here. She drew in a breath to scold him—and then it hit her.

Leo was laughing.

In all the time she’d known him, she’d never heard him so much as a giggle. The sound was so joyful, so normal, that the words died on her tongue, and she could only stare at him. The kid hadn’t said more than a hundred words to her before they’d met Gabriel. And now he was laughing so hard, he had to hold his stomach.

And she realized she didn’t know how long it’d been since she’d laughed.

A year, maybe more?

Way too long.

She felt her smile widen, felt a chuckle begin in her chest until it turned into an all-out belly laugh. It felt good…right. She let herself laugh until her stomach hurt.

Leo stopped long enough to gape at her then started laughing again.

He didn’t expect her to slip off the bed next to him, grab him around the middle and tickle him for all she was worth.

He started to squirm, his little body wriggling as he tried, though not very hard, to get away.

“No, Sissy, stop!”

He didn’t mean it and she knew it. She knew the game. She’d played it with her dad when she’d been Leo’s age. She’d loved to have time all to herself with her dad, when he’d paid attention only to her. They’d talked and laughed like there was no one in the world except the two of them.

Leo lunged away and she let him go, knowing the game for what it was.

“You can’t hold me, Sissy.” He backed away to the other side of the room.

She smiled and lounged back against the bed. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m faster than you think, bud.”

“Nah, you’re just old.”

That lifted her eyebrows. “Old, huh?”

With a simple spell, she bound him to the floor, only long enough for her to grab him and start tickling him again.

Through his laughter, he yelled. “Hey, that’s cheating!”

“All’s fair in love and war, bud, and calling me old was an act of war.”

“Okay, you’re not old.”

She stopped tickling him again, and, with a spell of his own, he bound her, long enough for him to scoot across the floor, out of reach again.

On the other side of the room, he continued to laugh. “Just slow.”

She laughed along with him, but inside she was shaking her head. He’d copied that last spell directly from her. As far as she knew, he’d never learned it. Granted, it was an easy one, but he’d performed it perfectly.

He had so much power. He needed someone to show him how to use it and control it.

Someone who wasn’t her. She stopped laughing with a sigh. “I’m going to have to leave you for a while, Leo. I don’t want to, but there’s somewhere I have to go.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor and started to pick at the hole forming in the knee of his jeans. “With Gabriel.”

“Yeah.”

He bit his bottom lip, as if he were going to cry. “Daddy told me not to leave you, Sissy. Not ever.”

“It won’t be forever, bud. Just for a few days. I promise to come back as soon as I can.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Is Quinn going, too?”

She shook her head, fighting back her own tears. “No. Quinn’s going to stay with you.”

That perked him up. The corners of his mouth picked up a little, and he slid back to her side. “And you won’t be gone long, right?”

“No, I promise. I’ll be back in a few days.” I hope. “I’d take you if I thought it was safe, Leo. I would. But I think you’ll be better off here. Plus, someone else is coming to help.”

“Who?”

“Our Uncle Matt. He’s daddy’s brother.”

Leo nodded, thinking about that one. “Does he look like Daddy?”

Shea had never even thought about it. “I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

“Do you miss Mommy and Daddy?”

The sharp slice of guilt slid through her chest again. “Every day.”

“Me, too.” He nodded, and she braced herself to see condemnation in this eyes. Instead his smile returned. “But I’ve got you.”

Warmth replaced the guilt, and her eyes flooded with tears. She didn’t let them fall, though, because he might not understand. “That’s right. You do. And I,” she grabbed for him while he wasn’t expecting it, “have you.”

He shrieked as she started to tickle him again, but he got his own licks in, digging his little fingers into her ribs and wiggling them until she had to laugh.

The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall, and Gabriel charged into the room, a short sword in his hand and a fierce scowl on his face.

The intrusion silenced them as they stared at Gabriel, who looked ready to kill something.

“What the hell’s going on?”

After a few shocked seconds, they dissolved into laughter again, Leo curling into a little ball to hold his stomach.

Gabriel’s gaze narrowed, and they laughed harder at his stupefied expression. “Vaffanculo, Shea. I thought you were being massacred.”

“Don’t,” she had to stop and take a breath, “swear.”

“Don’t—” He paused, shot a glance Leo, who’d wound down to a giggle, then back to her. “You think this is funny?”

“Mm hmm.” She finally subsided to a chuckle but that wouldn’t last long if Gabriel didn’t lighten up soon. She’d have to laugh at him. And then maybe she’d have to cry.

With deliberate moves, Gabriel lowered the sword and leaned it against the wall before stalking over to Leo. “And you? You think it’s funny, too?”

Leo stretched out, put his hands behind his head and nodded.

With lightning speed, Gabriel grabbed Leo by the ankle and dangled him from one hand. “So who’s laughing now?”

Leo was, as Gabriel lifted him, with no visible effort, until they were almost eye-to-upside-down-eye. The little boy squiggled and squirmed, but Gabriel looked like he could hold him there all day.

“I was coming to wake you,” he told her. “It’s almost six. We usually eat around eight. I thought you and the little laughing hyena here,” he gave Leo a shake that made the little boy laugh even harder, “would like to take a walk.”

Then he grinned at her, nearly stealing her breath away. Didn’t he know she’d follow him anywhere? “Sure. That’d be great. Just…give me a minute.”

She headed for the bathroom as Gabriel lowered Leo onto the bed. She brushed her teeth and hair then stopped to look in the mirror, wondering if she should change her short black t-shirt and faded jeans.

Barely reaching the edge of her ass-hugging pants, the shirt showed off her flat stomach and molded to her decent breasts. With her hair down and without makeup, she looked younger than she was.

Maybe she should—

This isn’t a date, you idiot.

Her reflection wouldn’t stop grinning, though.

With a disgusted huff, she turned and walked back into the room. Leo had already donned his sneakers and climbed onto Gabriel’s back. Their hair was the exact same shade, she noticed. Raven-black and silky. If Leo let his grow, it would probably look exactly like Gabriel’s. Did Gabriel have any brothers? He’d never mentioned any but maybe that was some grigorio thing, like not telling anyone who your mother was.

Gabriel’s gaze caught and held hers and desire hummed along her nerves, burning away everything in her brain but the urge to flirt with him. To tease him.

For just a few hours, she wanted to be a normal twenty-three-year old.

But since that wasn’t going to happen, she wanted to have just a little fun before she had to—

No. Probably better not to think about that.

Forcing a smile, she stepped through the door, letting him close it behind her. Then she stopped. This place was a huge maze, and she had no idea where she was going.

She followed Gabriel through the house to a sturdy wooden door. When he opened it, the gray wolf sitting on the outside step turned his head toward them and yipped.

For a second, Shea recalled her encounter with Tivr, which she still hadn’t told Gabriel about. There’d been no time. And she’d been pissed at him, which hadn’t made her talkative.

But she knew this wasn’t Tivr.

“Quinn?” Leo said as he slid off Gabriel’s back to kneel beside the animal and stroke his fur. The wolf leaned back his head so Leo could scratch his throat.

“Yeah, it’s Quinn.” Gabriel sighed. “And he’ll have you do that all day if you let him.”

Quinn shot a growl at Gabriel then trotted off the step, looking back at Leo. Leo, in turn, looked back at Shea.

“Can I?”

Gabriel nodded when she looked to him for guidance. When had that happened, she wondered? When had she started looking to Gabriel for answers?

And when had he become more to her than just Leo’s guardian?

Quinn took off like a bullet and Leo ran after him with a shout, his little feet flying, legs pumping. She lost sight of him almost immediately in the dense forest and she drew a quick breath, ready to call him back. What if—

Gabriel laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, the heat of him searing her through her shirt. “He’ll be fine. We checked. There’s no one around. Let him run a little, Shea. He needs it.”

He was right. She knew he was right, but for the past year, they hadn’t been able to go anywhere without looking over their shoulders.

Shaking off that thought, she let Gabriel lead her into the forest. They walked, side by side, not talking, not touching.

His long muscular legs ate up the ground, though he shortened his pace so she could keep up without having to hurry. The tight black t-shirt he wore bared most of his bulging biceps and she wanted to feel the strength of them under hands. The t-shirt clung to his broad chest and tight abs and…

She wanted to pull him down to the ground and make him kiss her, let that amazing body cover hers and block out the world.

As he stripped her, the air would cool her overheated skin and the fading sunlight would eventually give way to an all-consuming darkness that would hide them from prying eyes.

Alone in the dark.

As they headed in the same general direction as Leo and Quinn, the sound of Leo’s laughter echoing through the trees brought a brief smile to her face.

Would there come a day when his laugh wouldn’t be so amazing? When it’d become an everyday occurrence?

Or would they always be on the run?

And would she be here to hear it?

“When did you find out what your mother was?”

The question had been rolling around in her brain for a while, something she hadn’t felt right asking. But out here, under the sky and surrounded by the encompassing forest, it seemed okay.

“I was eight.”

Not much older than Leo. He’d need to know, too. Someday. “How’d you handle it?”

His snort was amused. “Disbelief, shock, denial. But after a while, I figured it wasn’t all that strange, considering all the other shit I’d been dealing with since I was born.”

“Did you go to school?”

Now, he laughed outright and her thighs clenched. “Hell, no. I would have blasted the teachers into walls the first couple of years after I came into my full powers. I did get my diploma. I had a tutor for school subjects, took the GED when I was sixteen. I would have blown it off but my parents insisted. My dad trained me in everything else.”

Gabriel knew exactly what question Shea was going to ask next. He braced himself for it.

And, as fate would have it, they stepped into the clearing at that precise moment.

“What happened to him?”

Someone else might have tripped over the two small headstones before noticing them. Gabriel would be able to find them on a pitch-black night during a hurricane.

As always, the grass around them was neatly trimmed and the oaks Serena had planted the day of their burial more than a decade ago grew strong.

“Dario’s men killed him.” The familiar ache returned to his chest. “They’d come for my brother, Nino. They didn’t want me. I was too old. But I was strong enough that they knew I had to be out of the way. I was stupid. I let them down, and they died.”

Lowering himself onto the ground beneath his father’s oak, he leaned back against the trunk, watched her stand next to the graves.

“I don’t believe that.”

He snorted. “Quinn and I were out screwing around, blowing off steam. I’d had a bad feeling all day. I couldn’t explain it, but it was like…someone had my lungs in their hands and they were squeezing.” He rubbed at his chest, remembering that ache. “I should have stayed home that night. I should have known.”

She sat next to him on the ground, close enough to touch but not.

“How old were you?”

He shook his head. “Just shy of eighteen.” Old enough to know better. “Doesn’t matter how old I was. I wasn’t there when they needed me. That won’t happen again.”

He wouldn’t—couldn’t let that happen again. Couldn’t bear to think about another small headstone with Leo’s name on it. Or Shea’s. “Quinn was only fifteen. We killed our first men that day. And it was too late. By the time my dad knew what was happening, it was too late.”

He still remembered every second of the phone call from his dad.

“Get the hell out of here, Gabriel. You and Quinn, go somewhere, anywhere. Dario’s men are here and I don’t want you anywhere near them. I’ll call you when it’s safe.”

Gabriel had, of course, said fuck that. He and Quinn would be there. “Hold on. We’re coming.”

He’d believed his dad could hold them off. Davis Borelli was the best of the best. The strongest.

But the ten-minute drive from town had been excruciating.

And when they’d arrived, he’d seen Nino’s lifeless body cradled in his father’s arms as a dark-haired man pulled the trigger on the final shot through his dad’s temple.

What he couldn’t remember was exactly what happened after that. Quinn had filled in the gaps, but Gabriel only remembered bits and pieces. Blood, fists. The crunch of breaking bones. Quinn’s growls. And the screams of grown men.

Magic that had seared through his skin like the flame of a butane torch.

Fueled by rage and grief, he and Quinn had killed the last two men his dad hadn’t been able to. And when they were done, there hadn’t been enough left for two body bags for the four men.

He had no regrets. They’d deserved it.

“Gabriel. I’m so sorry.”

Shea’s quiet, sorrowful voice ripped him out of the past.

“It was a long time ago.” But he would never forget. Not one detail.

She shifted closer, close enough for him to feel her, smell her, but still not touching. “Your mom must have been devastated.”

“I think she wanted to die, too, but she had three other children. And Quinn.”

“Who she won’t allow close to her.”

He looked into her eyes. “I can see her point. It’s tough to love someone you’re going to lose.”

She nodded, her expression solemn. “But think of everything she’ll have missed by denying herself. What about you, Gabriel? What are you denying yourself?”

Too damn much.

He managed to keep the words from escaping, but she had to be able to see them on his face.

He wanted her. Ached for her in ways he’d never ached for anyone.

But if he let his emotions get involved, he might slip. Might miss something because he was so focused on her that he couldn’t see anything else.

He didn’t want her and Leo to pay for his fuck-up.

He opened his mouth to say just that but before the words formed, she straddled his lap and sealed her mouth to his. It was lunacy, but the minute her mouth touched his, everything else slipped away.

The woman he wanted more than he wanted to breathe had her arms locked around his shoulders and her tongue in his mouth. His body reacted with a powerful rush of adrenaline, making his cock hard and his brain explode with sensation.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he crushed her against him, smashing her breasts flat to his chest and bringing her crotch against the throbbing ridge in his jeans. He breathed in through his nose, her sweet, subtle scent screwing with his head while his hands flattened on her back and drew her even closer.

She moaned into his mouth, let her fingers slide into his hair and catch. Lust warred with reason, and, for the first time, lust won.

He kissed her, hard, slid his tongue into her mouth to tangle with hers. He kneaded her back like a cat then slid down to cup her ass, pushing her hips into him and rubbing her mound against his cock until he was primed to explode.

Hell, he wanted to, but he wanted to do it inside her.

Untangling her hands from his hair, she moved them to his shoulders in a light caress then stroked down his biceps and slid around his back. Her fingers dug in until she had his t-shirt bunched in her hands. He leaned forward so she could pull it over his head, releasing her mouth only long enough for her to do it.

He reclaimed her lips with a desperation that should have worried him. They were on borrowed time, and he didn’t want to waste any. Leo was out there, running with Quinn, who he trusted to keep the kid safe and occupied for these few stolen moments.

Rolling her under him, soft grass at her back, he grabbed both of her wrists in one hand, drawing them above her head. She arched into him, breasts pressing against his chest, belly to belly, and he let his mouth trace down her neck to her collar bone. He licked the delicate bones there as he heard her breathing shallow out. Slipping his free hand under her t-shirt, already riding above her belly button, he splayed his fingers across her stomach then dragged them up to caress her bare breasts beneath her shirt.

Her nipples pebbled and his hand trembled as he pulled her shirt up and bent his head to suck on her, the salty taste of her soft skin messing with his head, making him drunk. She arched even further, tugging her hands out of his grip to thread her fingers through his hair again and hold him to her.

As he suckled, his free hand moved to the waistband of her jeans. The smooth skin of her stomach quivered and he stopped. Until she lifted her hips, encouraging him to continue. She wasn’t wearing underwear. Hell, maybe she didn’t own any. Then his hand slid into her short, silky curls and he hoped she never did. He wanted unrestricted access to her at all times.

She froze, waiting, and he let his fingers rest there, soaking in her heat. He wanted to slide his fingers into her, feel how wet she was, feel her sex close around him. Wanted more than anything to rip away their clothes and take her, but they couldn’t. There wasn’t enough time or privacy.

Still, he couldn’t leave her until the primal part of him that wanted satisfaction heard her cry out his name. He wanted that. Needed it because they could have nothing else right now.

Sliding his fingers further, he brushed against her clit. Slow and light, he played with her, taunted her, until he felt her body arched into his, her fingers biting into his biceps as she sought a harder touch.

He gave it to her, stroking that little nub of flesh with more pressure until she began to writhe beneath him. His mouth still locked on hers, he stabbed his tongue into her mouth in time with his strokes and ignored the punishing ache in his body as his fingers played over her silky flesh.

Goddess, she was hot and wet and so fucking responsive, his cock strained against his zipper, seeking home.

With a gasp, she broke their kiss, drawing in air as if she were drowning, and he shifted his mouth to her neck, opening on the skin below her ear and reveling in the taste of her.

She was close, so close to breaking, her hips moving against his fingers, her hands clenching and releasing. Her breathy cries felt like physical caresses on his cock, cranking his need to finish her.

He turned ruthless, mercilessly teasing her. Hard and fast then slow and light. Her body responded to his every move, twisting and craving what he could give her.

Until finally, he felt her break. Catching her cry in his mouth, he felt her body tense and arch into him, her hip catching against his raging erection and nearly pushing him over the edge with her.

Her sex clenched around his fingers, and he groaned thinking about how fucking good that would feel around his cock.

They lay there for minutes, his fingers embedded in her wet heat, face buried in her neck. When he’d decided he wasn’t going to come in his pants, he slid his hand free and wrapped both arms around her, rearranging them until her head lay on his chest and her breath warmed his skin. He tortured himself for a few more minutes by just holding her.

If he failed again, this was what he’d lose.

Blessed Goddess, don’t let me fail.

After a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal, and she sank into him, body draped across his, head burrowed into the curve of his shoulder.

It’d be relaxing if not for the almost overwhelming urge to thrust his still-aching erection against her.

Not the time. Not the place.

But, Christ, he wanted to. He wanted to strip her, spread her out on the ground and sink into her until he forgot his own name.

Shit, he had to relax. Focus inward and concentrate on breathing. Yeah, like that was gonna work. Especially when he felt her hand begin to rub against his chest.

And when she shifted slightly off of him, he opened his eyes and found himself staring directly into hers.

* * *

Shea had never had an orgasm by anyone else’s hand before.

And damn…good thing she hadn’t known what she was missing.

Then again, it might not have been as good with anyone who wasn’t Gabriel.

And what would happen when they actually got their clothes off and he could take her completely?

She wanted to know.

Staring into his dark eyes, she let her hand slide down his hard chest to the defined ridges of his abs. His gaze stayed steady but his muscles contracted under her fingers. The corners of her mouth kicked up in a half smile, making a muscle tic in Gabriel’s jaw.

Good. He wasn’t as steady as he fronted. She slid her hand further until she reached the waistband of his jeans. For a few seconds, she let her hand lie there, not moving, letting him sweat just a little.

Then she cupped him through his jeans, the hard bulge twitching under her hand, straining against the placket until she was sure it’d burst through.

Her smile widened as his lips parted to draw in air. She loved how the touch of her hand affected him.

Gently at first, she stroked him through the fabric, watching his expression tighten into a fierce mask. But she wasn’t afraid. Hell, no. It made her hot and a little more bold, letting her fingers undo the button at the top then pull down the zipper, careful not to pull it down too fast and possibly hurt that part of him she so wanted to ease.

With the zipper split, she maneuvered her hand into his pants, his soft cotton underwear tight and fighting her. Still, she was determined and finally got her hand exactly where she wanted it. Gripping him.

He was hot and hard and soft and huge. Goddess, the man truly had been blessed. Her fingers didn’t meet when she wrapped them around his shaft and started a slow glide.

When his breath hissed in and his head kicked back against the tree, she thought she might have hurt him. But when she paused, he laid his hand over hers and wrapped her fingers more tightly around him.

She picked up the rhythm, working him with her hand, watching his face to see if he liked when she squeezed him at the tip before working her hand back to the base, then sliding farther to cup his heavy balls.

His moan fired her previously slaked desire, making her sex ache. When his eyes closed, she leaned in and sealed her mouth over his, sliding her tongue into his mouth, flicking at his until he responded in kind. When his hands slid into her hair to hold her to him, she slowed her hand, and only when he’d eased his hold on her did she grip him tighter.

Power. She liked it.

So much so, she wanted him to come on her command. She stroked him faster now, feeling his muscles strain toward release, his tongue a furious whip in her mouth.

Goddess, she ached, pressing her sex against his hip and rubbing hard as she rubbed him. She felt another climax build in her body, reached for it, just as his cock jerked in her hand and a warm wetness coated her fingers. Her body pulsed in time with his.

They lay there, breathing, her fingers still clutched around his softening shaft. Silence but for the soft rustle of the leaves above.

Shea didn’t want to move, and she wasn’t quite sure her body would obey if she did try to get up. Not that she could because Gabriel’s arms were tight bands around her.

Which really wasn’t a problem.

But he’d probably like to have his property back.

She released him but didn’t realize she didn’t know where to put her sticky hand. Gabriel solved the problem for her by sitting up and wiping her hand and his stomach with his shirt.

Then he zipped his pants and hers, his motions almost too controlled.

He didn’t say anything, his gaze on whatever his hands were doing and, as she watched him take a long look at his shirt before he dropped it on the ground on his side away from her.

What the hell? Was he angry at her? Embarrassed by what they’d done? Did he regret this?

He looked up at that second and caught her gaze, his so dark, it was like looking into a pit of molten dark chocolate. Her breath caught at the banked emotion, and before she could draw in a needed breath, his mouth came down on hers with a determination she couldn’t deny.

He broke off the kiss a few seconds later with a guttural moan.

“Later,” he said.

She nodded, not sure she could speak.

Damn, she wished it were later.

Chapter Seventeen

Dinner was quiet and way too long for Shea’s peace of mind.

Tonight, she and Gabriel would finish what they’d started in the woods.

Just thinking about it made her shift on the chair. She was almost as bad as Leo, who practically bounced on his seat and couldn’t stop running at the mouth, which turned out to be a good thing because none of the adults could string more than three words together without stumbling over them.

Serena’s eyes held a faint red tinge, as if she’d been crying and had done her best to clean up before she’d had to face the crowd. She smiled at Leo’s continuous jabber and asked Gabriel an occasional question but that was it.

Quinn didn’t speak to anyone but Leo. Gabriel kept sliding her hot glances that sizzled along her nerve endings and promised heaven later.

Goddess, she wanted him. Wanted it to be midnight, wanted Leo to be sleeping soundly and Quinn and Serena to be elsewhere so she could lock the door to his room and spend the night learning how to make love to him.

She didn’t want to die a virgin.

Hell, she couldn’t give a good reason why she’d never gone to bed with a guy before. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had offers.

Something had always stopped her. Though it would sound crazy to anyone else, she knew the voices in her head would have disapproved. But they shut up when she kissed Gabriel. That had to mean something. Didn’t it?

“Are you finished, Shea?”

Serena’s voice broke into her thoughts, dousing her libido as her brain made the connection again between Serena and Gabriel. Mother and son.

They didn’t look all that similar, though their smiles were identical. Gabriel must resemble his father, she decided.

“Can I help with the ritual tomorrow?” Leo broke in, practically bouncing off his chair. “I watch Shea all the time and my mom taught me a little. And my dad.”

“I don’t see why not, Leo.” Serena smiled at him as she collected plates from the table. Quinn stood and put his own in the sink before she could get to him. Her smile faltered but she continued uninterrupted. “When Gabriel was a little boy, he loved to help, too.”

“No offense, but I think I liked the rush afterward more than the actual helping.” Gabriel’s mouth lifted into a grin. “Kind of like a good sugar high.”

Serena’s glance was indulgent. “You always did have a sweet…tooth.”

After putting his plates in the sink, Quinn walked out of the room without another word. Serena stared at the door then sighed.

“I’ll be right back.”

Shea watched her disappear through the same door, back straight and an air of determination that was nearly visible.

“Is Quinn in trouble?”

Leo’s whisper made her smile and she shared that smile with Gabriel, who shook his head.

“No, he’s not in trouble, bud,” she said. “He’s just, ah, kind of tired.”

“No,” Leo shook his head. “He’s sad ’cause of Serena. And Serena’s afraid of him. Why is she afraid of Quinn?”

Shea couldn’t think of one damn thing to say. She hadn’t realized how good Leo was at picking up on emotions. She felt Serena’s exasperation like a whisper of cool fog against her skin. She wondered how Leo sensed emotions. She’d never thought to ask.

Gabriel answered before Shea could pull her thoughts together. “Serena’s not afraid of Quinn, not like you used to be afraid of the dark. Serena’s afraid of something bad happening to Quinn. Do you understand?”

Leo mulled it over for a second. “Yeah, but I still don’t see why he wants to kiss her all the time.”

She couldn’t help it. She choked back a laugh as Gabriel’s mouth twitched. He looked to her for guidance and she shook her head. “You’re doing fine, big guy. Go for it.”

Instead, Gabriel asked, “How do you know that?”

“I see it in my head when I pet him. He’s so soft. Can I have fur when I get bigger?”

Shea thought her head should spin at the speed Leo switched subjects. Since Leo had rediscovered his desire to talk in the past few days, he seemed to be making up for lost time.

“No,” Gabriel said. “You’re not going to have fur when you get bigger. So you want to watch some movies before bed? I think Serena has more movies than a video store.”

Effectively sidetracked, Leo bounced off his chair, ready to go and, intrigued, Shea followed Gabriel through the house by way of another hallway that led to a stairs leading down.

“Wow,” Leo said as he got a look at the room. “Does Serena play with all this stuff?”

Gabriel grinned as Leo walked over to the pool table and ran his fingers along the carved wood before he headed for the DVDs flanking the huge television that covered almost half the wall.

“She can beat me in pool nearly every time but I remain the all-time pinball champ.”

Shea smiled at the image of a young Gabriel spending hours at the pinball machine. But just as quickly, that image was replaced by one of a teenage Gabriel standing over his dead father.

So much pain.

Standing to the side, Shea watched Gabriel help Leo pick age-appropriate movies. Leo looked like a kid in a candy store. They’d seen one movie in the past year in a movie theater, a Disney release. So, of course, Leo chose “Monsters,” “The Jungle Book” and “Peter Pan.”

Then they settled on the curved couch, Leo between them, as Gabriel fiddled with a remote that looked like it could control the space shuttle. A second later, several pieces of equipment blinked to life on the cabinet below the television. He pushed another button and the lights dimmed.

And finally the movie started.

In the flickering light from the screen, Shea watched Leo’s eyes widen in wonder. Lifting her arm, she settled it around his shoulders, drawing his warm little body into her side. He snuggled in without taking his eyes from the screen.

So small. So not fair.

“Shea.” Gabriel sat on the other side of Leo, watching her. Their gazes met and held. “You want popcorn?”

Her lips curved into a grin even as her mouth began to water. And not just for popcorn. “Sure. Lots of butter.”

“Only way to eat it.”

* * *

Serena knew where she’d find Quinn.

In the one room of the house he knew she wouldn’t go.

Unfortunately for Quinn, she’d decided it’d been way too long since she’d confronted this particular demon.

She hadn’t opened the door to Nino’s room since his death. The pain in her heart had subsided in recent years, but not enough. It would never be enough. Still, the situation with Quinn had reached its breaking point.

Down the south hall, past the secondary altar room, through the entrance to the west rooms.

The door was closed, but she knew exactly how the room would look. Exactly the way Nino had left it the last time he’d been here.

It took her nearly a minute to grab the doorknob.

She tried to prepare herself for the despair to hit her, the gnawing pain that lives with you when you lose a child. Gabriel had been her first in all the centuries since the curse. She’d loved him with the passion of a new mother, despite the circumstances of his birth.

Nino had been a joyful surprise. Where her daughters and Gabriel had been solemn children, as if they’d always known the weight of the world was on their shoulders, Nino had woken every day with a smile on his face. Davis’ influence, she was sure.

Davis…

No, she couldn’t think about Davis, not now. She had to concentrate on Quinn. And how best to break the hold she had on his heart.

She took a deep breath, twisted the knob and opened the door.

Quinn sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor as he meditated, looking so incongruous on the carpet printed to resemble a small town. Nino had played on that carpet for hours.

She took a deep breath and ignored the bed where Nino had slept, still made up with his Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and the toy truck in the corner, laying on its side, exactly how he’d left it.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice sounding horribly loud in the quiet space. “This has gone on long enough.”

He didn’t acknowledge her immediately, but after a few seconds, his eyelids fluttered and he lifted his mesmerizing blue gaze to meet hers. Those eyes always reminded her of the warm Mediterranean. But his mouth was set in a cool, straight line, only the muscle jumping in his cheek gave away his anger.

“Are you ready to admit you’re wrong?”

Sweet heaven, he was gorgeous when he was pissed off. She wanted to smile at his youthful fire, but she knew it would only anger him more. And make her want him more.

She already wanted him more than she wanted to breathe.

To steady herself, she let her gaze roam around the room. To remind herself why she couldn’t let herself love him.

“I’m not wrong, Quinn. I’m not going to change my mind. Find someone else. Take another lover.” Just don’t ever tell me. “Don’t wait for me because it will not—”

He rose with a speed and agility she should have expected but hadn’t. He had her up against the wall before she knew what he intended, mouth crushed against hers, kissing her with more passion than skill.

His lips forced hers open, his tongue stabbing into her, gliding against her tongue. The taste of him, unfamiliar and heady, made her moan.

She wanted to push him away but her body knew her mate, knew this was the only man for her. And had decided it’d been denied long enough.

Her knees weakened but his hands caught her under her arms, lifting her until her feet left the floor and she had to grip his shoulders to maintain her balance.

Balance she didn’t have without her blood-bound mate in her life.

When he drew back, her stomach rolled at the frustration-love-hope-despair she saw in his face.

She couldn’t stop herself. Her hands lifted to cup his tense jaw, letting the warmth of him soak into her skin. His eyelids flickered but didn’t fall, lips parting to draw in air but he didn’t move.

Touching her lips to the corner of his mouth, she drew in his musky scent, let it seep into her soul. Where it belonged. The rough stubble against her skin made her heart ache. She wanted him to rub his chin against her breasts, her stomach. Wanted him to brush it against the inside of her thighs when he put his mouth on her sex.

Her body shook with the strength of that image, just as it did when she dreamed in the middle of the night. Those dreams taunted her with what she couldn’t have.

She shut her eyes.

“No,” Quinn growled, shaking her just a little. “No, don’t you dare close your eyes. God damn it, Serena, you look at me. How can you live without this? Without me?”

She didn’t live. Not really. She existed. And not well. But if she allowed herself to look at him now, she’d be lost.

As lost as she’d been at Nino’s death.

Despair, black and bitter and choking, bubbled up from her gut, from the hole she’d buried it in. It leaked from her body in her tears, silent and pouring down her face now.

“I can’t.” She couldn’t breathe but that wasn’t what she meant. “I can’t. Quinn. So sorry. It hurts.”

The tears she hadn’t shed so many years ago rose like a hurricane-fueled wave, pouring from beneath her closed lids, drenching her face. She couldn’t stop them, any more than she could force the grief and anger and dread back into the whole.

This is what she’d tried to avoid all these years. And all it had taken was one kiss.

She wept, her body wracked by sobs. Quinn swore, something foul and directed at himself, and wrapped her against his body. Which just made her cry harder.

She wanted him so badly, her body ached with it.

But, just as she couldn’t bring back her beautiful Nino, she couldn’t have Quinn. She didn’t deserve him and he deserved better. Better than a woman who had failed so many, who had let down her boschetta by not being the leader they needed. By having another child when she knew how much danger he would be subjected to all his life.

She didn’t know how long she cried or when Quinn carried her out of the room. It took all of her dubious control to rein in her tears, to push back the grief enough to move on. But when she finally got herself under control, she realized she was sitting on Quinn’s lap on another bed in another room.

His arms wrapped around her shoulders, hers wrapped around his waist. Her tears soaked his skin, now sticky and damp.

For a few brief seconds, as sanity returned, she rested her cheek against his chest, heard his heart beating steadily beneath her ear.

Then she forced herself to push away. To get to her feet and meet his sorrowful blue eyes.

“Don’t you see, Quinn? It’s for the best.”

Then she turned and walked away.

* * *

Gabriel didn’t watch the movie.

He watched Shea.

Watched her eat popcorn and suck the butter off her fingers. Had to stomp down the urge to do it for her.

Got a hard-on watching her lick the salt off her lips.

And lost it as he watched her watch Leo with such fear on her face he almost howled in frustration.

He almost got caught watching her when the first film ended, and they both looked at him to switch the film. And when the next one started, he went back to watching her.

And thinking. Tonight. He had to have her tonight. So he could get this lust, this burn, out of his system. He had to be sharp, and he couldn’t be sharp when he wanted her this badly.

About halfway through the second film, he felt Leo’s body relax completely into sleep. Shea’s gaze dropped to Leo then lifted to his. The desire in her eyes made his blood pump hot and heavy.

No more waiting.

He slid off the couch, careful not to wake Leo when he picked the kid off the couch and cradled him against his chest. Shea close on his heels, he took the kid to the bedroom they’d shared last night and laid him on the bed.

Shea made short work of his clothes, never once waking the little boy, then tucked the covers around him and made sure the nightlight in the bathroom was lit and the door was open.

Then she stood and looked at him.

Extending his hand, he waited, breath held, until she took it. Her fingers trembled in his, but her expression held no fear. Only a reflection of the same lust he felt.

With her hand in his, he pulled her out of the room and across the hall. His mom had known he’d want to be close to them, to protect them, so she’d put them in the room across from his.

His mom couldn’t have known how he felt about Shea. Probably better she didn’t.

Without turning on the overhead light, he shut the door and whispered a spell to light the candles on the side table. He needed to see her but not in the harsh light from the electric bulbs. He wanted to see her skin gleam in the flicker of candlelight.

He wanted to take his time, savor every moment.

But Shea had other plans.

She leaped at him, wrapping her arms and legs around him and sealing her mouth over his with a desperation that burned through his control with the force of a dynamite blast.

He didn’t stop her, didn’t try to slow her down, because she wanted exactly what he did. With one arm around her waist, he used the other to strip her t-shirt over her head, baring her upper body to him. He couldn’t do anything about her jeans with her legs around his waist, so he started walking backward toward the bed.

When he hit the mattress with the back of his legs, he turned and broke their kiss, stomach clenching at the whimper she made when they lost contact.

Pulling her body away from his, he set her on the bed on her knees and started work on her jeans even as his mouth lowered to her breasts. Her nipples peaked hard and tight, and his tongue flicked over them mercilessly. She arched her back and he reached for the button on her jeans, nearly ripping it off in his haste. When he had the zipper down, he gave her nipple one last nip before he pushed her back on the bed.

She landed with a little gasp and started to laugh, which she continued until he stripped the pants off her legs, fell to his knees and put his mouth over her sex.

“Gabriel…” she gasped his name, as if shocked, but he couldn’t stop now. And she didn’t push him away. Instead, her hands sank into his hair as his tongue began to lap at her with broad strokes. Her moan made him shudder even as her musky heat coated his tongue.

With her legs over his shoulders and her hands in his hair, he ate at her like a man starving. He couldn’t get enough, not of her breathy moans or the sweet taste of her. Moving his hands up her body, he cupped her breasts, rubbing her nipples in rhythm with his tongue on her clit. Learned what made her sigh and squirm and groan.

He played her body with single-minded intent, and when her body went taut, her thighs clenching around his head as she came, his inner caveman beat his chest and roared.

While she lay there, trying to catch her breath, he dragged off his own clothes and stood. He stared at her for several seconds, just looking at her beautiful brown hair, wild and dark on his bed, and at her toned body, still shaking from her orgasm.

Then her eyes caught his and his cock throbbed with the heat still flaring there.

When she came up on her knees in front of him, he thought she’d take it slow now. Thought that with the first rush over, they’d have time to play.

But Shea had other ideas.

With a quick twist of her upper body, she had him flat on his back on the bed and had straddled his waist before he realized what she as doing.

His body knew what she wanted, even if his brain hadn’t quite caught up, and his hips arched as she took his cock in her hand and began to lower herself onto him.

But when she tensed and bit her lip, he grabbed her hips and held her completely still.

“Shea. Slow down, babe. Wait a—”

“I’ve waited too damn long. I don’t want to wait anymore.” She looked down into his eyes and then to where they were almost joined. “Come on, Gabriel. Please.”

His eyes widened as he read between the lines, which was damn hard to do considering how fucking much he wanted to thrust into her. The tip of his cock was already enclosed in her channel and he felt himself twitch in anticipation.

But she was tight, so tight, and he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Are you a virgin?”

He had to know. It wasn’t going to make a difference to the outcome, but it would make a difference with how they played this here and now.

He had his answer in her silence and the look in her eyes.

His inner caveman gave a few more beats on his chest.

His. Only his. Always his.

He thrust up as he brought her hips down, impaling her on his cock in one smooth, fast motion.

Her gasp made him freeze.

“Are you okay?” He could barely get the words out from behind his gritted teeth as he grabbed at the reins of his control. “Did I hurt you, honey?”

She shook her head, the movement making her hips wriggle, her sheath contracting around him. “No, but I’m going to explode if you don’t finish this.” Her half-smile was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. “Come on, Gabriel. I want to make you come this time.”

His groan echoed in the room. “If we do this right, we both will.”

Then he showed her how.

He lifted her hips, eyes closing at the burn of flesh on flesh, on the tightness of her flesh around his. On her sleek, wet heat. Then he let her sink down on him, watching her face for any sign of pain.

He didn’t want her to have any, not this first time, not with him. But she didn’t seem to have any discomfort at all. Instead, she looked ecstatic. With her eyes closed, she set her hands on his abdomen and let him control the motion. Her back arched, like a cat in the sun, shifting the angle of their bodies and making them both groan at the few centimeters more he sank.

After a few minutes, she must have decided he wasn’t going fast enough, so she started to move. Using her legs and her hips, she began to ride him, faster and faster still until his eyes rolled back in his head and he couldn’t see. Only feel.

He tried to hold back his release, tried to make it last, but he couldn’t refuse her.

His hands tightened around her hips, holding her steady, grounding himself.

And when she finally cried out and clenched around him, he felt his own orgasm explode out of his cock and into her.

For several heartbeats, he just breathed. The smell of sex and Shea’s subtle scent made his cock twitch again.

Hell, he might actually be able to get it up again in a few minutes.

Then Shea leaned forward, draping herself over his body, head on his chest.

Wrapping his arms around her, he made sure she wasn’t going anywhere.

And after a few minutes, her breathing pattern indicated she’d fallen asleep.

With his cock still pulsing in her body.

He closed his eyes and followed her.

Chapter Eighteen

Gabriel slept more soundly beside Shea than he’d slept in years.

But when he woke, she was gone. After throwing on some clothes, he checked Leo’s room and confirmed that she’d only moved across the hall.

The two of them slept in the same bed, though Shea was on top of the covers. As if she hadn’t meant to fall asleep there.

He made sure he didn’t wake them. She and Leo could both do with some more rest.

Instead he headed for the kitchen and found his mom and Quinn.

Both of them looked like they hadn’t slept all night. But he knew, from the strained silence, that they hadn’t spent the night the way he and Shea had.

“Everything okay?”

His question elicited a nod from his mom, sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea, and another from Quinn, standing as far from her as he could get without leaving the room.

“Where are Shea and Leo?” Serena asked.

Narrowed gaze shifting between the two of them, he briefly considered asking what had happened then decided against it. He didn’t think either of them would answer. Besides, everyone was entitled to a little privacy. And their secrets.

“They’re still sleeping.”

His mom nodded. “I thought you might want to show her the studio today.”

He planned to, right after breakfast. “I will.”

“Good.” His mom nodded and slid him a short-lived smile. “It’ll be nice to have someone make use of it.”

Silence descended again as Gabriel headed for the coffeemaker. The tension hung in the air, almost thick enough to choke. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and Quinn stood.

“I’m going for a run. Be back later.”

Serena’s eyes followed him down the hall until she couldn’t see him anymore.

Gabriel sighed. “Mom—”

“Good morning, Leo. Shea,” Serena said. “Did you sleep well?”

Gabriel turned to see a quick blush heat Shea’s cheeks as she and Leo walked into the kitchen. Shea opened her mouth to answer but Leo started to chatter about the movie they’d watched last night.

He tensed, wondering how much more his mom could take. But amazingly, her tension eased as she talked to Leo. They kept up a steady conversation all through breakfast. The kid had more questions than an encyclopedia had answers but his mom and Shea spoke to him without a hint of impatience.

He hoped Shea’s easy smile and more relaxed manner this morning was a result of their night together. He knew he sure as hell felt better.

When she glanced his way and the corners of her mouth curled up just enough to give the impression of a smile, he felt like he’d won the freaking lottery.

If his dad could see him now, he’d shake his head.

“You’re complicating things, Gabriel. Don’t lose focus. They need you to be the strong one.”

Emotion made you weak.

He knew that. But he couldn’t help himself.

Tomorrow, he’d be strong. Today…fuck it.

They sat there for the better part of an hour, talking about nothing. Carefully talking about nothing. Letting Leo guide the conversation. It felt like a truce between two parties who weren’t sure they were fighting. But it was better than being at each other’s throats.

Finally, his mother said, “So, Gabriel, are you going to show Shea the studio?”

Shea’s gaze found his. “Studio?”

He smiled at her, just to see her reaction. And wasn’t disappointed to see heat rush across her face again. “Come on.”

* * *

Shea followed Gabriel and Leo down the hall, trying not to overheat as she recalled last night.

Gabriel had gone to the bathroom to get a towel to clean her up after they’d had sex then rolled her onto her side, curled around her and fell asleep. His arm lay heavy around her waist, his body giving off so much heat, she hadn’t needed a blanket.

She should have slept like a baby. She’d felt completely safe and protected and she wanted to stay there all night. And most of today. But she’d stayed with Gabriel only a few hours, worried that Leo would wake and be worried because she wasn’t there. Leo came first. He had to.

Last night had been a stolen moment.

Today…back to reality.

But maybe not just yet, because the room Gabriel waved her into made her muscles quiver in anticipation.

Mirrors covered two facing walls and shiny wood covered the floor. The studio was perfect, complete with a small piano on one end and…a beautiful bar along the long front wall.

“Serena won’t tell you but she’s actually a decent dancer, though I’ve never known her to dance for an audience,” Gabriel said. “I only know because I used to sneak down here and watch when I was kid.”

She trailed her hand over the bar, drew in a deep breath of air scented with lemon oil. Her muscles twitched at the prospect of putting on a leotard.

“Sissy, look. A piano.” Leo’s voice was awed. “Hey, this box has your name on it.”

Leo held out a white shirt box he’d picked up off the piano bench. She took it, with a quick glance at Gabriel. His expression revealed nothing. Taking off the lid, she lifted out a delicate pink leotard and white tights.

A smile kicked up the corners of her mouth and tears formed. She had no idea where he’d gotten the leotard. She didn’t care.

She walked over to him, lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

The heat in his eyes when she drew back scorched her to her bones and drew all the air out of the room.

“We’ve got time,” Gabriel said. “If you want to work out for a while.”

“Shea, can I play it?”

With an effort, she dragged her gaze to Leo, already sitting at the piano, looking at her with wide eyes.

She looked at Gabriel, who shrugged.

“Sure, kid,” he said. “But there’s a…”

Leo ran his small hands over the keys, getting a feel for the instrument. She knew nothing about music other than she liked to dance to it. But she did know Leo shouldn’t be able to play an instrument he’d never touched before.

After a few minute of pressing keys in different combinations, he started to play a melody she vaguely recognized. It took her a second but she finally—

“My Chemical Romance.”

Their second album. It had been a gift from another dancer in the last bar she’d worked at in Atlantic City. She and Leo both loved it. And he was playing it slow enough for her to dance to. The kid constantly amazed her.

She smiled back up at Gabriel.

“Where can I change?”

* * *

“I’m assuming this will be your first treguenda with the nail in your possession, Shea. Would you help me prepare for the ritual?”

Serena’s question startled Shea out of the peaceful mood left over from her practice. She and Leo and Gabriel were in the kitchen, having lunch in companionable silence, though Gabriel’s every glance made her body heat and her blood sizzle.

But Serena’s soft words doused her in cold reality.

Holy crap. With everything else going on, she hadn’t even thought about the fact that she would have to perform what would have been her mom’s duties tonight. It made her brain stutter to a complete stop for a few seconds as she blinked at Serena, her hand going to key around her neck.

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She couldn’t form a coherent thought beyond the fact that her mom was truly gone for good.

Except… she wasn’t. The voices murmured softly behind her mental shield.

“Shea.”

Closing her eyes, she saw her mom giving her the key for the first time and teaching her how to make it transform into its natural shape as a nail. Saw her mom show her how to perform the yearly ritual that charged the nail on the summer solstice. Saw the nail clutched in Leo’s hand as he slowly woke in that hidden room in the basement.

“Shea? Are you alright?” Serena asked.

Slowly, she shook her head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She looked Serena in the eyes. “Of course, I’ll help.”

Shea felt Gabriel’s gaze on her as she rose and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile before she turned to Leo. “I’m going with Serena, bud. You stay with Gabriel, okay?”

Gabriel gave her a look before saying, “No problem. We’ll go work with your knives, again.”

Leo gave her a quick smile because Gabriel had said the magic word. Knives. He loved training with Gabriel. Which was good, because if anything happened—

“Shea?”

Serena stood in the doorway, looking back at her. Waiting.

She followed Serena through the house to her private altar room. A tree stump sat in the middle of the room, only about four feet in diameter and two feet high, but carved over every inch with pictures of the Goddesses and Gods and Etruscan writing. Someone had put many years of hard work and loving attention into the altar.

“This is beautiful,” Shea said, running her fingers over the smooth top.

“Gabriel’s father made that for me.” Serena walked around to the other side of the altar. “Davis was a master craftsman.”

Shea looked up, catching the look of utter devastation that crossed Serena’s face.

“I’m sorry.” Shea shook her head. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Serena quickly wiped the expression away with a forced smile and turned to gather her moon bowl and other tools from a table on the far wall. “I know. Please, don’t feel you have to walk on eggshells around me. Davis and Nino have been gone a long time. Sometimes, I actually like to talk about them. To remember them.”

Shea nodded. She knew exactly what Serena meant. “Is Gabriel a lot like his dad?”

Some other emotion crossed Serena’s face now, something Shea would have sworn was fear. But that made no sense. “Gabriel idolized Davis. By the time Gabriel could talk, he was finishing Davis’ sentences. They never fought, never butted heads. Not over anything.”

Unlike Shea and her mom. They’d constantly been at odds. And when she met the hiker, it’d gotten so much worse. They’d barely been speaking when she’d finally left.

Tears rushed to her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. They’d only give her a headache.

“Shea?”

“How do you think the curse will be broken, Serena?” Shea looked the other woman directly in the eyes. “Do you have any ideas?”

Serena sighed as she sat on the floor before the altar, waving Shea down opposite her. “I’ve had many ideas over the past centuries. Most of us believed the curse would be broken the second you took your first breath. Most of us wanted to believe that. Now that we know differently, I’d like to say I’m at a loss.” Serena paused as she set the moon bowl on the altar. “But I won’t lie to you, Shea. I think… I think it’s going to require sacrifice. One that involves blood. Your blood. I think your parents knew that, and that’s why they disappeared.”

Yeah, she thought that too. But hearing someone else say it made it that much more real.

And, strangely, that much more acceptable.

She looked into the moon bowl, at the green liquid Serena had put there, then back up with raised eyebrows. “You want to induce a vision with vervaine juice? Didn’t Gabriel tell you about my headaches?”

The spell Serena wanted to try would definitely bring on a migraine. Vervaine was a powerful herb in its natural leafy state, but distilled down to a juice, it was capable of producing a hallucinogenic state that could last for hours. Or days.

Serena nodded. “Yes, but you’re not doing the spell. I am. I just need a bit of your blood.”

Foolish hope made her hands clench into fists and still she had to ask. “Do you think you’ll be able to see anything?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Serena held out her hand. “I’m not a foreseer. But we don’t have many options, do we?”

Shea only hesitated a few seconds before placing her hand palm up in Serena’s, wincing only a little when the other woman cut the tip of Shea’s index finger with the sharp athame then dripped a few drops of blood into the bowl.

Rising and stepping away from the altar, Shea wrapped her cut finger in the hem of her t-shirt and watched as Serena took the blade and mixed the fluids together. Chanting in Etruscan, with an accent that reminded her so much of her mother, Serena made pleas to the Goddesses Menrva and Uni for their strength to see what would be.

Dipping her finger in the bowl, Serena closed her eyes then painted the mixed blood and vervaine on her cheeks and down the pulse points on her neck. Her head fell back and her hands dropped to her thighs. She continued to chant, the words deepening until they were little more than a rumble.

Shea felt the air thicken around her as the spell drew power up from the earth. Serena’s muscles quivered with tension as her voice became a whisper. Shea’s temples began to throb at the amount of power Serena drew to her. The first tinge of fear crept up Shea’s spine. Fear that Serena might not see anything. Fear that she would.

Shea gasped as Serena’s head suddenly snapped upright until she stared straight at Shea. Only she wasn’t seeing Shea at all. Serena’s eyes stared straight ahead, looking at something only she could see.

Her mouth continued to move, to chant, but Shea couldn’t hear her at all now. Her ears strained for any recognizable words or phrases. Anything that would indicate what she saw.

What—

Suddenly, Serena started to shake, her body twitching uncontrollably, her head whipping back and forth, as if she were fighting something. Or the spell was fighting her.

Shea rose, not sure if she should touch Serena to bring her out of it or if that would do more harm. But Serena was going to hurt herself if she didn’t stop.

But what if the spell was working? What if she interrupted the spell before Serena was finished?

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Serena slumped to the floor as the power in the air dissipated.

Shea hurried to her side, not knowing if she should touch her. “Serena, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Serena groaned, and her face scrunched into lines of pain. “I can hear you, dear. Very clearly. Just…give me a minute, okay?”

It took more than a minute for Serena to finally open her eyes. And when she finally did, the woman’s expression told her everything she needed to know.

“I’m sorry, Shea. I saw nothing.”

* * *

Serena watched the girl’s shoulders drop even as she tried to smile.

“That’s okay,” Shea said. “It was pretty much a shot in the dark anyway.”

Serena pulled herself back to a sitting position, closing her eyes so Shea couldn’t see the lie she was telling.

Because she had seen something, something that made her cold to her bones.

Something it took every ounce of her control not to reveal to Shea. The girl had inherited her mother’s Empathic Gift. If she wasn’t careful, Shea would pick up on her feelings and demand to know what she’d seen.

But there was no way Serena would tell Shea how she was going to die.

* * *

A slight breeze rustled the leaves as Serena led them on an unmarked path through the forest.

It was close to midnight, but the full moon cast enough light that they didn’t need flashlights.

Deer, raccoons and possums were the only life Gabriel sensed. He heard no car noise, no planes rumbling overheard.

Perfect night for the ritual. He hoped like hell it dispelled some of the tension that had built through the afternoon and evening. No one had said anything. Nothing inflammatory, anyway. But everyone had been on edge.

Even Leo had seemed to regress back to silence.

When they finally reached the circle in the clearing, Gabriel sighed as the power of the earth called out to him.

A sense of calm laced with anticipation seeped into his blood from the ground up and he smiled, knowing there would be more magic. And it would be good.

Almost as good as sex. He turned to see Shea speaking quietly with Serena. Almost.

And it would have been perfect if it all hadn’t gone so wrong.

* * *

One minute Gabriel was watching Serena perform the blessing to the Goddess.

The next he was flat on his ass, blown out of the circle by a blast of power so intense, he blacked out for several seconds.

When he came to, he heard Quinn calling Serena’s name, Serena calling to Leo and Shea moaning.

Leo remained in the center of the circle, eyes closed, holding tight to Shea’s hand as he funneled power through his body and directly into Shea. She was already on her knees and would soon be flat on the ground. In a coma.

The force of the magic the kid channeled had taken him under, made him oblivious to anything but the power he controlled.

He didn’t realize he was going to kill Shea if he didn’t release her.

“Gabe!” Quinn yelled. “Serena won’t let me in.”

Damn, they’d underestimated the kid again.

He had to get Shea out of there before the kid killed her. Holding out his hands, he tested the wards Serena had set up around the circle. The arus in his blood reacted violently to the amount of power enclosing Serena, Shea and Leo in the circle. He couldn’t break the wards in his current condition. They were too strong.

“Mom! Let me in.”

Serena didn’t spare him a glance. “Too dangerous. Leo, sweetheart, listen to me. You have to release the power. You’re going to hurt Shea.”

The little boy didn’t move. Gabriel was pretty sure he hadn’t heard Serena.

Leo had tapped into the power of the ley line pulsing straight through Serena’s land. It was why she’d settled here, how she’d kept this house hidden all these years.

Magic, as all Etruscans knew, came from the earth. It flowed like blood through the soil in veins—ley lines. When anyone used magic, they tapped into that power to do so.

Leo, with too little training, must have felt like he’d just swallowed the biggest fucking happy pill in the world. All that power gave him a high better than sex and drugs combined.

And he was channeling it all through Shea.

If Leo didn’t stop…

Gabriel took the only option left. It was going to hurt, hurt like hell. And not just him, but Serena, too.

Fuck it. He drew power into himself, up from the ground and through his body. Then he lifted his hands toward the shield and released the power at the shield his mother had set up.

A lightning bolt of sheer agony slashed through his body, seizing his muscles and making his head feel like he’d gone five rounds with a heavyweight champion. Ears ringing, he locked his knees when they wanted to buckle as the barrier Serena had erected fell with an almost audible crash.

As it did, Gabriel grabbed for Leo and Shea at the same time Quinn lunged for Serena, who fell to the ground in a dead faint.

Too late. Too damn late.

Touching Leo was like grabbing a live electrical wire. Sharp pain surged through Gabriel as Leo tried to hold on to the energy Gabriel wanted to drain away.

“Leo!’ he shouted. “Leo, you’ve got to stop. You’re hurting Shea. Let her go.”

Gabriel yanked at the boy’s arm, trying to get his attention but Leo showed no sign of hearing him. Gabriel didn’t want to hurt the kid, but if he didn’t release Shea soon, he was going to have to knock him out. First, though, he reached for Shea and Leo’s joined hands.

And gritted his teeth against the force of power running between them. It took him several minutes but finally, he managed to separate their fingers.

All that energy needed somewhere to go and it chose to bitch-slap Gabriel, driving him to his knees.

Even so, he tried to reach Shea before she fell to the ground, unconscious, but just missed her.

Leo blinked and looked around, as if coming out of a deep sleep

“What…happened? I don’t feel good.”

Gabriel pulled himself onto his hands and knees and crawled to Shea.

“Gabriel? What’s—”

Leo cried out at the sight of Shea crumpled in a ball on the ground next to him. Gabriel grabbed for him and missed. His body screamed in residual agony as he fell back to his knees. He wanted to curl into a little ball and wait for the pain to recede but he couldn’t.

Leo sobbed over Shea’s unmoving body while Quinn held a slowly awakening Serena.

“Quinn.” It hurt to speak, but he forced the words out as he dragged himself to his feet. “Take Serena back to the house.”

“No,” Serena said, her voice weak but calm. “Let Quinn get Shea. You and I can help each other. Leo, sweetheart. Stop crying. Come here.”

“Didn’t mean it.” The little boy sobbed out the words. “I’m sorry.”

Serena pulled away from Quinn and took a few steps toward Leo, nearly fell then pulled herself together to reach for him. “Come with me, baby. Shea will be fine. Quinn’s going to take her back to the house and she’ll be fine.”

Serena sounded confident and loving as she soothed Leo then got him walking back to the house, leaning on him, making him feel like he was helping her. And maybe he was. She looked ready to drop over.

As Quinn lifted Shea in his arms, Gabriel heard her moan, and he released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Shea.” His voice sounded like sandpaper on wood. “Can you hear me?”

“Come on, Gabe.” Quinn held Shea in both arms but used one hand to pull Gabriel to his feet. “Let’s get back. I don’t want to be stuck out here if someone got a hint of that power. It was enough to light up the entire eastern seaboard.”

Shit. Quinn was right. Someone might have picked up on the disturbance they’d caused. The flow of magic in the earth had been disrupted. Leo had unknowingly gathered it to him and bent it to his will, something you didn’t attempt unless you knew what you were doing. He’d caused the natural order to unbalance for those few minutes. And for someone looking for a signal, this area had just lit up like a neon sign.

Still, the wards on the property would hold. They had to. And as soon as they were feeling a little better, he and Serena would strengthen them. After they got Shea back to the house, he’d have Quinn take a run around the property.

First, he needed to get everyone settled. And quiet the fear gnawing a hole in his stomach.

* * *

Quinn stepped naked out the back door, closed it behind him and took a deep breath of the now-still air.

The house reeked with fear. Serena’s. Gabriel’s. Shea’s. Leo’s. Even his own.

That had been too fucking close. And it’d happened so fast, he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to help. It sucked to feel that powerless, to know you could lose someone in the blink of an eye.

He could almost, almost, understand Serena’s reluctance to love him. If only—

“Shit.” He had no time to think about this. It was his turn to be the protector. Closing his eyes, he reached for the place in his soul where he kept his wolf and unlocked it.

If anyone ever asked how he went from human to wolf, the only thing he could tell them was, it was like opening a door and letting the animal walk through and into his body.

And, fuck, did it hurt.

That was the main reason there weren’t a lot of biters running around. Most biters, people who became versipelli by being bitten by one, went crazy from the pain and sheer lunacy of what was happening to their bodies. And then they usually killed themselves.

Hereditary versipelli had years of training to handle their change before they hit puberty and actually went through it. Some got lucky, able to “flash” back and forth between their animal and their human skins without much pain.

Not him, though. He had to bear the full brunt of contorting his entire being into the body of a different animal.

Now on four paws, he headed toward the perimeter, the dark no hindrance. He’d never get lost in these woods. From the first moment he’d stepped on the property, he’d felt like he’d come home. That had been just after Davis and Nino had been killed. He’d helped Gabe bring their bodies here to be buried.

It was the only time he’d ever seen Gabe upset by anything since Quinn and his dad, now retired and living in North Carolina, had moved into Davis’ rural Chester County home. Quinn had been twelve, sick with anger and despair. His mother had tried to kill him, to burn the house down around him as he’d slept. That wasn’t something you got over right away.

Gabe had been fifteen and they’d bonded over a fistfight for some imagined slight. Nino had been six and idolized Quinn and his big brother. He’d died of a stray gunshot in Davis’s arms.

He shook his head and caught a glimpse of full moon through the canopy. It’d been full the night Nino and Davis had died, too. He remembered because at fifteen, he’d only been able to change for about a year. That night, he still hadn’t been able to control it. He’d been the one to kill the man who’d murdered Davis, had torn him to pieces and almost went to work on Gabe before he could control the blood lust.

When they’d arrived here with the bodies, Serena had stepped out of the house, intense sorrow on her face, but she’d thanked him for trying to save their lives.

He’d fallen in love immediately, as he’d been meant to, he’d figured out later. What he hadn’t realized was that she’d known for years.

Quinn stopped, nose twitching at an unfamiliar scent.

It smelled like a car, but not one that burned fuel. He sniffed again. An electric car, small and nearly silent, idled at the bottom of the lane. Three men. He smelled magic on two of them. The one would be no threat at all. The other…magic leaked from his pores like cheap perfume. They stood on the edge of Serena’s sanctuary, undiscovered for nearly two-hundred years.

Quinn took off at a dead run back to the house.

Chapter Nineteen

The women were out cold, each stretched on a couch in the peristyle.

Serena had assured Gabriel she would be okay, she just needed a little rest. Then she’d closed her eyes and either passed out or sunk into a deep sleep. He’d wake her in a few hours, just to be sure.

Leo sat on the floor next to his sister, holding her hand. She’d opened her eyes a few minutes ago, long enough to smile at Leo, nod to Gabriel and close her eyes again.

He was feeling a little better. A stiff shot of Jack Daniels had helped the shakes and he’d eaten one of the two power bars he’d grabbed from the kitchen.

“Leo, come here, bud.”

The boy left Shea’s side reluctantly, looking as if he were about to get his butt smacked for misbehaving. Gabriel wasn’t sure how to make this better for him, didn’t know the right things to say, but he had to try. The kid couldn’t keep beating himself up over this.

Leo lifted himself onto the cushion next to Gabriel but kept his eyes glued to the floor. Allowing instinct to take over, Gabriel lifted the little boy onto his lap.

“I know you’re going to blame yourself for a while, Leo, but it wasn’t your fault. You’ve got to get over it, because I need you now.”

Leo lifted his tear-stained gaze, mouth quivering. “I didn’t mean it.”

Gabriel knew he should hug the kid, show some affection, but he was so damn rusty at it. He put his arm around Leo and gave him an awkward hug. Leo threw his arms around his waist and held on, silent sobs wracking his body.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt Shea. It was our fault…my fault for not taking more precautions. You’ve got a lot of power, Leo. You just have to learn how to control it.”

“That’s what Daddy said.” Leo sniffled and wiped at his tears with the back of his hands. “When I did it at home. I hurt them, too.”

Well, shit. That was probably how Dario had found them. He hoped Leo never realized that.

“I’m sure they weren’t mad at you, either,” Gabriel said. “But that’s why your Uncle Matt’s coming.” He hoped. He still hadn’t heard from him. “He can teach you how to—”

“Gabe! We gotta get ’em out of here. Gabe, where the hell are you?”

His heart skipped a few beats as he stood, Leo in his arms. “Back here! What’s going on?”

Quinn barreled through the doorway, naked and panting. “Three men, one with a shitload of power, bottom of the hill. It can’t be coincidence. We gotta get ’em out now.”

Adrenaline dropped into his bloodstream with a fiery burn. “Get Serena. I’ll take Leo and Shea. Take her to the cave. Don’t wait for us, just get Serena up there.”

Vaffanculo. After all this time. Dario’s men must have been closer than he’d thought. Even though they’d planned for this, Gabriel had never thought it would actually happen. The place was too well-shielded.

He didn’t wait for Quinn. He shifted Leo to his back. “Hang on and don’t let go.” Then he picked up Shea, whose eyelids fluttered open for a second then closed.

Leo’s voice shook as he whispered in his ear, “They want me?”

Gabriel felt the boy’s fear like a punch low in his gut. “Yeah, well, they’re not going to get you. I won’t let that happen.”

Leo’s arms tightened around his neck, almost cutting off Gabriel’s air. The kid couldn’t weigh more than fifty pounds, but Gabriel still felt a little out of it from earlier, and he had to carry Shea. But he wouldn’t fail.

He couldn’t.

* * *

Shea’s body registered motion and a change in temperature as she fought back nausea and the headache grinding in her temples.

She drew in a deep breath and smelled Gabriel all around her. Forcing her eyes open the tiniest bit, she realized they were back in the forest.

And they were running. Actually, Gabriel was running, with her in his strong arms.

“Leo—”

“Shh.” Gabriel whispered in her ear. “He’s right here. Someone’s at the perimeter. Be quiet until we get to the cave.”

Fear hit her broadside, making her stomach roll. They’d been found.

Wrapped in Gabriel’s arms, she couldn’t tell how long it took them to get where they were going. She huddled in his arms the entire way—in pain, silent and terrified. When Gabriel stopped, she looked up to see a sheer rock wall. Did he mean to carry them up that?

“Either of you claustrophobic?”

Gabriel waited until she shook her head before he set her on her feet, one hand on her shoulder to steady her, and let Leo slide down his back.

“Careful, the opening’s not that big.

Actually, the opening was little more than a slit in the rock face that emptied into a cave, high enough to stand in and large enough to hold a small party.

Quinn had lit a small lantern on the far side, near a ledge hewn into the stone walls. He’d laid Serena there and stood, staring at her.

Leo’s gasp echoed through the chamber. “Oh wow.”

She didn’t have a chance to see what made Leo sound so fascinated because Gabriel stepped into her line of vision, his gaze burning even in the dark shadows of the cave. “Don’t leave. Not for anything. Serena might be out for a while yet. I blasted her pretty hard to break the circle.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only outward sign that he was worried. And fear bit into her chest a little harder.

“Keep Leo quiet and turn the light off when we leave, unless Leo needs it. I’ll replace the wards and they’ll hold. But if Quinn or I aren’t back by daybreak, assume we’re not coming.”

His matter-of-fact tone felt like a blow to her head. His stoic expression never changed.

“If we don’t make it back, after the sun goes down tonight, go to your buddy, James Riley. He’ll take care of you until Matt gets here.”

“Gabriel, don’t—”

“Make sure Serena doesn’t try anything stupid. Don’t you do anything stupid. For Leo’s sake.”

“Gabriel—”

“And if I do come back…”

He dragged her against him and kissed her. Hard. She hadn’t been expecting it, but it didn’t take long for her to return his passion with her own.

His kiss was an all-out assault on her senses. His scent nearly suffocated her, and when he swept his tongue past her lips, his taste exploded in her mouth. Throwing her arms around his neck, she clung and gave back as hard as she could.

All her fear, all her pain, all the emotions she’d bottled up inside threatened to sink her into a dark place. Instead, she kissed the living daylight out of him and held tight to the fact that he kissed her just as ruthlessly.

When he released her, his eyes remained closed, and his chest heaved like he’d just run a marathon. She liked knowing she had that power over him.

When he opened his eyes to stare into hers, she knew what he was going to say before he spoke.

“When I come back, we’ll finish that.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. He didn’t move right away, staring into her eyes for a few brief seconds before brushing past her. But he didn’t go for the door.

She watched as he squatted down beside Leo and looked him dead in the eyes.

“While I’m gone, you listen to Shea. But you’re a grigorio, Leo, and we don’t scare easily. We fight and we win. The women need you to be strong for them, just like they’re going to protect you however they can.”

Then Gabriel leaned close and whispered in Leo’s ear. And when Gabriel pulled back and his mouth quirked into a full-blown smile, Leo’s face split in a weak grin.

“No problem.” Leo held out his hand, and Gabriel shook it.

Gabriel nodded one more time then stood. “Quinn, let’s move.”

Quinn pulled his gaze away from Serena and shook his head like a man coming out of a daze. Moving to stand next to Gabriel, he nodded to Shea and mustered a smile for Leo.

“See you in a few.” Then he turned to Gabriel and his smile seemed almost normal. “Let us hunt some Orc.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes as they turned to leave. “You watch too many damn movies, you know that?”

Quinn grabbed at his chest, mimicking a heart attack. “Holy hell, did you actually see ‘Lord of the Rings?’ I thought you were above frivolous things like movies.”

Shea couldn’t hear anything more as they passed through the rock.

Leaving her alone with a six-year-old and an injured strega.

“Don’t worry, Shea.” Leo tugged on her hand, drawing her toward the small light next to Serena. “It’ll be okay.”

* * *

Gabriel and Quinn doubled back to the house, but the intruders hadn’t reached it yet. They were making progress up the hill, though.

Gabriel kneeled and dug his hands into the soil. Closing his eyes, he released his senses into the dirt, let them blend with the energy in the earth and extend outward.

He sensed the animals in the forest and the living trees in the ground. Beyond that, he felt the definite signature of men. He honed in on their location. It took several seconds, but he finally got a bead on them.

They’d passed through the confusion spells ringing the outer reaches of the property, which meant they had a pretty damn powerful stregone with them. Or they were just damn lucky.

Gabriel didn’t believe in that kind of luck.

He tried to focus on the one with the most power, but they were shielding. They knew what they were up against, and they’d come prepared. Well, he’d make sure they weren’t prepared enough.

Beside him, Quinn drew out his wolf in silence.

It didn’t take them long to find the men. Three of them, keeping to the shadows. Two had strong glamours. The other one held a Ruger, which should be no problem. Automatic weapons usually couldn’t shoot iron bullets with any accuracy. And iron was the only metal the grigori had no defenses against.

Gabriel motioned for Quinn to get behind the trio. Between the two of them, these three clowns didn’t stand a chance. He recognized one of the men from the strip club. The other two were new. That meant there were probably more of them somewhere, maybe down at the car. Still, not bad odds. Finish these three then deal with the others before they realized these were gone.

He never considered defeat. He’d do whatever it took to make sure his mother’s sanctuary wasn’t breached.

Because they knew each other so well, Quinn knew exactly what Gabriel wanted him to do. He attacked first from the rear, grabbing one man’s leg and disorienting them so Gabriel could come at them from the front when they turned to see what was biting them in the ass.

The fight was short and vicious and the invaders barely had time to defend themselves before Gabriel had slashed the throats of two and Quinn had torn out the throat of the other.

“Too easy,” he muttered. “Too fucking easy.”

Quinn growled low in his throat and shook his head, fur bristling at his nape.

“Decoys. Sonovabitch, they were decoys.”

The words were no sooner out of Gabriel’s mouth than Quinn shot off in the direction of the house, Gabriel close on his heels. They didn’t pass a soul, which meant there were no more…or whoever was in front of them was more powerful than he was.

The teen from the other day. It had to be him. Gabriel muttered a seeking spell as he ran, fitting an image of the boy into it. And damn if he didn’t find him. Close to the house. Not there yet and heading away at the moment.

Gabriel slowed and Quinn, attuned to his every move, dropped back to his side. He could see blood lust in Quinn’s eyes. He felt the same way, but they needed a plan before they could take this kid out.

Adrenaline pumping, Gabriel forced himself to stop and motioned for Quinn to do the same. He had to think, had to get around this kid, who probably already knew they were looking for him. Surprise wasn’t an option.

Gabriel bared his teeth at Quinn, who returned the grin. They’d give the guy what he was expecting. And let him screw up.

* * *

Serena woke minutes after the men left.

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and gasped. “Gabriel! What’s going on?”

“Serena.” Shea hurried to her side as Leo flicked on the lantern. “We’re okay. Quinn found someone at the bottom of the hill. He and Gabriel went to check it out.”

It took the other woman a few seconds to register the information, pain still blurring her eyes. Then her lids descended and she raised a hand to rub at her temples.

“I should have known.” She shifted her legs over the edge of the rough bed, her green dress shimmering in the lamplight. “How could I not have known? I’ve got to get out there—”

Shea clamped a hand on Serena’s arm. “You have to stay right here. Gabriel left specific instructions. You go nowhere.”

Serena shot her a look designed to make her cower in fear. “Do not presume to tell me—”

“If you go out there, you could get them killed. I won’t let you do that.”

Her eyes widening, Serena looked ready to blast her and Shea hoped Leo wasn’t listening too closely. But then the other woman took a deep breath, as if she’d read her mind. Maybe she had.

“When did they leave?” Serena asked.

“I think about twenty minutes ago.”

“Where’s Leo?”

“Here,” he called from the other side of the room.

Serena smiled in Leo’s general direction, but when she looked at Shea, her expression turned serious and she spoke barely above a whisper. “I need to see what’s going on. Don’t worry,” Serena added when Shea opened her mouth to protest. “I can do it from here. I just need some water and a bowl. Leo, come here, dear.”

She didn’t raise her voice much above a whisper, but Leo padded over with the lantern.

“I’m going to turn off the light and, when our eyes are accustomed to the dark again, I’m going to show you a pretty cool trick, okay?”

Leo nodded and didn’t even flinch when Serena plunged the cave into darkness again. It didn’t take long to regain their night vision, helped along by a faint glow from above, probably an opening to the outside. Serena led them deeper into the cave, to what appeared to be a storeroom. Bottled water, packaged food and a few boxes of herbs and magical supplies. From one of the boxes, Serena withdrew a jug of water and a large bowl lined with abalone.

“Have you ever seen a magic mirror, Leo?”

Leo’s teeth flashed in the dark. “My mom showed me hers once. She said she was checking on Shea.”

Shea gasped. Her mother had kept tabs on her.

“Your mom was much better at using hers than I am, but I think I can make this work.”

Pushing thoughts of her mom to the back of her brain, Shea watched Serena pour the liquid into the bowl and set the bowl on the floor. Then Serena knelt, holding her hands over the bowl as she intoned, “Blessed Goddess, I entreat thee to show us those who would harm an innocent.”

At first, the water showed nothing but the darkness of the cave. Then slowly, shapes began to coalesce. Or rather, one shape, someone climbing the hill toward the house. Then the water clouded again and another shape formed in the glassy surface. This one was practically at the cave and headed straight for them. Shea recognized him as the teenager from the rest stop.

Shea heard Serena draw in a shaky breath.

Spinning on her heel, Shea headed for the stockroom again. She’d seen exactly what she needed there. When she returned, Serena stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her chest.

“What are you planning?”

Shea buckled the pugio’s sheath around her waist and positioned it on her hip. She liked the feel of the small blade in her hand, better for close fighting. “Take him out before he gets me.” She strapped a matching weapon on her left upper arm. “If it’s a physical fight, I should win. I’m hoping I can surprise him enough to get the upper hand and incapacitate him.”

“And if you can’t?”

Shea felt her lips curl back in a snarl. “Then I’ll kill him.”

She went to move past Serena, but the other woman stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you sure you can do that? Teens have a lot of raw power and earlier tonight…”

She didn’t have to finish. Shea knew what she meant. But Shea knew something about herself.

“My father trained me, just as he would any grigorio. I can take him. I know I can. Don’t let anything happen to Leo.”

Serena nodded, but Shea wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to. Didn’t matter, because she wasn’t waiting for the other woman’s permission. She wasn’t Serena’s child or her underling or her anything.

Except…possibly her savior.

No, don’t think about that now. Don’t think about anything but what you have to do.

She turned to Leo, who gave her a steady look.

Knowing he had faith in her helped her pass through the wall and into the night.

* * *

During the past twenty years, Dario had rarely left Florida. But when Peter had relayed the latest message from his men in Pennsylvania, he’d decided the time had come to get out more.

Besides, if Peter’s men were right, he wanted to be there when they confronted the women. He told Peter to have the men wait for him before moving and to stay well away from the house until he arrived.

By the time his private plane landed at the tiny Reading Regional Airport, he knew Serena was close. Call it intuition.

Driving to the site, he didn’t bother to ask how the men had found her. Kelsey was with them. The boy had uncanny powers.

Of course, it helped that the boy was one of theirs.

“Have you located the house yet?”

Kelsey shook his head. “But I’ve got the perimeter mapped. There’s a web of spells and wards in place and the whole area seems to be sitting on a well of power.”

Dario smiled at the boy, who wouldn’t be a boy much longer. Already fifteen, Kelsey had the strength of five grown men. And a backbone beaten into him by Dario himself.

“You’ve done well. Come on then, son. Let’s find your mother and get reacquainted.”

* * *

Gabriel and Quinn caught up to one of their quarry just as he was about to discover the house.

Even though he couldn’t see his face, Gabriel knew it wasn’t the teen from the day before. This was a grown man, shorter but powerfully built.

Motioning for Quinn to move around and herd the man back to Gabriel should he run, Gabriel planned to come at him from behind. There was something about this one…something that didn’t feel right. Something evil…

Shit, the guy was Mal.

Gabriel tackled him, taking him to the ground and smashing the man’s head on the hard earth with a blow that should have knocked him unconscious. It didn’t. Instead, the man twisted to his feet and spun, landing a punch on Gabriel’s chin.

Smiling now, though the dark hid it, Gabriel swung back. Adrenaline flowed, better than the rush working a spell gave him. He needed a fight right now.

He let the man land a few, absorbing the slight pain, then he jabbed his fist into the guy’s stomach, encountering solid muscle.

It was a silent fight, except for the few exhalations of air when one or the other would land a good one, and for the most part, they were well matched.

The man was shorter than Gabriel, but he had the same build and packed a lot of muscle. And he was fast. Gabriel was no slouch, but this man moved with the ease of someone who had trained for years, decades even. Which didn’t make sense, because the guy couldn’t be much older than himself.

At that moment, the clouds obscuring the moon shifted and Gabriel finally caught a glimpse of the man’s face.

Holy shit.

Stunned, Gabriel stepped sideways, practically stumbling over his feet to put some distance between himself and the other man.

What the hell kind of trick was this?

The man froze and stared back, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Who the hell are you?” The words flew out of Gabriel’s mouth before he could curb them, tightening his clenched fists until his knuckles cracked.

Shit, maybe he didn’t want to know.

No, there was no maybe about it. He wasn’t going to like the answer. He felt it in his bones.

Jesus, their faces…They could have been brothers, their features mirrored each other so closely.

The man lowered his own hands and retreated two steps, never taking his eyes from Gabriel’s face. “I believe that is the question I should be asking you. Who are you, boy? Who’s your mother?”

Rage bubbled like acid in his gut. “Vaffanculo. I’m no boy and I don’t know what kind of trick this—”

“Believe me, it’s no trick.” The man’s voice turned harsher, colder and his lips pulled into a straight line as he continued to stare at Gabriel like he was a bug under a microscope. “Are you Amalia’s? Serena’s? Ah, yes,” he said, as if Gabriel had answered his question. “Serena. How did she do it? How could she have done it?”

The other man moved closer a step and Gabriel threw an uppercut before he realized he’d done it. The bastard dodged it with the dexterity of a pro boxer. Unnaturally quick.

From behind him, Gabriel heard Quinn growl, a growl he recognized. Something was wrong here, something really, really wrong.

Gabriel raised his fists again. “I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but after I pound you into oblivion, you’re going to explain.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll need to do that.” The other man raised his hands in surrender, which Gabriel didn’t believe for a second. “But I think you better brace yourself for a shock, son.”

No, no, no. “Believe me, you’d better brace for the shock, and I am definitely not your son.”

To his surprise, the man smiled. “Well, you can take another swing at me, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m your father.”

Chapter Twenty

Gabriel’s stomach plummeted, though he knew the guy was lying. He had to be. It was a trick, designed to make him drop his guard.

But if that was the reason, why hadn’t the other man struck?

“Who the hell are you?”

The man laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “Ah, the more important question here is who are you? But answer this one first. How old are you?”

“I’m only gonna ask one more time, then I’m gonna take you out. What’s your name?”

“Gabe.” Quinn, in human form, appeared behind the man. Gabriel had missed Quinn’s change completely, and it pissed him off. “Fuck, man, he’s cursed. I can smell it on him.”

Gabriel shook his head. There was no way he could believe that. No way. He couldn’t…There wasn’t…

But somewhere inside, he knew. He steadied his arms when they wanted to shake, firmed his resolve and refused to believe.

There was a reason for this. There had to be a reason…

“I’m only gonna ask once more,” Gabriel said through gritted teeth. “What’s your name?”

The man laughed, though it was more like a choked growl. “Dario Paganelli.” He held out his hand, as if Gabriel would even consider shaking it, then let it fall with a shrug. “I’m pleased to meet you…Son.”

* * *

Shea paused before she left the safety of the cave. Scanning the surroundings, she saw no one, but that didn’t mean the teen wasn’t out there. She just needed to pinpoint his location before she moved.

Closing her eyes, she slowed her breathing until all she could hear was the forest. She didn’t need magic to listen to the sounds of the earth. She only had to open her ears.

A raccoon scurried in the brush somewhere to her left and several bats flew through the trees overhead, their leathery wings caressing the night air. A herd of deer grazed higher in the hills and light footsteps approached from the south.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and picked apart shadows in the darkness, starting to lighten though it was still a few hours till dawn.

There, to the right of the entrance. Something moved, something bigger than a fawn and smaller than a bear. Something human.

She couldn’t be sure, but since he was walking away from the entrance, she was fairly certain he didn’t know it existed.

Slipping from the safety of the rock, Shea moved without a sound. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Serena her father had trained her as a grigorio, even if she hadn’t realized it at the time.

And she’d been a damn good study. The boy didn’t realize she had him until she made her move. But even though she’d anticipated his strength and his speed, the burst of pure hatred that ran through him when she wrapped her arms around him from behind, made her falter.

He flooded her with hate, made her skin crawl. Snarled like a wild animal and tried to pivot. Locking her hands together at his chest, she wrapped her left leg around his and tried to take him to the ground.

He almost got away by twisting into the fall, but she anticipated and kept him flat on his stomach. She tried to wrestle his arms behind his back, but they were trapped under his body, so she needed another way to subdue him. Even though he was taller, they were evenly matched in weight.

It took everything she had to keep him down. He flopped like a landed fish, only a hundred times heavier and more determined. They fought silently for control, and at one point, he got an elbow free that he landed squarely on her cheek. Pain exploded behind her left eye, but she didn’t fall for his ploy when he went limp.

Instead, she tightened her grip so he couldn’t slip away…and he hit her with a blast of power so intense it made the voices in her head scream.

She crumpled, hands clasped to her head, the pain blinding her.

The boy jumped to his feet and prepared to strike again. But he froze when Serena walked out of the cave.

The pain stopped, the voices died, and the boy very plainly said, “Hello, Mother.”

* * *

Quinn rushed the guy from behind.

He wasn’t expecting it and hit the ground hard, but the bastard rolled and came up swinging. The lightning-fast punch connected with Quinn’s jaw, jarring him off his feet. The guy was strong, far stronger than he looked.

And, holy fuck, the man looked just like Gabriel.

Quinn gaped for a brief second, allowing Dario to lift his foot to kick. Quinn knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way fast enough and braced for impact.

Which never came.

Gabriel tackled Dario with a roar, wrapped his arms around the man and took him down. They scrabbled there for a few seconds, each getting in a few solid punches before Dario stepped away so fast he almost didn’t see him do it.

But as far as Quinn could tell, the guy didn’t have much magic of his own. Except for the fact that he was cursed.

Gabriel and Dario stood, staring at each other, neither speaking. Only the sound of their breathing could be heard.

Quinn could smell the distrust, the anger, the betrayal emanating from both of them. He didn’t want to believe, didn’t want contemplate what it meant, who this man was.

Quinn didn’t know how long they stood there. He stood as well, wanted to be ready to fight again if Gabe needed him.

And was completely unprepared for the pain that slid through his body.

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel saw Quinn’s body jerk.

What the —

Gabriel nearly panicked as a man behind Quinn grabbed his suddenly limp body and held onto him, a Taser at his throat.

He turned back to the man he wanted to kill more than anything. “If you hurt him, I’ll hunt you down and make you beg me to cut your heart out.”

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?” Dario smiled, but the sight sent revulsion coursing through Gabriel’s body. “Seems you inherited more from me than just your looks. Of course, this changes things a bit.”

Gabriel tried not to rise to his taunts but couldn’t help himself. “Let him go now or I’ll draw out your death for days.”

Dario shook his head, his expression becoming thoughtful. “Tell her I want to meet. It’s time to end this. We have much to discuss. Apparently. Tell her I’ll return her pet then.”

“There’s no way—”

“You don’t have much of a choice, boy.” Dario’s expression had gone coolly blank. “Talk to your mother. I think you’re going to be in for a rude awakening.”

With a short nod, Dario motioned for the man carrying Quinn to precede him. Gabriel wanted to tear the guy apart, but that stun gun had to be on a high setting if it had knocked out Quinn. Another jolt could kill him.

Torn in too many directions, Gabriel let them go.

He’d fix this. He’d get Quinn back. He’d prove the demon Dario wrong about his assumptions, and then he’d kill the man, no matter that Serena had forbidden it. He deserved to die.

Turning, Gabriel ran for the cave.

* * *

The boy threw Serena for a moment.

He made her tongue twist around the protection spell she was working, causing a momentary imperfection, but not enough to make it unravel.

And she knew it wasn’t true.

This child wasn’t hers. Couldn’t be. But someone had lied to the boy, because he believed it implicitly.

Without breaking her silent chant protecting her and Shea from anything the boy threw at them, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you’re not my child.”

The teen bared his teeth and struck back with a jolt of power meant to level her. “You are my mother. He told me you would lie to protect yourself.”

“If this is how you treat your mother then it’s no wonder she didn’t acknowledge you.”

There, that one got under his skin. And it hurt her heart to see him flinch. Goddess, he was only a child. Dario had much to answer for. She wanted to wring the man’s neck. Actually, she wanted to do a lot worse for putting that combination of fear and loathing in this child’s eyes.

It made her sick to realize the lengths to which Dario would go to wipe her boschetta from the earth.

Damn him for making her just as ruthless.

“I am not your mother, but I could help you find her. It doesn’t have to be like this. What’s your name?”

The teen sneered, and for a brief second Serena saw pure hatred on his face. Her blood ran cold.

“You don’t need to know my name. You just need to know how much I hate you.”

In her peripheral vision, Serena saw Shea, still on the ground, close her eyes, but couldn’t tell if it was in pain or preparation. She wanted to warn Shea against trying anything, but couldn’t take her concentration off the boy.

He was strong, and he was trying to beat down her shield. Righteous anger fed him, anger she had to encourage, had to cultivate until it forced him to make an ill-conceived move. She needed to incapacitate him, knock him unconscious. She refused to take his life. She’d never had to kill before, wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she did.

“Your hatred is directed at the wrong person.” She moved closer, tried to put herself between Shea and the boy. “Do you remember me, child? Do you have any memories of me at all?”

“You abandoned me right after I was born.” He spat the words at her. “Why would I remember you?”

There! She felt a slight weakening of his mental shield. It had been like a brick wall but now there was a chink of mortar missing.

“You wouldn’t, because the man who raised you lied to you. He stole you from your rightful parents and corrupted you for your power.”

“You lie.” With one flick of his finger, he shot a bolt of blue fire straight at her heart. It deflected off her protection spell and bounced off the nearest tree, leaving the scent of burning wood.

“No, I don’t. I could find your parents. Your real parents. Tell me your name.”

Whose could he be? She should be able to tell.

The teen smiled, an expression that looked hauntingly familiar but still unknown.

“Father told me you would try to twist things. But it won’t work. I’ve waited years for this…”

Pain hit her low in the stomach, taking her to her knees. Shock and disbelief made her freeze. She’d never been bested before.

The teen’s handsome face twisted with fierce glee, and he pressed his advantage with another bolt of pain to her head. He shouldn’t be able to affect her like this. She was older, stronger, supposedly smarter than this boy, yet he was beating her.

And she couldn’t lose. There was too much on the line, too many lives at stake, lives she was responsible for.

Struggling to her feet, she submerged the pain and tossed his power back at him. It took him off guard for only a second before he hit her with another blast.

“You’re weak, old lady,” he mocked. “Weak and scared. Why don’t you just give up, and I’ll make it easy on the rest of them. Even the boy.”

“Like Dario made it easy on you?” She could barely get the words out. A burning pain had started to creep down from her head and up from her stomach. She knew he was trying to reach her heart, and though he couldn’t kill her, he could incapacitate her.

“He made me strong when you would have turned me into a servant.”

He tweaked the pain again. She shuddered but managed to reply.

“He’s made you the servant, child.” She used the word deliberately, trying to get his anger to reveal his weak spot again. She had to hold out until then. “Where is your so-called father now? Cowering far from here, I’m sure.”

“Oh, he’s here. Closer than you think.”

There, she felt the pain lessen just a bit and she forced herself to press back with her own power. She felt every nerve in her body scream, but it was enough to make him break his concentration.

Without warning, Shea rose from the ground and punched the boy in the jaw in one smooth move. It was so unexpected, Serena’s mouth dropped open as he hit the ground with a thud, out cold.

“I need some rope to tie him up.” Shea looked at Serena and raised an eyebrow, looking so much like her mother. “Before he wakes up would be good.”

Serena nodded and forced herself to move into the cave and, after a quick word of reassurance to Leo, found a length of rope.

Outside, she handed the rope to Shea, who tied the boy’s wrists behind his back, working the knots with skillful hands. Leo stepped forward, his gaze glued to the other boy.

When she was done, Shea looked at Serena, waiting for instructions.

First things first. “We need to find Gabriel and Quinn and get out of here. We need to get Leo and this boy somewhere safe. Dario won’t stop until he finds them, either of them.”

“Who is he?” Leo asked.

Serena shook her head. “I’m not sure. We’ll need to do a little research on that.” She forced a smile for Leo, his features drawn into tight lines of fear. He was only six, after all. And so vulnerable, even though he had power she couldn’t comprehend. Powers he shouldn’t possess yet.

There were so many things she needed to know, so much she’d let slide in the past years.

And they were all about to bite her on the ass, as Davis would have said.

Because Gabriel stepped into the clearing.

* * *

“Serena.”

Gabriel tried but he couldn’t keep the bite out of his tone. So many questions crowded in his head, he wanted to roar with rage.

For a second, his gaze dropped to the teenager bound and out cold on the ground. Shea and Leo stood next to him.

“Are you okay?” He forced himself to ask that question first, before anything else spilled out. Everyone nodded. “Good, get your stuff. Now. We need to move.”

“Where are we going?”

Leo’s quiet, terrified tone forced him to take a deep breath. “We need to get you guys somewhere safe. Then I need to find Quinn.” He sliced his gaze at his mother. “Dario took him.”

He ruthlessly ignored Serena’s stricken cry and turned to Shea. “Get weapons. Whatever you want. I’ll take this one inside then I’ve got to make a phone call.”

Leo tugged on his hand and Gabriel focused on his face, forcing everything but the little boy out of his mind. Trying not to crush him against his chest, he pulled the kid into his arms as he stood so they were eye to eye. “Everything’s going to be okay, Leo. I swear.”

He waited until Leo nodded then set him down and lifted the teen in his arms. After he placed him in a small side cave off the main one, he wove a series of binding spells that should hold him for a few hours.

When he was done, he turned to find Serena watching him.

Questions rose in his throat like bile. He didn’t want to do this now.

“Gabriel—”

He slashed out with one hand. “No. Not now. Just answer one question. Is he?”

Serena knew what he was asking. Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth quivered until she firmed it.

He didn’t need to hear her say the words.

Betrayal and anger ate at his stomach, at his heart, threatened to swamp his reasoning. He couldn’t afford that now. He had to get them all away from here and figure out what to do.

“Quinn—” Serena started.

“I’ll find him,” he snapped. “Dario wants to end this. He wants to talk to you, but that’s not going to happen.” He bit down on other words that would flay her to the bone. “I’ll get Diego up here to take care of this one. Then I need to call Matt, find out where the hell he is.”

Turning his back on her, he whipped out his cell phone and pressed one key. He spoke as soon as Diego answered, not bothering to identify himself.

“I need you at the compound safe site to pick up a package. Take it to town.”

Diego didn’t miss a beat. “You want me to put it out of its misery?”

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. He stared down at the kid that could have been Nino. Could still be Leo if he fucked up.

“No, take him to Laran. Let him deal.”

“Alright, but if he gives me a hassle, all bets are off.”

One of only three living grigori who’d been born versipellis, Diego was a deadly weapon. He’d handle—

The hair on his arms rose. Shea was coming. He turned to find her staring at him. The urge to go to her, wrap his arms around her and lose himself in her warmth for a few hours nearly overwhelmed him.

But the anger, the betrayal, still bit at him. He was afraid of what he’d say if he went to her, afraid he’d want to drown himself in her, and he couldn’t afford to lose the crystal clear clarity rage gave him.

He shook his head, mutely telling her not to speak.

Then he picked up Leo, standing silent at Shea’s side, and headed back down the hill, knowing the women would follow.

* * *

Shea knew Gabriel was hanging on to his control by a thread.

Something had happened back at Serena’s, something that had turned Gabriel’s world upside down then blown it apart.

He looked shell-shocked.

So she didn’t ask where they were going. Besides, it was pretty obvious. Back into the city.

They drove into the northwest section, where every other brick row house looked run down, the cars were a mix of older-model American and late-model Japanese, and men—boys, really—stood on street corners, eyeing every car that drove by.

This wasn’t a neighborhood Shea wanted to be caught in alone, at any time of the day, despite the several churches along Schuylkill Avenue.

Leo sat in the front seat staring out the window, occasionally sneaking glances at Gabriel, while Shea and Serena avoided each other in the back seat.

The inner turmoil eating at Gabriel and Serena ate at Shea’s gut, too, their emotions more painful than physical wounds. Which, of course, made the voices buzz like angry bees.

A few blocks off Schuylkill, nearly to the city limit, Gabriel turned into an alley behind what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Another alley split the building in two and Gabriel turned into that.

The alley appeared to dead end into the building, but Gabriel pulled out his cell, pressed a button and said, “I’m at the door. Let me in.”

After a few seconds, the brick in front of them dissolved to reveal a metal door, which slid open without a sound.

Gabriel rammed the Jeep into gear and they shot into the dark.

Apparently he’d been here before because he knew when to turn and when to stop, before the lights had barely flickered.

Shea held her breath as Gabriel threw the Jeep into park, nearly snapped the key in the ignition as he turned it off and slammed the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the frame.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, then stalked off toward a door at the far end of the huge open space they were in.

Her mouth tightening, Shea nearly bit her tongue in half. She wasn’t afraid of him. She’d get in his face soon enough because she needed to know what had happened with Dario.

The monster had gotten too close to Leo. He’d taken Quinn.

And she needed to make a decision.

The passage from her grandfather’s journal sprang into her mind, the one about her dad’s dream.

Damn, it’d been so much easier when she hadn’t known Serena or Quinn or Gabriel. When it had only been her and Leo and she’d been unaware of the curse.

Part of her wanted to take Leo and run. Another part knew she couldn’t leave Gabriel. Couldn’t leave without knowing Quinn was safe in Serena’s arms. If Serena would allow him into her arms. If the curse was broken…

She watched as Gabriel tore open the door and disappeared through it.

“Shea, why don’t you and Leo go in?” Serena said. “I…think I’ll just sit for a few minutes.”

Gabriel’s mother stared out the window, focused on something on the opposite side of the garage. More likely staring at nothing at all. Worry emanated off her in waves. Worry and despair.

“Sure. Come on, bud.” She dug up a smile for Leo, staring at them from the front seat. “Let’s see where we are.”

With Leo’s hand in hers, she headed for the door Gabriel had walked through.

Above them, the building rose three stories, open to the ceiling, and was empty except for a few cardboard boxes here and there.

Reading had been a hub of railroad activity in the 1800s and early 1900s. Men had made their fortunes in steel here and this building seemed old enough to be left over from those boom days. Today, many of the old railroad warehouses remained vacant. Although she was pretty sure this one wasn’t completely deserted.

She felt the hum of energy like electricity under her skin. Someone worked a hell of a lot of magic here.

They were almost to the door Gabriel had gone through when Leo whispered, “Are they mad?”

He didn’t have to ask who he meant.

Yes, Gabriel was furious with Serena. And Serena…well, she was heartsick down to her marrow. “They just had a bad day, hon. We know how those go, don’t we?”

“Are they mad at me?”

She stopped and gave him a tight hug, tears forming at his uncertainty. “No, baby, not at all. Gabriel’s angry at the world right now. And Serena’s upset about Quinn.”

And if Gabriel doesn’t shape up soon, I’m going to give him something to be really angry about.

She didn’t know what had happened back at the compound, but she intended to find out. Something had driven a wedge between Serena and her son. Something he couldn’t allow to affect his judgment. Not with Quinn kidnapped and Leo still in danger. And Dario wanting Serena.

That situation would be stressful enough to make anyone lose it, but she knew that wasn’t all. Something else was making Gabriel almost crazy.

They reached the door just as Gabriel ripped it open. His fierce expression made Leo draw in a quick breath. Shea opened her mouth to tell him to get his shit together, but Gabriel toned it down before she could.

“Leo, there’s someone here I want you to meet.” Then he glanced at Shea. “Where’s Serena?”

By the Gods, he was in so much pain, all of it showing in his eyes. Why he wasn’t paralyzed, she didn’t know. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close but thought he might shatter if she did. “She’s still in the car. She’ll come along in a minute.”

“Fine.” He held out a hand for Leo, who didn’t hesitate to take it. “Digger, this is Leo. Leo, Digger Alfiero. He makes cool things. You want to take a look?”

A slightly familiar, handsome guy with short brown hair, pale green eyes and a lopsided smile stood in front of them in what appeared to be an apartment. There was a bed, a couch, a TV and a kitchen area but not much else. And still, she felt arus in the room, in the floor, in the air. Everywhere.

“Hey, Leo. Gabriel’s told me a lot about you.” The guy transferred his gaze to Shea and nodded. “Can I give him the tour? We won’t leave the building, and no one can get in without my knowledge.”

Obviously Gabriel had told Digger he wanted to talk to her alone. Well, tough. If Leo didn’t want to go with Digger—

“Can I go, Shea?”

Okay, Leo had already decided Digger was okay. “Sure, bud. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Obviously, he didn’t at the moment because he walked off with the new guy.

Turning, she found Gabriel staring at the door to the warehouse. He was pissed. She saw it in the way he held his hands in fists at his sides and heard it in his voice, in the edge on his words.

“What’s going on, Gabriel?”

He didn’t answer right away, still staring at the door. Finally, he said, “I called Matt to let him know to meet us here. He’s close.”

“You’re going to leave us and go find Quinn alone, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Leo doesn’t want you to leave.”

His body tightened and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “He’ll be better off away from me right now.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she added softly. “You’re not steady right now—”

He held up one hand like a traffic cop. “Don’t. I don’t think I can stop myself from hurting you if you’re in the way when I blow.”

She shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m up for getting a little rough.”

He groaned low in his throat—in pain or anger, she wasn’t sure which.

“Gabriel, tell me. It might help.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

Okay, that shouldn’t hurt, but it did. She wanted him to confide in her. Wanted him to need to talk to her. After everything they’d been through in the past few days, she’d thought maybe, maybe he’d open up to her.

Give it up, girl. Ain’t gonna happen.

Trying to swallow down the lump in her throat, she started to follow Leo through the door Digger had closed behind them.

She’d only gone a few steps when Gabriel spun her around, lifted her off her feet and crushed her against him, burying his face against the skin of her neck.

“I’m sorry.” His words sounded like a growl in her ear. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He didn’t say anything else but she felt his heart trip heavily against hers, his chest rising and falling as if he couldn’t get enough air. If the guy didn’t watch it, he was going to hyperventilate.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, the voices quiet behind their wall, she held on. It was all she could do, because he didn’t seem in a hurry to let her go. And she couldn’t honestly say she wanted to be anywhere else.

“That man killed my brother.” Gabriel’s voice held a wealth of despair. “He killed my…my father. I should have killed him before now. But Serena forbid it. Now…I failed them and I failed you.”

The weight on her shoulders grew a little heavier. She had to find a way to end this and soon. Too many lives were at stake—Gabriel’s, her brother’s, Quinn’s, Serena’s. And nine other streghe who lived in constant fear for their lives.

“If anyone’s failed, it’s me.”

She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but there they were.

Gabriel drew back to look at her, shaking his head. “You can’t be blamed for any of this.”

“I’m supposed to break the curse. It’s my destiny, my purpose for being. It’s the only reason I was born. And I’ve failed.”

Fast-rising misery choked her. Goddess, she’d failed at everything so far. She’d run away from home and left her parents open to attack. Leo had almost been taken from her twice, and the women were still cursed.

“No, Shea.” His arms tightened around her. “You haven’t failed. We’ll figure it out.”

Not we. I have to find the strength to finish this.

But first, she needed…

Gabriel stared at her, dark eyes still stained with a grief she didn’t understand. Was he so worried about Quinn? Then he shook his head and pulled her tight against him again.

“You know we’re both completely fucked up. How the hell’d we get his far?”

She laughed, as she was supposed to, and swallowed a sob. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Which was a complete joke. It wasn’t luck. The only reason she was still alive and Leo wasn’t with Dario was because of Gabriel. She wanted to stay in his strong arms and never leave.

She just didn’t think it was meant to be.

Tightening her arms around his waist, she turned to rest her lips against his neck and felt a shudder move through him.

She loved the way he responded to her. Loved that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

Loved him.

* * *

Gabriel felt his control give way at the touch of Shea’s lips, and he sought her mouth with a savage groan.

He needed her, needed to kiss her until all the other shit in his head went away. The reality of Dario’s relationship to him was something he couldn’t think about or he might just fall off the brink.

With one arm wrapped around her waist, he used his free hand to grab her chin and angle her mouth so he could devour her. He was rough, grinding his mouth on hers until she opened to him. It didn’t take much, but he couldn’t stop.

He plunged his tongue between her lips the way he wanted to take her body, hard and strong and just a little violent. He wanted to feel something other than this rage, but the rage was bleeding over onto her and he couldn’t stop.

She didn’t seem to mind. Her fingers latched onto his hair, nails scraping across his scalp, sending shivers through him. Then she sank her nails into his shoulders and pressed her hips into his, drawing his attention lower.

Sliding his hand beneath her t-shirt, he cupped one silky bare breast, rubbing his thumb against the already taut peak until she moaned into his mouth and arched into him more fully.

With a groan, he set her away from him only long enough to rip his shirt over his head. She followed his lead, dropping her shirt at her feet and standing in front of him naked from the waist up.

The lust in her expression tightened his already throbbing cock into a painful, burning ache. As her gaze trailed from his chest to his stomach and finally to the bulge of his crotch, his hand shot out to cup her nape.

He drew her back to him, eyes drifting closed as he absorbed the feel of her skin against his, hands splayed across her back. Her breasts nestled against his chest, the tips hard and pointed.

Her warm hands on his hips, she urged him even closer, until his cock pressed hard against her lower stomach, left bare by her low-riding jeans.

He ground against her and felt her hands trail from his waist to his chest, where she covered his nipples with first her palms then plucked the erect points with her fingers.

Holy Goddess, she was going to make him combust. He wanted to take her to the floor, roll her under him and spread her legs. Cupping the back of her head, he positioned her to take his mouth again and sucked on her tongue when she snaked it between his lips.

His cock rubbed against his jeans, demanding release. He had to get his jeans off so he could take her. They both needed to be naked.

She already had her hands on the button at his waistband, trying to force the little metal disk through the hole. Her knuckles dug into his stomach and she whimpered when she didn’t get them open on the first try.

He moved his hands to help her—

And someone cleared his throat behind them.

Chapter Twenty-One

Gabriel shot to his feet, pushing Shea behind him to shield her. Adrenaline tore through his veins with razor-sharp claws.

He turned to find Matt Tedaldi leaning against the door, a bland look on his face as he stared at him.

It took Gabriel several seconds to put words together.

“You’re late.”

Matt snorted. “Apparently not late enough.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed and his fists curled at the implication in Matt’s laconic drawl. Behind him, he heard Shea pull on her shirt then step to his side.

Matt didn’t acknowledge her, just addressed Gabriel. “They need to be ready to move in five. We’ll head for Louisiana, see Maddie. Then Texas. I’ll let you know where we end up.”

Shea’s mouth firmed at Matt’s deliberate snub, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. For a second, he thought she might go straight for Matt’s chin with her fist. She’d reached the end of her rope.

Then Matt turned to Shea and smiled. Gabriel’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He’d never seen Matt smile. Not once in the fifteen years he’d known him.

“I take it you’re Shea.”

She nodded, staring at Matt like he was a bug under a microscope.

Surprisingly, he stuck out his hand and leaned away from the door to shake. “You look just like your mama. Pretty woman. Where’s the boy?”

Shea took a deep, shaky breath. “With Digger.”

Matt nodded, his expression softening just a bit. “Then I suggest you get him and your stuff so we can go. Got a lot of miles to cover.”

For a few seconds, she stared at Matt with her mouth set in a mutinous line. Then those pretty lips softened and quivered and, without another word or a look in his direction, she pushed through the door Digger and Leo had disappeared into.

He expected to hear the door slam. It didn’t.

“Christ, Gabe.” Matt’s drawl thickened with disgust. “Didn’t you learn anything from your daddy? He would have been the first to tell you not to get emotionally attached to any of them.”

The words got out before he could stop them. “Davis wasn’t my father.”

Matt shocked the hell out of him with his next statement. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. Not by blood, anyway. Anyone who had half a brain could tell by looking at you. But most people don’t look beyond what they’re told. Some of us don’t want to. But Davis loved you like you were his, and if you wanna shit on his memory, then you do it away from me.”

Gabriel opened and closed his mouth twice before he could speak. “You knew?”

“Knew what? That Davis wasn’t your biological father? Shit, yeah. Don’t know if anyone else did. Can’t help you with who the real deal is.”

Gabriel didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t need any help figuring out who his real father was. He knew. He just didn’t want to believe, didn’t want—No, he couldn’t go there.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Matt shrugged. “Wasn’t my place. Besides, I’m not much for getting involved.”

“Then why are you here?”

Matt shook his head. “Well, that would be the million dollar question, now, wouldn’t it?” He glanced over his shoulder at the door. “She’s gonna be a problem, isn’t she?”

Gabriel huffed. “She’s tough. She’ll deal.”

“What about the boy?”

“He’s the most powerful grigorio I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, well, that would figure, wouldn’t it?” Matt released a heavy sigh and shook his head. “Damn Kyle for leaving this mess to me.”

“I don’t think he had a choice in the matter.”

Matt nodded then dropped his head and stared at the ground. “Kyle called me just before he was killed, said something was up, needed me to come. I didn’t get the message until it was too fucking late.”

Well, that explained Matt’s grimmer-than-usual mood, Gabriel decided. “If you’d been there, they might have killed you, too.”

Matt rounded on him again, and Gabriel could actually see a sheen in the guy’s eyes. Hard-ass Matt, who didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. “I still don’t understand how they got to Kyle. My brother was one of the best.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m pretty sure Leo’s power got away from him, and Dario followed the trail. Then I think…I think Kyle and Celeste sacrificed themselves for the kids.”

Shea opened the door at that moment, Leo clutching her free hand while she held her backpack in the other. Her gaze tripped over Gabriel before she stuck out her chin and looked straight into Matt’s eyes.

“No swearing,” she said. “I have to agree to wherever we’re going. You look at me when I speak to you, and you don’t ignore Leo. I agree to jump when you say jump and bite my tongue most of the time.”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “I’ll try to tone down the swearing, for the kid’s sake. You can say anything you damn well want to me. I will look at you when you’re speaking, but I won’t promise to hear what you’re saying. You can try to ditch me but it doesn’t mean you will.” He turned to Gabriel. “I take it you’re going after Quinn alone?”

Gabriel nodded, trying to ignore the plea on Leo’s face and the way Shea wouldn’t look at him.

“Think that’s wise?” Matt asked.

“I work better alone.”

Matt shrugged. “Your funeral, then.” He turned back to Shea and Leo and did something Gabriel hadn’t expected. He knelt in front of Leo and stuck out his hand.

“Matt Tedaldi. I’m your uncle.”

Leo swallowed and took his hand. “I’m Leo. Do I call you Uncle Matt?”

Matt’s head tilted to the side, considering. “You can, if you want. And I’m gonna apologize right now for being an ornery bas—jerk most of the time. It’ll save a lot of grief later, ’kay?”

That made Leo brighten a bit. “Okay.”

Matt nodded and stood. “Let’s get outta here.”

Pain ripped through Gabriel’s chest, nearly taking him to his knees. Vaffanculo, this wasn’t right. They shouldn’t be leaving him. But he had to find Quinn.

And Dario.

And he couldn’t watch them and do that.

Leo walked over and held out one little hand to shake. Instead, Gabriel picked him up so they were eye to eye. “Listen to Matt, okay? He’s a good trainer.”

“We could come with you, Gabriel,” Leo whispered. “We could help.”

The pain in his chest tripled. “I know you could, bud. But I couldn’t concentrate with you and Shea around. I’d worry about you too much. This way, I won’t worry.”

Tears popped into the boy’s eyes. “Will we see you again?”

Gabriel nodded, every movement an agony. “Count on it. And the next time I see you, I’ll expect you to have mastered those knives.”

Leo’s tears never fell. He blinked them away as Gabriel set him on the ground. Fuck. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

He turned to find Shea staring at him through dry eyes. She was royally pissed, whether at him or Matt or life in general, he wasn’t sure.

Grabbing her hand, he drew her to a corner of the room, far enough so the others couldn’t hear. “I’ll come for you and Leo. As soon as I’m done here. We’re not finished, you and I.”

That made her smile for a brief second but something flashed through her eyes. Something that scared the shit out of him. “Be careful, Gabriel. I need— You need to stay safe.”

She leaned up, pressed her lips against his cheek. Then she walked to Leo, took his hand and let Matt lead them away.

* * *

Serena was gone.

Mentally, Gabriel kicked himself backwards, sideways, up and down as he stood in the garage staring at the empty space where the Jeep had been. He should have known she’d do this, should have seen it coming.

But he’d been so fucking furious at Serena and so damn heartsick at sending away Shea and Leo. He should have realized she’d been planning something like this.

“Jesus, Gabe, where the hell do you think she went?” Digger shook his head. “Why the hell didn’t she wait for you?”

That second question he could answer. The first… He didn’t have a clue where she was headed.

But he bet she knew exactly where to find Dario. Had probably been in contact with the bastard when Gabriel had been stupid enough to leave her alone in the garage.

Gods-be-damned. She was going to give herself up to Dario for Quinn, and Quinn would do something so fucking stupid to try to save her that he’d get himself killed.

Crushing weight dropped on his chest like a solid block of iron, the one metal grigori could not manipulate.

He had to find them all and he had to be prepared to kill Dario when he did.

* * *

Matt had an old Chrysler with a front seat the size of a church pew.

Shea and Leo sat in the front with Matt…because he had an arsenal in the back. A rifle, two handguns, a few boxes of ammunition, two sets of wrist sheathes and throwing knives, and a few miscellaneous blades. A custom-made carrier held it all steady on the backseat.

She studied their new grigorio, their uncle, in silence as Matt drove with an intensity only madmen have, though his handsome features and curly, golden brown hair made him look more like a California surfer than a powerful protector. The shadow of whiskers on his square jaw added to his air of danger.

He looked like their father, enough so that her heart ached as they left the building. Except for his eyes. Matt’s were bright blue and sharp, able to see through lies and into all your secrets. He turned those eyes on her now, only briefly.

“What?”

A man of few words. So unlike Quinn. So much like Gabriel. She hated him for sending them off with someone else, even though she knew he was doing what he thought best.

“Nothing.”

Matt’s right eyebrow lifted slightly but he didn’t say anything.

“You look like Daddy,” Leo said, his tone subdued. “Are we going to live with you now?”

Shea drew in a short breath, ready to punch the man if he so much as looked at Leo the wrong way.

Matt surprised the hell out of her. “Yeah, I’d like you to. You two are all I have left in the way of family. And frankly, I miss your dad. He was some years older than me, and…” Matt took a deep breath, “your parents raised me when my mom and dad were killed.”

He now had their undivided attention. Their father had never talked about his parents. In fact, he’d never talked about Matt, but Shea wasn’t about to mention that now.

“What happened?” Leo voiced the words Shea couldn’t get past the lump in her throat.

Matt’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and his foot goosed the gas pedal before settling into a slower speed for the city streets. “Car accident, if you can believe that. Drunk driver ran ’em down on the side of the road. They were walking home from a dinner party. Mom was killed instantly. Dad hung on for a few days until we pulled the plug. I was twelve. Your mom and dad took me with them after that. Kyle trained me, even though I wasn’t sure I was going to be a grigorio. I thought maybe I’d follow my dad into the service first.

“We traveled for a few years, until I decided I could take care of myself when I was seventeen and set off to see the world.”

The look he shot Shea said something she couldn’t understand, but there was something…

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Thirty-eight.”

She gasped. “You knew. About me. You were there when I was born.”

“Yeah, I was.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Did Mom…did she tell you how…how I’m supposed to break the curse?”

His expression softened, and he released one hand from the steering wheel to squeeze her shoulder. “Sorry, hon, she didn’t. She never said a word about it.”

The hope that had flared briefly but so fiercely for those few seconds died with a sharp pain in her chest, and she silently cursed herself for being a fool. She knew what she had to do. Her grandfather’s journal and Serena had made that so clear.

This was a blood curse and it would demand blood in payment. Her blood.

And it was going to be soon. She just needed to know that Leo would be safe when she was gone. Then she’d finish this.

“Where are we going?” Leo’s voice broke into her morbid thoughts and she waited for Matt to brush him off. He didn’t.

“New Orleans, see Gabe’s sister, Maddie. Then Dallas. I got a house there, been in the family for nearly a century. We should be safe for a while. If not, then Mexico. I got a few spots tucked away.”

As Leo continued to ask questions, the buzz in Shea’s head grew louder. It had started the second Matt had pulled away from the warehouse. She hadn’t worried about it. Now that she knew what that buzz was, what it meant, she’d accepted it and didn’t try to block it. She still couldn’t make out what the women were saying, though, and it was beginning to drive her a little crazy. She knew they wanted to tell her something, something important. About the curse.

And that they were going in the wrong direction.

Matt finally hit the ramp for Route 222 and took it at sixty miles an hour. He pressed his foot to the floor when they hit the straightaway and shot over the Schuylkill River.

The inarticulate buzz became louder, more annoying, until her head started to throb. A migraine wouldn’t be far behind.

But she knew what she had to do.

“Matt. Stop the car. I have to go back.”

Matt’s jaw dropped, and he took his intense concentration off the road for one brief second. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I have to go back. There’s something I have to do. Pull over and let me out.”

“Shea, there’s no way in hell—”

She grabbed the wheel and forced Matt to pull the car to the side of the road. A chorus of horns and raised fingers from the other drivers didn’t faze Matt at all as he hit the brakes. She threw an arm out to stop Leo’s forward motion.

“Jesus H. Christ, girl, do you wanna get us killed?”

Before he could stop her, she’d twisted the keys and pulled them from the ignition.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She ignored Matt and looked at Leo, pasting on a smile for him.

“I’ve gotta go, bud, but you need to stay with Matt, okay? I need you to promise.”

Leo shook his head once, vehemently. “No. Daddy told me I couldn’t leave you. Never.”

Shea shook her head, unwilling to thinking about the implications of that statement. She refused to put Leo in danger with her.

Matt’s hands stilled on the wheel and his tone got deadly serious. “What else did your dad say, Leo? Can you remember?”

Leo nodded. “He said I’d know what to do when I had to.”

She continued to shake her head, but Matt sighed. “Shea, give me the keys.”

“No!” Gods, no. Her heart hurt just thinking about it. “There’s no way I’m taking Leo back into this mess. You have to protect him. I want you to take him away from this.”

Matt held out his hand. “Honey, sometimes you don’t get to make the rules. Sometimes the rules are already laid out ahead of time. If Leo says Kyle told him to stay with you, then he stays with you.”

No, no, no. This wasn’t what she wanted. She wouldn’t allow Leo to go with her. “He can’t. What if something happens to him? I couldn’t live with that.”

“Shea.” Matt’s voice got soft, softer than anything she’d heard come out of his mouth. “Your dad, he had the sight. You know that, right?”

She refused to acknowledge anything he had to say, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Matt’s blue eyes.

“If the kid says he has to stay with you then you need to listen.”

Looking into Matt’s eyes, she knew he wasn’t going to budge. And she knew Leo well enough to know if she ran, he’d follow.

She took a deep, ragged breath. “Will you promise me you will give your life for his if it comes to it?”

Matt nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he’s safe. You, too.”

With a sinking heart, she handed over the keys.

“Then we need to find Dario.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Serena sat on one of the benches in City Park facing the band shell.

She wondered if the eteri who gathered here for summer concerts ever looked closely at the markings around the pond, if they suspected that the decorative carvings were really runes blessing Egeria, Goddess of Fountains, and Nethuns, God of Springs.

Germans may have been the first Europeans to settle the area and the architecture of the older sections of the city reflected their influence.

But the Etruscans had made their mark in other ways. The city still held a powerful magic, fed by the Etruscan descendents who’d flocked here a century or more ago with Italians seeking a better life.

Today, Reading had all the problems of its larger counterparts, like Philadelphia, but the outlying areas of Berks County retained or had reclaimed some of its original wooded glory.

Her home on Mt. Penn was in one of those areas.

She hoped she got to see it again.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head to clear it of the fear in her heart.

“You can do this. You can do this.” She’d been repeating the words over and over in her head since she’d left Gabriel and the others at the warehouse. After she’d made a phone call to the one number she’d been afraid to write down anywhere.

After a few minutes of disbelieving minions, she’d been connected to the man she sought.

Dario had sounded almost sad to hear from her but had agreed to meet her here. With Quinn.

Fear gnawed at her, mocking her decision to come alone.

“No. No! This is your mess. Fix it.”

But what if she couldn’t? She’d tried once before and look how that had turned out. She’d been so sure that plan would work. Yet she’d created another mess. She loved Gabriel more than her life, but she’d hurt him by keeping the truth from him. She feared he would never speak to her again.

Closing her eyes, she shut out her surroundings and tried to put herself into the dream state where peace was found.

Only to open them when she felt a familiar presence.

Gabriel.

He stood in front of the pond, leaning against the split-rail fence, staring at her. She wanted to go to him, throw her arms around those broad shoulders and hug him to her, but wasn’t sure he’d let her. And she wouldn’t survive his rejection.

He looked calm enough, but her son could hide so much behind those dark eyes. At the moment, though, she was too glad to see him to wonder how he’d found her.

She loved him so much. “Do you want to hear my side?”

He sighed and moved toward her. “I think I’ve figured it out. You thought I’d be the one. The female.”

Goddess, bless him. “Yes. I believed if I could produce a child with the blood of the boschetta mixed with the blood of the Paganellis, the curse would be broken.”

He sat on the bench next to her and stared straight ahead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

That was easy. “You loved Davis. I never wanted you to know you weren’t his son. Stupid, yes?”

He sighed, and she heard more of his anger slide away with the breath. “No, just ill-advised, given how Davis died.”

“Yes, it was. Davis had been my grigorio since he’d turned twenty-one. He kept me safe, kept me hidden, and he helped me get to Dario. Then, I wiped his memory of that night, and I never spoke of it again. Davis believed you were his. But he and I were never together until after I had been with Dario. When I knew I was pregnant, I seduced Davis.” She grimaced. “Not one of my better moments. But I did love Davis. You have to know that.”

Gabriel nodded. “What about Dario? Didn’t he know who you were? Why didn’t he recognize you?”

“He’d been away at school much of his life so we didn’t have much contact with one another in our village. I went to him as a prostitute, one of the many he’s had over the years.”

“So you’ve known where he’s been this entire time?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t let the grigori kill him, Gabriel. Not even after…” She couldn’t bring herself to say their names. Not now. “Dario is one of the keys to breaking the curse. I know it in my heart. I just don’t know how.”

“But you didn’t have a daughter. You had a son. Celeste had the girl. Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have any idea.”

Gabriel sighed, frustration in every molecule of air. “You know I love you, right?”

Her heart flipped as only a mother’s could when her child says those three little words. “Yes, and I love you with all my heart.”

“Dario will never be my father. I may have his genes, but he’s nothing to me.”

She nodded, aching for everything he’d lost, for all she’d put him through. “Davis was your father. He loved you more than his own life. You and Nino.”

An invisible weight seem to lift from his shoulders. “What do you want me to do about Dario?”

Grabbing his arm, she squeezed. “You can’t kill him, Gabriel. You can’t. And I don’t believe he’ll harm you.”

“No, but he’ll cut off your head and tear out your heart in a second.”

She shook her head. “I think…he’s as tired of this game as we are. Maybe he’ll be ready to talk.”

“Let’s hope.” Gabriel threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed. “But I’ll be ready just in case.”

And she knew if Dario harmed Quinn, Gabriel would try to kill him. She couldn’t let him do that.

But if Dario harmed Quinn, she would kill him herself.

* * *

Dario sat in the back of the BMW sedan, waiting for the driver of the van behind him to signal he was ready to go.

She would be waiting for him, had tracked him down to let him know where to meet. He felt an unlikely twinge of respect for the woman and had refrained from asking the question uppermost in his mind.

How?

He had a son. Gabriel had to be his son, they looked too much alike to be anything but blood relation. An emotion he couldn’t place burned in his chest. How the hell had she managed it? The boy looked to be in his mid-twenties, but after you’ve lived five-hundred years, you begin to lose perspective on age.

And he hadn’t lived like a monk. There had been women. Beautiful women he ordered from a menu like an expensive dinner and never saw again. There were always more, always different. There are many escort services in Florida if you know where to look.

She had to have slipped in one of those times.

Damn it, he should have been able to tell. His magic had never been powerful, which is why he needed their children, but somehow, he should have known.

He’d been so careful never to make a woman pregnant, not wanting to curse his child with the life he lived and the danger he faced.

Old anger welled in him now, drowning out other emotions. Anger against his own father who’d only had enough love for one son, but who’d used his others like pawns in a chess match.

Christo, the bastard, had brought on their father’s madness with his death. He was the only one their father had ever really loved.

Remo, the eldest, should have taken on this burden, but he’d already been doing his father’s work. With the strongest magic of them all, Remo had been given to the Mal as a child. Dario had seen him only occasionally growing up.

Parente had escaped into the priesthood, though how he’d fared there, with the level of magic he possessed, was a matter of debate whenever they’d crossed paths in the last couple hundred years. Which hadn’t been often.

And yet they had been close as children, he and Parente, closer than the others. They’d shared common goals and beliefs.

Dario sighed at how much those could change over the course of a few centuries. Parente still believed they could do good. Dario had no such illusions left.

The world in which they lived now was not so different from the world into which they’d been born five hundred years ago. Poverty, war, starvation, intolerance—they all remained. Only the gulf between the classes was more pronounced and the toys men used today to torture and kill were different. Shiny, new and no less effective.

Peter slid into the front seat, a grim look on his face. Dario felt tension move up his spine like a snake.

“Have you found Kelsey?”

Peter shook his head and Dario had to restrain himself from physically striking the terrified man. He would find Kelsey himself. Later.

“We need to leave for the rendezvous, sir.”

“Yes. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

“Matt, you have to go faster.”

Shea cringed as soon as the words left her mouth, because it was the third time she’d said it. It wasn’t helping anyone’s stress levels, certainly not her own.

“We’ll get there.”

Even though Matt answered with the same calm tone as the last two times, she could tell he wanted her to shut up. Only his strong will kept him from yelling at her.

She slid a glance at Leo, who gave her a tiny attempt at a smile. It nearly broke her heart.

Goddess, please give me the strength to do this.

If she couldn’t go through with her plan, her brother would never live in peace. And the women she’d been born to release from their curse might never know freedom.

They were headed back to the city. Matt had called Gabriel under the pretense of making sure he didn’t want backup and Gabriel had told him he was following Serena to City Park and that he didn’t need a fucking babysitter. And to make sure Shea and Leo stayed far, far away.

Yeah, right. Shea clutched her backpack tighter. She couldn’t forget to take it with her. She didn’t think she would, but with her state of mind, she just might. She needed—rather, believed she needed—its contents.

And she’d already made sure Menrva’s nail hung around Leo’s neck.

“We’re here.” Matt’s drawl broke into her thoughts. “It’s show time, kid.”

* * *

Dario instructed Peter to park the Mercedes on Constitution Street behind the band shell. Drivers used the street to cut through the park but there were no other cars in the vicinity.

He saw two people sitting on a bench facing the stage. Serena and his son. The word sounded foreign.

Behind the Mercedes, the white van holding the versipellis pulled to a stop.

He took a deep breath, anticipation making his heart race. Soon. This would soon be over. After he convinced Serena that his plan for their release would work, this miserable existence would end.

* * *

Gabriel stiffened and turned to watch the brown Mercedes park at the curb, followed by a windowless white van.

Dario. The man who’d fathered him was here. He felt absolutely no emotion at the thought.

He was going to get rid of this bastard once and for all. Whatever it took.

Standing, he watched Dario leave the Mercedes along with two other men. Another man got out of the passenger side of the van.

Which probably meant there were another two men inside the van, at least. Not great odds, but not impossible. Not with his mother’s power combined with his.

They could get out of this without losing anyone but first he had to get Quinn out of the van.

Dario motioned the two men to stay at the tree line near the cars as he continued to advance.

“I didn’t know you would be here, son.”

His mind screaming at the word coming from this man’s lips, he managed to rein in his anger. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

“Where’s Quinn?”

“In the van. Restrained but unharmed. I thought we could sit and talk for a few minutes first.”

Gabriel had nothing to say to the man. Nothing at all. He only wanted to fight, to hit something, feel bones break, anything to get rid of this building sense of foreboding.

He had to think, had to be ready for whatever came next.

* * *

“Damn it,” Shea cursed, breaking her own rule about swearing.

As soon as they’d turned off Eleventh Street and into the park, Shea had seen Serena, Gabriel and another man standing in middle of the seating area in front of a large stage.

“We’re too late. Matt—”

“Sit tight,” Matt said as he slammed the car into park. “Don’t go—”

Shea had the door open before Matt brought the car to a complete stop. She had to get to Dario, had to make him see she was the one he wanted, not Serena.

“Dario Paganelli,” she called.

The little group turned to stare at her, as did the three men standing guard at the rear of the seating area. They reached under their coats and withdrew guns the size of small bazookas.

“No, don’t shoot!” she said. “I need to talk to Dario.”

“Shea, get back to the car.” Gabriel practically growled the words, his face a tight mask of tension.

She ignored him, concentrating on the man who…oh, Goddess, he looked so much like Gabriel.

“Dario, I’m the one you want. Not Serena. I’m the one. You want to break the curse. You need me. You agree to let everyone here leave and I’ll go with you.”

Again, silence.

She refused to fail. Stepping closer, she raised her arms to show she had no weapons in her hands.

Dario stared at her, seemingly unmoved by what she’d said. “And what would I need with you?”

“I’m the answer. I’m the one you need to break the curse.”

She watched Dario’s expression tighten as she drew closer, close enough for him to see her eyes. Close enough for her to feel Gabriel’s anxiety like a force field around him.

Finally Dario’s eyes widened. “What are you?”

“I’m the key.” She had to make him see, had to make him believe. “Can’t you tell?”

She held out her hand but, at that moment, a shot rang out. Not a normal gunshot, but a blast from an attonitum, like the one she had stuffed in the back of her shorts. She hadn’t known Dario’s people had the specialized weapons.

She screamed, but she was too late. Her heart stopped in her chest when she heard Leo cry out Matt’s name. In her peripheral vision, she saw Matt fall to the ground, a spreading bloodstain on his shoulder.

“Peter, stand down at once.” Dario paid no attention to Matt, kept his gaze focused on hers. “What kind of a trick is this?”

She wanted so badly to see if Matt was okay, but she couldn’t fail at this. Not now. “It’s no trick. I know how to end the curse.”

He cocked his head as if considering his options, but she knew he wouldn’t pass up this opportunity. “And what assurances do I have that they,” he pointed in Gabriel’s direction, “won’t come after us? Though your one grigorio is injured, I know the boy has power and my son…my son is strong, as well.”

His son? Oh, Gabriel, I’m so sorry. “I can assure that they won’t come after us.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

* * *

Adrenaline pulsing through his veins like magic, Gabriel knew he wouldn’t want to live if anything happened to her.

“Shea!” He yelled, not bothering to contain the fear in his voice. “Don’t do this.”

“Son, I think she’s already made up her mind.” Dario never took his gaze from hers. “But what makes you think I won’t kill the men and take the boy anyway?”

Her chin tilted up just a fraction. She wasn’t kidding when she said, “Because I’ll kill myself if you do. And your life will continue.”

Dario raised an eyebrow. “Then I guess we’d better leave. Peter, let’s go.” He waved a hand toward the car.

“Shea.” Gabriel could barely get the word out around the knot in this throat. She would not leave with Dario, not if he had to kill every man between here and her to do it. As he made the slightest move toward Dario, the man who’d shot Matt trained the attonitum toward the other grigorio again.

No, not at Matt, at Leo, kneeling by his side in the grass under a huge old oak.

“Gabriel. Don’t.” Shea turned to him. He could see fear in her eyes, but it wasn’t fear for herself. It was for him and Leo and Matt. “This is for the best. Don’t follow. Please.”

“No! Damn it, Shea, this isn’t the way.” It couldn’t be.

She only shook her head, removed her attonitum from the holster on her back and trained it on him. He heard the blast of power a millisecond before the pain in his leg nearly blinded him, it was so intense. He heard Serena cry out and then nothing.

He struggled out of unconsciousness through sheer force of will, long enough to see Dario and his men pull Shea into the sedan and toss Quinn out the back of the van as it pulled away.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.” Serena was at his side, talking through her tears and tying a tourniquet around his thigh. “It’s going to be okay. Just let me check Quinn then we’ll follow Shea.”

Serena moved away as Matt walked unsteadily to his side and flopped onto the ground next to him. “I didn’t have a clue. Shit, I should’ve known she’d pull something like this.”

Gabriel grabbed Matt’s shirt and pulled him closer. “He’s gonna kill her. We’ve got to find her.”

“Gabriel.” Quinn appeared at his side and dropped to his knees beside him. “She shot you. She fucking shot you.”

“Quinn.”

“Goddamn, Gabe, there’s a lot of blood.”

Quinn pressed his hands against the wound, shooting agony up his spine. But Gabriel knew it would take more than pressure. She’d hit the artery. She hadn’t meant to. It’d been a lucky shot. Or unlucky, in his case. He was going to bleed out if he didn’t get help soon.

“Quinn.”

“Shut up, Gabe. I’ve gotta do something about this. We gotta get you to a—”

“Quinn, don’t lose her.”

Quinn’s startled blue eyes met his, and his mouth dropped open.

“No way—”

“Quinn, if you don’t follow, we won’t know where he’s taking her.”

“No.” Quinn’s emphatic denial made him push harder on the wound and Gabriel groaned. “You can’t ask me to leave you. Serena can’t take care of both of you. You’ll die and there’s no way—”

“Quinn. Please.”

“Fuck!” The profanity sounded close to a growl. Then Quinn pulled the belt off his jeans and threw it at Gabriel. “If you die, I’ll follow you to Aitás and kill you again myself.”

Serena knelt by his side, placing a hand on Quinn’s arm. “Go. We’ll be okay.”

Wrapping the belt around the upper part of his thigh, Gabriel cinched it as tight as he could. And could still feel the blood seeping out of him.

Quinn stood in jerky motions. “You better fucking be alive when I fucking get back.”

Gabriel glanced up, saw Leo looking down at him from the car window. “I’ll be fine.”

Quinn followed his gaze and shook his head, breathing heavily through his mouth. He sighed then shifted so fast it had to be worse agony than Gabriel’s bullet wound.

The wolf took off without a glance back.

“Leo.” Darkness had started to seep around the outer limits of his vision, but he knew he couldn’t lose consciousness. He’d die if he did. “I need you down here, buddy.”

He heard the car door open, and Leo fell on his knees by his side. “Shea shot you.”

“Yeah, but she had a good reason.” At least, she’d thought she had. “Listen. You’re gonna have to help me now. You’re all I’ve got. Then we’re gonna go get Shea.”

The boy’s eyes began to fill. “What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t help myself like before.”

Serena placed her arm around the boy’s shoulders and squeezed him tight to her side. “I’ll be here to help you, Leo. I’m not a healer, but I can guide you. Everything will be fine.”

“You can do this. Leo, look at me.” He compelled the boy to stare into his eyes. “I trust you, buddy. And Shea knew you could do this. That’s why she left you with me. I need you.”

Leo looked at the wound in his leg, then back into his eyes.

And with the trust of a six-year-old for his unworthy hero, Leo smiled and placed both hands on Gabriel’s leg.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It wasn’t long before the Mercedes pulled into the entrance to an industrial complex near Reading Regional Airport.

Shea felt every nerve in her body jumping. Her stomach knotted, her head pounding with tension. Only the voices were silent as she sat in the back seat next to Dario.

Dario hadn’t spoken to her since they’d gotten into the car. He’d spared one look out the back window as they’d pulled away then had stared out the side window, ignoring her completely.

She hadn’t been able to look back.

Goddess, please let Gabriel be okay.

Just the thought of what she’d done made her eyes burn and her stomach shrivel into a ball. A few days ago, Gabriel had asked her if she could shoot him if he told her to. She’d given him her answer a few minutes ago.

Now she had to be strong for a little while longer and finish this.

“So, are you ready to tell me how to break the curse or are you going to keep me in suspense?” Dario asked.

They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d gotten in the car but there was no way she was answering his question.

Instead she countered, “Your men killed my parents.”

He didn’t flinch. “And your parents were…?”

“Kyle and Celeste Tedaldi.”

He nodded, and his gaze ran over her face, examining her features. “Your mother was a beautiful woman. They were all beautiful women. But they’ve been released now.”

“No, unfortunately, they haven’t. They’re in here.” She tapped her temple. “You butchered them. Now they’re in limbo.”

He nodded and something resembling pain crossed his expression. “That was never my intention. But their lives were an abomination, as is mine. The curse must end. My brother Remo enjoys this existence. He does not want to end the curse. I do.”

His brothers? There were more? Goddess, help her. “Did you know about me?”

“No.” He laughed, as if they weren’t mortal enemies. “I’m still amazed at your presence. How exactly did you come about?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I only know that I’m here, and I’m supposed to break the curse.”

“And you are going to do that…how?”

Blood for blood. She didn’t say it out loud, but she knew what would have to happen.

She couldn’t let her parents’ deaths be in vain.

* * *

Gabriel got a call from Quinn twenty minutes after he’d left to follow Dario and Shea.

When he hung up, he turned to Matt and Leo. Matt had tossed his blood-soaked shirt into the back seat so Serena could wrap his wound. The blast had smashed through his shoulder with enough force to knock him to the ground, but the wound wasn’t Fatal.

He held Leo in his arms. The boy was tired but he was starting to come around. He’d maintained a control Gabriel couldn’t have managed under the stress and didn’t seem to be suffering any adverse affects.

“Where is she?” Serena asked.

“At the airport.”

“If he gets her on a plane, we’re screwed,” Matt said. “Let’s get a move on.”

Fuck, no. Gabriel was going nowhere with his mother and Matt, who probably had a concussion in addition to the attonitum blast wound but wouldn’t let Leo heal him. Said the boy had already expended too much energy. And he probably had.

Matt and Serena would be staying here. And Leo was coming with him.

As if she’d read his mind, Serena helped Matt up and back to the front seat of his Chrysler.

We’ll be fine, dear.” She reached up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll take Matt back to the compound. Come back to us.”

“I will. Stay safe, Mom. I love you.”

Her eyes filled with tears but she smiled. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

His gut burned as if he’d swallowed a vat of acid as he and Leo drove away in the Jeep. Their destination turned out to be a deserted-looking warehouse in an industrial park near the airport.

Quinn, dressed only in a pair of baggy work pants he must have stolen, emerged from the shadows along the side of the building. Gabriel pulled up next to him and got out of the car, signaling Leo to follow.

“They’re in there.” Quinn pointed the building behind them. “What do you want to do?”

He wanted Shea back, however he could get her. He wanted to be rid of the constant fear that ate at his guts for his loved ones. He wanted the damn curse broken.

“Hell if I know.”

Quinn’s jaw dropped a second before he emitted a short harsh bark of laughter. “Well, then I say we just walk in the front door and take back your woman.”

Gabriel shot him a look. “You know, you’re not that funny.”

Quinn smiled at him. “Yeah, but your girl thinks I’m cute.”

Gabriel snorted as he felt the weight on his chest lighten just a little at Quinn’s banter. It helped pull him back from the brink of…what? Despair? No, there was no reason to despair. Not yet.

“Leo.” He glanced down and saw resolve in Leo’s dark eyes. “Your knives are under the seat. Don’t leave my side unless I tell you to run, and you use those blades if you have to.”

He waited until the little boy nodded. Christ, he hoped he didn’t need the kid, but he couldn’t take any chances. Not with Shea.

Gabriel pulled open the sliding door to the warehouse without encountering a challenge and scanned the empty space with his eyes and senses.

When he didn’t find anyone, they ran for the back where a solid steel door was set in the center of a brick wall.

Quinn sighed. “I don’t like going in blind, Gabe.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Me, either. But we don’t have a choice.”

Leo’s small hand pushed at his waist, trying to move him. Gabriel allowed him to get by then watched as the kid pulled at a string around his neck and pulled Shea’s nail, in its shape as a key, from beneath his shirt. With the nail in his hand, he placed both palms on the door and closed his eyes.

“I see four people with guns and I see that other guy,” Leo said. “The one who took Shea.”

Jesus, this kid was a treasure. Gabriel would have given him a hug if he could have spared the time.

“What about Shea, Leo? Where’s Shea?”

It took him a few seconds but Gabriel knew exactly when he found her. Leo started pounding on the door and screaming.

“No! Shea! No!”

* * *

Shea had prepared herself as best she could for this, but she still couldn’t stop the shakes. Her teeth chattered and her hands trembled so badly, she couldn’t hold them together.

For the past few minutes, she and Dario had discussed the process of what was going to happen, what needed to be done, but her brain could only think about Leo and Gabriel.

She wanted to hold her brother one more time. She hadn’t been able to say goodbye in all the mess. And she wanted one last kiss from Gabriel.

She didn’t want to let a mad man stick a blade through her heart so he could mingle his life blood with hers.

But here she stood, her mother’s athame in her hand. Ready to end this. For her parents’ sake. For the women. For Leo.

“And you’re sure this will work?”

Dario stared at her with an expression of childlike curiosity, looking so much like Gabriel, it was starting to give her the creeps.

She forced her spine straighter and nodded. “Yes. It will.” It had to. “Are you afraid?”

Dario chuckled, and the sound sent chills down her spine. “No. I’m not afraid of dying. But if this doesn’t work, I will heal when the knife is removed from my heart. You won’t, will you?”

There was no way she wanted to think about that now. “It will work. And when the curse is broken and you stop your pursuit of my brother and the women, it’ll have been worth it.”

Dario nodded, his expression considering. “You’re a brave girl. You would have been more than a match for my son, I believe.”

Her lip quivered before she could stop it. He was torturing her, the bastard. Why? When everything he’d worked toward for centuries was about to happen?

And it would happen. She truly believed this was the only way to break the curse.

Blood for blood.

Plus, the constant hum of the voices in her head were gone completely. She believed it meant she was doing the right thing. Of course, it also meant her mother had deserted her when she’d needed a good kick in the ass to forge ahead. Didn’t that figure?

She looked straight into Dario’s eyes. “Just get it over with.”

Goddess, please give me the strength. And let Gabriel understand.

She took a deep breath as she handed him the blade.

* * *

Gabriel pushed Leo away from the door so hard the kid fell to the floor. He didn’t have time to apologize. Laying his hands on the solid steel, he shoved with every ounce of physical strength and arus he possessed and felt the metal give beneath his hands.

Not enough. The door remained closed.

He growled, a guttural sound of frustration that echoed the roar in his head. He had to get in there. Shea was in there with Dario, and he had to get her out. Nothing else mattered.

He continued to push, but the steel wouldn’t budge.

Damn it, he refused to fail her. It just wasn’t an option.

He threw everything he had at the door, and still couldn’t get it to move.

And then, just when he was about to start wailing on it in sheer frustration, he felt Leo step up beside him and place his hands on the metal next to his.

Adrenaline surged as they blasted the door away from the frame, knocking out two of Dario’s guards in the process.

They rushed into the room—and found Dario sinking a knife into Shea’s chest.

Leo screamed, a high-pitched wail, drawing Dario’s gaze as he pulled the knife from Shea’s body. And Shea crumpled to the ground.

Quinn jumped the two remaining guards as Leo ran for Shea.

Gabriel tackled Dario with a roar.

They hit the floor and rolled. Dario managed to escape from Gabriel’s hold and come up to his feet, but Gabriel didn’t give him time to get set in a fighting stance. He swung out with a roundhouse that caught Dario in the kidneys and made him stagger back a few steps.

Dario shook it off and landed an uppercut to Gabriel’s jaw that made his ears ring and followed with a jab to his eye.

Gabriel felt a snarl twist his mouth as they traded blow for blow with equal skill.

But where Dario was cold and calculating, Gabriel fought with a dark fury. He wanted to flay the man’s skin from his body, make his blood run in rivers.

He wanted him to die.

Gabriel landed blow after blow and absorbed just as many, his fury giving him strength and insulating him from pain.

Blinking sweat and blood from his eyes, he waited for an opening, for the moment Dario would think he had him. He stumbled back slightly, faking a weakness he didn’t feel and baring his teeth when Dario took the bait and followed him.

Dario stepped closer, expecting Gabriel to back away. But Gabriel stepped in, wrapped his foot around Dario’s ankle and pushed, letting them both fall to the ground. Dario tried to twist into the fall, but Gabriel got his hands on Dario’s neck and held him down.

Without a second thought, he grabbed Dario’s chin in one hand and the back of his head with the other and twisted his head until he heard bones crack and felt Dario go limp.

The sickening sound didn’t stop him from throwing Dario into the far wall, where he made a crater in the cinderblock.

“Gabriel!”

Leo called his name, distracting him from going after Dario and ripping the man’s head off. The boy knelt next to Shea, who stared at him with tears in her eyes. He rushed to her side, dread sinking into his stomach at the amount of blood pumping from the wound in her chest.

“You should have let him finish.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Now it’s all for nothing.”

Shutting off his brain, Gabriel lifted her into his arms as Dario’s men groaned next to their fallen leader. Quinn held them at bay with a fierce stance and a menacing growl.

“Don’t leave me, Shea.” Gabriel heard tears in his voice and wasn’t surprised to realize his face was wet as he ran for the door he’d kicked in only minutes ago, Leo close on his heels. “Just hold on until we can fix you. Please.”

Instead, she slumped against him, her breathing shallow and faint.

By the time they left the building, Quinn had run ahead, shifted back to human form and had the Jeep idling at the door. Leo climbed in the back seat and Gabriel followed, holding Shea. Quinn peeled out before he had the door closed.

She was almost gone. He could feel the life leaking out of her with each beat of her heart.

He looked into Leo’s eyes.

The little boy’s hands shook as he laid them on his sister’s bleeding chest.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Shea awoke with the knowledge that she was still alive.

She knew because her chest ached…and the voices were back, whispering, taunting.

Failure.

She opened her eyes and stared at a plain white ceiling.

She tried to move but couldn’t, her hands caught in some type of vise, and one strong, warm band anchored her to the bed.

Panicking, she drew in a deep breath and caught his scent.

“Gabriel.”

Her scratchy throat felt like it was lined with hay, her voice barely audible, but Gabriel’s head snapped up from where he’d been resting it on her lap. He had both of her hands in one of his and his other arm wrapped around her waist. It couldn’t have been a comfortable position, but his gaze was sharp and alert when he met hers. Assessing.

She couldn’t hold his gaze for long.

One big hand reached out to feel her forehead then ran the length of her hair, as if petting her. “How do you feel?”

She wanted to curl into him, but that weight on her shoulders was back. Heavier now. She’d failed them all.

“Thirsty,” was the first thing that popped into her head.

He reached for the pitcher on the bedside table, poured water into a glass then held it to her lips for a few sips.

When he withdrew the glass, she moved a few body parts experimentally and found nothing hurt. Even the ache in her chest was fading.

She looked down and found she was naked under the clean white sheet. She appeared to be fine. Only the faintest hint of a scar where Dario had stuck the knife in her chest. She remembered exactly how it felt, the coldness, the sheer agony.

“You let Leo heal me.” She reached for the t-shirt at the foot of the bed and pulled it on, for the first time uncomfortable in her nudity. The huge shirt covered her to her kneed and smelled like him. “Is he alright?”

Gabriel watched her every move like a hawk. “He’s fine, asleep in the next room.”

She moved to slide her legs over the side of the bed. Before her feet touched the floor, he slid his arms under her and lifted her against his chest.

Because it was exactly where she wanted to be, and where she didn’t deserve to be, she shook her head. “I can walk.”

“Shut up, Shea.”

Her breath caught at the frustration in his tone. She felt his disappointment in the tightness of his broad shoulders as he carried her through the Spartan bedroom into the hall and to the doorway of the next room.

He pushed open the door with his foot…and, in the dim glow of a night light, she saw Matt sprawled in a chair by the bed where Leo was curled in a ball.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she returned Matt’s lazy grin.

“You’re okay,” she whispered. “They shot you. I saw them shoot you.”

He ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, well, believe it or not, I’m damn hard to kill.” He looked at Leo with a mixture of bemused devotion and confusion. “The kid’s had a busy day. Only fell asleep about a half hour ago. I told him you’d be here when he woke up. Glad you’re not going to make me a liar.”

It all sounded so normal. Too normal. Everything back to the way it was.

Nothing had changed.

She started to shake, tried to control it, but knew Gabriel felt it as his arms tightened around her. But he didn’t say anything.

“The kid’s fine, Shea.” Matt nodded toward the wall dividing the bedrooms. “Get some more rest. You need it. We’ll talk later.”

Her gaze went to Leo, curled in the bed, his little face peaceful in sleep. In his clenched hand he held the nail she’d give him. Menrva’s Nail. Had it kept him safe somehow?

She felt a bone-deep shudder move through her body, and Gabriel turned and walked out of the room without another word.

Burrowing close to his chest, she soaked in his warmth, that damn cold ache wanting to consume her.

When he reached her bed, she fought the urge to cling as he set her down and pulled the sheet and blanket over her.

“Where are we?” she asked, not wanting him to leave.

“A friend’s house in the city. He’s out of town.”

“And…and Dario?”

Gabriel’s jaw flexed, emotion darkening his eyes as he eased onto the bed to sit beside her. “I left him there. I was too worried about you. There was so much blood, too much blood. You nearly died in my arms.”

“I’m sorry.” The tears she’d been trying to hold back leaked out now. “I failed.”

She looked up as Gabriel framed her face with his hands and forced her to look into his eyes. She saw anger and anguish. Those emotions made her heart stutter in her chest.

“You’re damn right you did. That was so fucking stupid, Shea. Don’t ever do that again.” His eyes burned like lasers into hers. “Gods-be-damned, don’t you know if you had died, I would’ve let Dario kill me, too? Don’t you know that?”

Stunned by his vehemence, she didn’t move when he groaned and lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her with feverish intensity, his mouth, hot and moist, opened on hers, his tongue bullying its way past her teeth to engage hers.

This was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to overwhelm her, to make her forget. She wanted—

He pulled back and took a step away from the bed, leaving her alone. She very nearly didn’t manage to squelch her small cry at his departure. She needed him here.

“Jesus, Shea, you nearly died.” He ran one shaking hand through his hair.

She couldn’t believe how fast she went from abject despair to a subversive happiness that outweighed all other emotions. It left her lightheaded. She grabbed for his arm but couldn’t reach. He was too far away. “Don’t leave me, Gabriel. Please.”

She held her hand out and waited, barely breathing when he hesitated. He stared at her hand for several seconds until finally he slid his hand into her, lacing their fingers together. When she scooted over, he eased onto the bed to stretch out beside her. On their sides, they stared at each other, and the tension eased from her body with each breath.

“How are Quinn and your mother?” she asked.

He nodded, his breath escaping on a rough exhale. “They’re fine. Quinn took her to one of the lucani safe houses in Philly since we don’t know what happened to Dario.” With a sigh, he pushed her onto her back, laying his dark head on her chest. Then he wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her in heat, making her feel safe. Protected. Loved. “I couldn’t let you do it, Shea. Not even to break the curse. We’ll find another way.”

So many mixed emotions rushed through her, she could barely focus on one. Frankly, she didn’t want to focus at all right now. She merely wanted to absorb his strength.

She didn’t know how long they lay there, silent. Gabriel’s large hands splayed across her back on her bare skin, warm and comforting. She felt each individual finger like a brand on her skin.

A sad contentment stole over her. Even the voices were silent. His chest rose and fell against her side with a rhythmic motion that led her to believe he’d fallen asleep. But just as the thought flitted through her mind, he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked. “Truthfully.”

“I’m fine, Gabriel.” Physically she felt fine, anyway. “Honestly. Nothing hurts.”

Nodding, he slid off the bed, his gaze sliding to the door.

“Don’t go.” The words were out before she realized he’d bent to unlace his boots and toe them off before pulling his t-shirt over his head.

Shaking his hair over his broad shoulders, his gaze met hers before dropping to trail over her body.

Heat followed, licking along her skin as if he trailed his fingers over the same path.

“I told you, at Digger’s, we’d finish what we started. I’m not going anywhere.”

That heat began to spread, sinking into her skin and down into her soul, warming her where she’d been cold and heartsick.

Rising to her knees, she placed her hands on his shoulders. He had a few bruises here and there, but they couldn’t mar his otherwise perfect body. She slid her hands from his shoulders to his chest, brushing the hard tips of his nipples on the way. She heard him swallow and draw in a deep breath then his hands settled on her shoulders.

He didn’t pull her closer. He let her hands continue their downward path until her fingers slid into the waistband of his black cargo pants. Turning her head slightly, she rested her ear against his chest so she could hear his heart beat. The rough, accelerated pace let her know he was in the moment with her. Then his hands slipped up into her hair and he let his fingers tangle in the length.

The button on his pants provided a slight tussle, but nothing she couldn’t handle. And the only rough spot she encountered was when she pushed down his pants and found herself staring at his naked erection, hard and pulsing and right at her lips.

Looking up into his face, she found the heat in his eyes reassurance enough to continue.

With her hands on his hips, she kissed the tip before taking him in her mouth and swirling her tongue over him until he groaned. His skin tasted salty and musky, and she could have held him there all night, learning the flavors of his body, but when he groaned again and pulsed in her mouth, he gently tugged her head back until she stared up at him.

“Slow down, Shea. I’m not nearly ready to end this yet. Lie back.”

She obeyed, not because he’d told her to but because the look in his eyes promised more pleasure to be had. And when he reached out and flipped her over, he startled a laugh out of her.

But she wasn’t laughing when he began to lick a wet path from her left ankle to her knee then followed the same treatment on the other leg. She felt the bed dip, felt him straddle her and run his fingers down her back, quickly followed by the scrape of his beard against her skin.

It was the most erotic foreplay and she shuddered against him. Her fingers dug into the sheets and she moaned into the pillow beneath her head as he continued his sexual torment with his hands and mouth.

They were everywhere—trailing down her back, kneading her thighs, caressing the inside of her arms and palming her ass—until she felt ready to jump out of her skin.

Then he shifted, rolled her onto her back and let his hands drag from her shoulders to her waist and back up to cup her breasts.

She could barely keep her eyes open, her senses shifting into overload when he flicked one taut nipple with his thumb and moved his other hand between her legs. He rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves there with his fingers, playing her until she was hot and wet.

Then he slid one finger into her sex and her muscles contracted around him. His groan mingled with hers as he felt her muscles pull him in. She cried out when he removed his hands.

It was only for a second, though, because he pulled back to spread her legs and settle his body between them.

Her eyes closed at the feel of his blunt, burning erection seeking entrance to her body and she shifted, trying to make him hurry and fill the ache he’d caused.

Instead he moved back and her inner muscles contracted around nothing.

“Gabriel, please.”

“Shh, slow down, love.” He leaned closer to capture her lips while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. Not for a damn long time.”

Her heart flipped at his words and her lips tilted into a smile. “I do love you, Gabriel. And you couldn’t run fast enough to get away from me.”

His gaze darkened. “Are you sure about that, Shea? Because I love you more than I want to live. And if you’re sure…about me…” He reached for the bedside table and grabbed the knife he’d laid there. “Then be blood bound to me. I can’t lose you again. It was hell, and I can’t go through that again. We’ll be tied. Always.

Heart pounding in her chest, Shea wondered if she’d ever been so happy and so unsure at the same time. She was still the only link to breaking the curse. And to be blood bound meant that Gabriel would live his life yearning for her if she died before him. And the way her life was going, that could be tomorrow.

But in the next life, it would ensure that they found each other, and if it meant she got to spend every life with this man, she was game.

She held out her hand for the knife. When he motioned for her to take it, she shook her head. With a faint tremble, Gabriel drew the knife along her palm, barely hard enough to draw blood. Then he handed the knife to her and she did the same to his opposite hand.

Without hesitation, they laced their cut hands together as he nudged her legs farther apart with his own and slid into her. Just enough to make her gasp. He pulled back and thrust again, this time sinking all the way.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Shea.” He withdrew, delicious friction setting off shudders through her body. He slid home again, slow and gentle, setting a tantalizing rhythm.

She felt heat begin low in her stomach, felt the tension build until she sought his mouth with hers and slid her tongue into his mouth as he slid into her body below.

He refused to hurry, even when she dug her fingers into his ass and arched into him, moaning his name. His easy rhythm made her burn more than any furious motion could have.

But it cost him to take it so slow. His breath labored out of his lungs with the force of a steam engine, bathing her neck in moist heat. His skin dampened with sweat, intensifying his scent and making her hands glide over his back and shoulders as she sought to touch every inch of him.

When she reached his ass again and slid one hand between his legs to rub at the sensitive skin between his cheeks, he finally broke.

His hands tightened on hers, the blood smearing, meshing. His hips swung hard and fast, his cock rubbing every erogenous zone in her sex, overloading her brain with ecstasy.

With a cry, she arched into him as she climaxed, her sex clenching around him and milking his cock until he groaned and released into her, his seed bathing her in warmth.

Her world narrowed down to the two of them, bound together in love and sweat and blood. And then she felt something else. Something magical, something that broke apart from them and crested, making them cry out at the absolute joy of it.

It burned in their veins and sizzled along nerve endings until they were spent, gasping and drenched.

Gabriel collapsed on top of her, surrounding her with his scent and strength, his face buried in her neck. He was heavy, but it felt good. Right.

It took her a few minutes, but finally she was able to muster enough strength to turn her head and whisper in his ear. “What was that?”

He shook his head and shifted so he wasn’t covering her completely. Sliding his hand out of hers, he held it up for them both to see. When she saw nothing but a thin healed scar, she checked her own and saw the same.

A smile curved her lips and she looked up to find Gabriel staring at her with a ferocity that made her sex clench. “You’re mine now. And I’m yours. Whatever comes at us, we’ll deal with it together.”

Her smile grew. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Epilogue

Serena woke with a gasp, one hand pressed against the pain in her chest, the other going to her eyes.

They burned, as if someone had thrown acid into them.

Great Goddess, what now?

She drew in a deep breath—and the pain stopped.

“Serena, are you okay?”

Quinn’s voice came out of the darkness of his apartment in Philadelphia. He’d insisted on bringing her here after the debacle in Reading. She should have said no. But she’d been weak.

Now…now something was wrong. No…not wrong. Different.

“Serena?”

Jumping out of bed, she ran for the attached bathroom, threw the light switch—

And stared into the mirror at her own golden-brown eyes that she hadn’t seen in five-hundred years.

Excerpt of Seduced by Magic

by, Stephanie Julian

Through the window, Scarlata watched the man sleep.

The warm summer air caressed her bare skin, pebbling her nipples into tight nubs of pure sensation and drawing her womb into a ball of anticipation.

She’d come to kill him.

Not fuck him.

Still, her sex moistened and her breasts ached each time she caught a glimpse of him.

This man—who wanted to make her a pet. Or worse.

Well, the tables were about to be turned.

She shook her wings for a second before tucking them close to her back, merging them into her skin. Then she walked to the front door—the only door—and laid her hand on the cool brass knob. It turned, even though he’d locked it before stripping naked and falling into his tumbled sheets.

Science didn’t allow for magic. That was his first failing. Only the first of many, she was sure.

Walking through the door of the single-story cabin, she stopped to look around the room. To the right, a living area contained an upholstered chair, a table and a television on a stand, tucked neatly into the corner. She crooked a finger and the TV hummed to life. The snowy screen baffled her for a moment until the rectangular box next to it hummed and clicked. Then the TV screen cleared and people appeared. Two men and one woman involved in a convoluted sex act featuring grunting and awful music.

The man hadn’t been with a woman since he’d arrived at this cabin in the eastern Pennsylvania forest five weeks ago. He hadn’t taken his car anywhere and the only person to visit had been a food-delivery boy.

She knew he’d become frustrated in the past week, having found nothing to prove his theories.

A smile curved her lips. Obviously he was frustrated in other ways as well.

Turning, she took in the chaos that began on the far side of the room. Papers covered the dining table and the lone wooden chair. She ran her hands through the pages, creating a pale waterfall onto the floor.

Words like “subject”, “test” and “resistance” jumped out at her from those pages. The English language continued to sound harsh to her ears, even after more than two centuries.

Still, when he spoke with a voice that reminded her of the growl of a Lucani, it held a kind of magic of its own.

Leaving the dining area, she followed a paper trail down the hall to a small room on the left, where the chaos seemed to have a system. Books tottered on waist-high stacks, papers and magazines in piles. A slim notebook computer sat on a table under the window. Over the past five weeks, she’d watched—sometimes from a nearby tree branch or sometimes just outside the window—while he sat for hours on end, either typing or staring into the forest surrounding the house.

Fool human. He’d never seen her. Not even when she walked next to him while he hiked through the forest, watching the raptors that had given Hawk Mountain its name glide on the air currents. Her glamour allowed her to stand five feet in front of him without his knowledge.

Fool to think he could outwit her, to believe he could trap her and keep her in a cage to study like an animal.

She turned, letting her anger begin to heat her blood, and headed for the open doorway on the other side of the hall.

Walking into his bedroom without making a sound, she felt cool wood flooring give way to plush carpet, decadent against the soles of her sensitive feet. She stood for a brief second, eyes closed, as she dug all six of her toes into the luxurious wool rug. He’d brought this rug with him. She’d watched as he’d unrolled it beside the bed the first day he’d arrived.

When she opened her eyes, she let her gaze find him in the pale glimmer of moonlight filtering through the window.

A stream of silver cut across his back, leaving his head and shoulders in darkness but revealing a sleek expanse of back and the hollowed curves of his gorgeous ass.

Goddess, he was a beautiful specimen.

She cocked her head to the side, watching the steady rise and fall of his back. His skin gleamed with a slight sheen of sweat due to the heat of the night. Even here in the forest, the temperature hovered around eighty degrees.

This region of the United States was in the thrall of a heat wave. Temperatures reached one hundred degrees during the day, while barely dropping into the low eighties overnight. He’d abandoned most of his clothes the last few days, wearing only a pair of shorts that brushed his knees and hung low on his hips. He didn’t bother with underwear anymore.

She drew in a breath, surprised at how hard she had to work for it.

She wanted to touch him. Needed to touch him so badly her fingers ached and curled into fists at her hips.

An ancient spell to ensure his continued slumber whispered from her lips and she watched it sink into his skin with a pale shimmer.

Spreading her fingers, she reached out to touch the warm flesh of his back. The smooth texture reminded her of new leaves and his scent… Oh, his scent was sweat and heat, musk and male. It made her lungs tighten even further.

It would be a shame not to have him before she disposed of him. It’d been ages since she’d enjoyed sex with an etera, a human with no magical abilities. Eteri had learned to be inventive in ways forgotten by her people, the folletti. A race of the mythic Etruscan Fata, folletti had long ago lost the ability to enjoy themselves.

Unlike the Enu, the humans of magical Etruscan descent such as the streghe and the shape-changing versipelli, the Fata, such as the folletti, the linchetti and the salbinelli, had non-human attributes—wings, pointed ears or furred legs.

Some Fata who could blend did so. Like the linchetti. But those like her, with hooves or wings, lived in hiding, in fear of being discovered.

Reduced to seeking refuge in the ever-shrinking parts of the world humans had forgotten, could not penetrate or simply didn’t want, those types of Fata cared more about survival.

This man threatened her existence. And those under her care.

Sprawled in the center of the bed, he murmured something in his sleep and rolled onto his back. Her breath caught in her throat at his masculine beauty.

Her fingers slid from his broad shoulders to his firmly muscled chest then dipped to caress his nipples. The little nubs hardened under her touch and she tweaked them before continuing a downward path to his flat stomach. By the time she reached the line of fine, dark blond hair that arrowed straight to his large cock, he had already thickened in arousal.

She allowed her fingers to curl around his hard length, smiling at the way his shaft pulsed in her hand as more blood rushed to the organ. The flesh became hot to the touch and her fingers tightened in response. When he moaned in his sleep, her sex clenched and the ache low in her gut became all-consuming.

She needed to ease that ache. Now.

Releasing him, she slid onto the bed and straddled his thighs, bracing her hands on the hard muscles of his chest. Such strength under velvet skin. She could stroke it all night. Barely able to see his features in the dark, she blew a stream of power at the bedside lamp. When it flickered to life, it allowed her to see him completely.

Asleep, his face looked almost boyish. Another smile curved her lips as her gaze shot back to his groin. Maybe not so boyish.

But, oh, his face. So classically handsome. Strong, square jaw. Straight, aquiline nose. His eyes were closed but she knew they were lightly colored, green or blue. His hair was blond but not one simple shade. It was caramel and wheat and gold. Colors that bespoke his work outdoors.

Chasing her.

Her smile fled as her eyes dropped to his lips. Firm and straight, they were parted slightly as if he was having trouble breathing.

Good. She wanted him to suffer. Wanted to make him pay for the worry that ate at her. She would take her pleasure tonight. But he would find none. And he would remember this only as an unfulfilled dream in the morning.

Of course, if she killed him tonight, he would remember nothing.

To take her mind off that suddenly dreary thought, she again wrapped her fingers around his thick cock, so engorged it lay flat against his stomach. She pulled it toward her, holding it firmly until it pointed straight into the air. She shifted forward until the tip brushed her vaginal lips, teasing her clit. Shivers of sensation danced from that small bundle of nerves to her womb and straight into her spinal cord.

Pleasure sizzled like magic along her nerve endings. But where magic could drain her, sex energized her. Sex shot pure adrenaline into her bloodstream.

She drew in a deep breath—filled with his scent. It teased a moan from her that echoed throughout the room. And elicited an answering groan from the man.

She ignored him. Her sleeping spell would keep him out while she took her pleasure. And if he did please her, she would make sure he suffered no pain when she took his life.

Still, she didn’t want this to end too quickly. A slow, steady climax was always more desirable than quick gratification. She’d been alone for so many years now and human males never could last more than thirty minutes, at least in her experience. What was thirty minutes in the span of a six-hundred-year life?

With her hands braced on his chest, she slid her wet flesh against his cock until it was soaked with the moisture seeping from her body. For half an hour, she rubbed her flesh against his, coming close but not achieving orgasm.

She never allowed the tip of his cock to slip further than an inch inside her body. Instead, she used the swollen head to rub against her throbbing clitoris then slid forward to allow it to tease the plump, hot lips.

Eyes closed, she concentrated on sensation, ignoring the man, pleasuring herself with his body.

But as the minutes passed, she found herself staring down at him.

His face didn’t contain the perfection of the folletti but it had a rugged beauty all of its own. Her hand found its way to his jaw. Her skin, dark olive against his golden tones, caught on the stubble of the beard he hadn’t bothered to shave in several days. She wondered what his jaw would feel like rubbing against her skin. Between her legs.

She moaned and finally let herself slide onto his cock, seating herself to the hilt. The wiry hair at the base of his erection meshed with the fine silk of her mound and she reached down to spread her lips so that the hair could tickle her clitoris.

And then his eyes opened.

Spellbound

by,

Opal Carew writing as Amber Carew

For some reason, Fate has been messing with Lucinda’s love life.

By all known wizard lore, she should have bonded with her mentor Rand, but there’s simply no chemistry between them. When she gets “The Call”, which shouldn’t happen for her, she is faced with an incredibly sexy, entirely naked man in an alley in Paris. Getting “The Call” means she is supposed to be his mentor… and his one true love. Clearly Fate thinks her life is a joke.

Now she is stuck mentoring a man who is utterly domineering, overwhelmingly masculine, incredibly irresistible and, according to her most trusted friend, extremely dangerous.

This book was formerly sold under the titles “Virgin Wizard” and “Darkest Nyte”.

Praise for Spellbound

5 Hearts!

“… an enchanting and entrancing story of love and forgiveness. Carew has outdone herself … a definite recommended read.”

Tammy, Love Romances

5 Cupids!

“Wow! This book got me hooked right from the start. The mystery and suspense around Nyte was so thrilling… Carew has created very interesting and realistic characters… I will certainly look out for more works of this great writer.”

Birka, Cupid’s Library Reviews

4.5 Cupids!

“This story is full of twists and turns. Nyte’s secrets entice the reader up until the final pages of the book. …as a work of fantasy it is quite interesting and unique.”

Marina, Cupid’s Library Reviews

4 Angels!

“… a wonderful mix of mystery and paranormal. Carew has created a story that will not soon be forgotten.”

Tewanda, Fallen Angel Reviews

4 Angels!

“a whole new world to explore…fresh and exciting… fun to read… kept me captivated… adventure and strong characters.”

Julie, Fallen Angel Reviews

4 Cups!

“This story is quite engaging… Several plot twists and turns will surprise you and set your world on edge…”

Cindy Warner, Coffee Time Romance Reviews

“Witty and engaging… a fabulous story that I found hard to put down… will keep you on the edge of your seat… an extremely entertaining read that you’ll want to visit more than once.”

Susan Biliter, eCataRomance Reviews

“an outstanding fantasy novel... twists and turns that will keep you on your toes and a brilliant ending that will warm your heart. I encourage you to read this exceptional book, whether a fantasy reader or not. If you’re not, you will be after reading [SPELLBOUND]”

Tina Burns, The Road to Romance

“Many twists and surprises… I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

Trang Noire, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

Spellbound Copyright © 2014 by Opal Carew

Published in 2012 under the title Virgin Wizard.

Published in 2011 under the title Spellbound.

Published in 2005 under the title Darkest Nyte.

Discover more books by Amber Carew at her website
www.AmberCarew.com

All Rights Are Reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Amber Carew edition: September 2011

Second Amber Carew edition: August 2012

Third Amber Carew edition: August 2014

www.AmberCarew.com
www.OpalCarew.com

Dedication

To Mark,
with love.

Chapter 1

“Merlin, what was that?” Lucinda Divine rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then pushed herself up on her elbows. Moonlight illuminated Merlin’s slight profile, and his vivid green eyes stared into hers questioningly. Then he yawned and settled his head back down on her stomach, his eyes dropping closed again.

“I don’t know why I bother talking to you,” she grumbled, as she glanced at the clock.

Three forty-seven.

The last time she’d been awakened in the wee hours like this, Randalph had been calling for help. But it wasn’t Rand this time. So who was it? Could it be work related? Three of her current cases were straightforward remove-a-curse types, but she had taken the precaution of putting monitor spells on her other two clients. Still, if it had been one of her own spells warning of trouble, she wouldn’t be in doubt as to the origin.

She pushed the covers aside, ignoring Merlin’s sharp protest at being ousted from his comfortable position.

“Oh, stop complaining. It’s not like it was my idea to get up at this time of the night.”

Merlin leaped off the bed and strutted away, stiff-legged, tail held straight as a post. He jumped onto her rocking chair and curled up, his glossy black back toward her.

“Okay, be like that.” Just like Merlin. He wouldn’t lose sleep over a late night caller.

She turned her attention away from the cat and took a deep breath. Stilling her thoughts, she listened for a repeat of the call that had awakened her. A moment later it rippled through her awareness, strong and insistent.

The Call!

She had received The Call?

But that didn’t make any sense. She had been born of human parents, not wizards. Only those with wizard parents could be mentors.

The Call burst through her again, transforming her confusion into resonating joy.

It was true! A new wizard had appeared in the world, and she had been called upon to be his mentor.

To guide a new wizard through the difficult time of learning to control his power--this had been a secret dream of hers for almost three centuries, even though she’d known it would never--could never--happen.

She didn’t know why she’d been chosen, but pride bubbled through her that Fate had entrusted her with such an important role. She hoped she could do as well as her own mentor, Randalph. He had taught her to look beyond herself and reach past the limitations of everyday. In so doing, he had given her a level of control over her life she’d never thought possible. She would always love him for that.

She could hardly wait to get started with her own student.

Trying to quell her mounting excitement, she reminded herself that The Call occurred upon birth of a new wizard. She smiled, thinking of the new baby born into the world, the child she would guide to the fulfillment of his wizardly powers. But over a decade would pass before she took an active part in his life. Right now, he was just an infant in his human mother’s arms.

She imagined a tiny, naked baby staring up at her, a smug expression on his little face, and an irresistible impulse to go see him tugged at her.

No, this was silly. She could take a peek at him tomorrow, after she’d had a good night’s sleep. After all, she would not play a significant role in his life until he reached puberty.

She remembered that period in her own life, when her changing hormonal balance had triggered the ability to control magic. It had been a frightening, confusing time and she didn’t envy her new charge the ordeal ahead.

An insistent, yet indefinable, urge coursed through her. She wanted--no, she needed--to find this wizard. Right now. She absolutely had to see him.

That’s odd, she thought. She’d never had any particular inclination to stare at babies before. Could it be The Call affecting her like this? She frowned. From everything Rand had told her during her insistent questioning, she’d imagined a slight niggling feeling connecting her to this new person, not an overwhelming urge.

It dragged steadily at her senses now. Alarm spiked through her at a new sense of urgency that fueled the pull. As if he might be in trouble. Could this baby have been abandoned? Could he be alone and frightened?

Merlin’s sharp mewing cut through her mounting apprehension. His bright green eyes stared at her and his ears perked straight up.

“Merlin, I’ve got to go to him. He needs me.”

Merlin made an insistent warbling sound and she planted her hands on her hips. “Well, I know I don’t know anything about babies.” She wagged her finger at her furry friend. “But I won’t allow any wizard I’m responsible for to wind up in an orphanage. If I need to, I’ll bring him here and take care of him myself!”

Merlin bleated rudely, leaped from the chair, and strutted away.

“What do you mean you feel sorry for the poor kid?” She glared at his retreating back, wondering what she’d done to deserve such a rotten cat.

Pushing aside her irritation, she closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to zero in on her subject. She visualized the incoming thread of anxiety-triggering energy and grasped it, tracing it backward, letting it draw her toward the source. She fluttered through space, her body light as chiffon billowing on a summer breeze. Time and matter quivered around her, meaningless in the process of transporting through the Earth.

Finally, a heaviness settled in her feet, then drew upon the rest of her rematerializing body. She squinted against the bright sunshine that invaded her slightly disoriented brain. The aroma of something too delicious to be good for her dragged her attention to the shop door in front of her. The sign printed across the large glass window read “Patisserie.” A large platter of croissants and what had to be pains au chocolat, judging from the dark brown smudges on the sides, stood under a glass dome on the counter inside. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. Reflected in the glass, a world-renowned landmark loomed behind her.

The Eiffel Tower.

April in Paris. Charming. Why did she always wind up in these wonderful places when she didn’t have time to enjoy them? Last time, she’d been searching for Death at Club Med. She smiled. Of course, once she’d found him and gotten their business out of the way, they’d had a good time. A date with Death was quite an experience.

A couple of teenagers skated past her on roller blades and giggled. Lucinda shifted her focus to her own reflection and flushed. Here she stood in the middle of Paris wearing only a mauve camisole and matching boyleg briefs--and bare feet. She groaned. Well, she’d never pretended to be good at these middle of the night adventures. She had trouble being organized at the best of times let alone with less than a good night’s sleep.

Pretending great interest in the view behind the glass, she checked her peripheral vision on each side, wondering how best to avoid notice.

Right, like that would happen. Almost everyone who passed by glanced in her direction. Some quickly glanced away again, some grinned, some twittered. Some ogled. She dragged in a deep breath, deciding on brashness as her best course of action. Drawing her shoulders back, she turned away from the window. She smiled and nodded at each person who glanced in her direction, then turned down the first alleyway she came across.

Good heavens. She would have to choose the mid-morning rush hour to appear in a world-class city in a state of undress. Of course, most nights she slept in an oversized grey sweatshirt, but yesterday, of all days, she’d given in to temptation and bought the feminine camisole set in the window of a lingerie store near her office--and she’d had to wear it to bed.

She padded down the alley, searching for a hidden corner where she could materialize some clothes, but a groan from up ahead interrupted her mission. She crinkled her forehead. Had it been an actual sound? Good heavens, could it have been the baby? Had he been left alone somewhere in this alley?

But a baby didn’t groan.

She closed her eyes and listened. Fragmented questions tumbled through her mind. Where am I? Who am I? The strong sense of disorientation threw off her balance, sending her careening into a brick wall. Her shoulder pressed against it and she flattened one hand against the side of her head, trying to control the dizziness. The person was disoriented. And uncomfortable.

But he wasn’t in danger.

She tried to catch her breath as a stunning certainty ricocheted through her. These thoughts were too coherent for an infant. And yet they definitely came from her intended student. She slumped back against the wall, barely holding herself upright as disturbing questions pelted her consciousness like hailstones.

If this wizard she’d been called upon to teach was not a baby, why hadn’t she received The Call over a decade ago? The lad seemed to be suffering from some kind of accident. Could a blow to the head have triggered wizardly potential in him?

She didn’t know. Drat. Many of her friends loved mysteries, but not her. Why hadn’t one of them gotten this one? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Lucinda felt a fierce protectiveness jolt through her. No way. This guy was hers. Lucinda had longed to be a mentor for centuries.

A good thing, a little voice whispered inside her head. Because a seventh sense told her he was ready. She could feel the magical potential shimmering from him. Damn. She felt like a pregnant woman who’d just given birth, been handed a full-grown child, and told, “Here you go. You’re a mother now.” In fact, it occurred to her that in that particular analogy, not only had she not realized she was pregnant, but she’d thought she could never even conceive!

This isn’t fair! I need more time. I’m not ready for this!

She could almost see Merlin’s sardonic green gaze. Yeah, like life is always fair.

Lucinda shook her head. Okay, she’d manage. Somehow. In fact, the thought that she could start the teaching process right away held some appeal. She’d never been a patient person. Waiting twelve or thirteen years would have driven her nuts. And a teenager would be much easier to take care of than a baby. In fact, didn’t they usually want to do everything on their own?

Sure. This would be just fine. Ever since she’d decided she might have to care for a tiny baby, a heavy sense of responsibility had dropped on her shoulders. Now it lifted. She straightened up and pushed herself away from the cold wall.

Time to find this guy.

Creeping further into the alley, she scanned the edges of the clutter lining the path. Garbage cans. Cardboard boxes. Wooden crates.

The glint of tanned skin caught her gaze and she focused on a figure slumped on the ground behind a box. She hurried toward him and stopped about a yard away. What should she do now? This was definitely the person she’d been seeking. She sensed confused thoughts skimming the surface of his mind. Not quite conscious. She stepped forward and touched his shoulder.

A fierce growl startled her and she leaped backward. He bolted to his feet as he swung around to face her. Her gaze followed his piercing eyes as he reached full height. In her peripheral vision, she saw his hand shoot to his hip. He tried to grasp something. A sword? That’s what his surface thoughts revealed. How odd. A slightly puzzled expression flickered across his face, then disappeared. Hidden behind a shield of keen intelligence.

Her breathing slowed as they stared at one another. She could almost believe he was an ancient warrior displaced in time. He emanated a strong aura of power. His hair, dark and untamed, swept back from his face and tumbled over strong, broad--and very naked--shoulders.

Naked?

She allowed her gaze to continue down his firmly muscled chest past his waist. She quickly became cognizant of two startling facts. One, he was a fully mature adult male. Two, he was completely naked.

Good heavens, how did she get into these predicaments?

As her skin pebbled, she realized his gaze had started to wander, too. The edges of his mouth quirked up in a smile and a glimmer softened his granite eyes. Lucinda suddenly remembered her attire--or lack thereof. A scrap of satin and lace.

He took a step forward and she jerked backwards, losing any facade of coolness she’d managed to present up to now. He stopped and studied her thoughtfully.

Her gaze kept drifting down his chest, along the lightly furred arrow that conveniently pointed to the more interesting feature of the male anatomy. Especially in this man’s case.

Yipes, don’t look there, she told herself. Yeah, right. That’s like telling yourself not to look at the Eiffel Tower when it’s standing right in front of you. And, right at this moment, the object of her discomfort stood as tall as that landmark.

Forcing her gaze to meet his, she felt herself drawn into some strange, dark depths. Something about him frightened her--but intrigued her even more. She stepped back, but he reached out and clasped her hand. His body pulsed with suppressed energy, yet his touch felt gentle, coaxing.

What’s going on? I’m a full-fledged, tenth level wizard. I should be in control here.

She tugged her hand free, folded her arms over her chest, and scowled at him. What was it about this guy that threw her off so badly?

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He shook his head and said something she didn’t understand.

Of course, that shouldn’t surprise her. The fact she had transported to France should have tipped her off that he probably didn’t speak English. Since her French was rusty at best--so rusty she hadn’t understood a word he’d said--she decided to use a spell to help them break the communication barrier.

She held up one finger to indicate he should wait a moment, then she visualized him talking to her in her own language, comfortably and naturally, as if he’d been speaking it for years. Then she pointed her finger at him and spoke a quick incantation.

“I’d like you to speak English now,

At the snap of my fingers you’ll know how.”

She snapped her fingers. As the energy pulsed through him, he blinked a couple of times, then stared at her expectantly.

She repeated her question. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know.”

He spoke the words in a deep, resonant voice, without a trace of an accent. Her spell had worked quite nicely. After congratulating herself on her handiwork, the meaning of his words sank in.

“You don’t know? Do you remember your name?”

“No. I remember nothing at all.”

He spoke those words calmly and with supreme control. Which surprised her under the circumstances.

How could he be so confident? It was as though her self-assurance had seeped out of her and into him. Doubts flashed through her mind and skittered along her nerve endings.

Gently, he grasped her hands as though he didn’t want her to escape. The feel of his fingers wrapped around hers again sent a pulse of awareness shooting through her. An awareness of him as a man. Of her as a woman. Of his bare flesh so close to hers. A wild urge to touch him, to run her fingers down his chest--then lower--coursed through her.

She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her uneven heartbeat. No man had ever affected her like this.

This is what a Love Bond should feel like.

The renegade thought careened through her mind but she brushed it aside. What she felt was just the excitement of the situation. She was destined to bond with Rand, not this stranger.

“And who are you?” he asked.

His words melted through her, warm and persuasive.

“I’m... uh... .” She groped desperately through the fog surrounding her memory for her name. “Divine.”

His gaze swept down and up her diminutive frame and swirled around her face. He smiled, one of those delightful half smiles that could steal a girl’s heart. His face came alive with shimmering attractiveness and Lucinda realized that smile could become addictive.

“Yes, you are that,” he said.

“What?” She realized he referred to her last name and cleared her throat. “Uh... no, I mean my name is Divine. Lucinda Divine.”

His smile broadened and he curled his fingers around her hand, then lifted it. Very slowly.

She watched his lips descend with great concentration, having a long internal chat with herself. She really shouldn’t let this tall, devastatingly attractive man touch her this way. She should take control of the situation and tug her hand out of the way of his wonderfully full, sexy mouth.

She licked her lips in anticipation. Yes, she really should pull away. His lips touched the back of her hand lightly, and her eyelids drifted closed. Tingles danced up her arm and through her chest. They seemed to kick-start her heart into a frenzy of activity as it fluttered within her ribs like a caged bird. Oh, Lord, she felt like she was going to melt into a sticky little puddle on the ground. She couldn’t help imagining he was kissing her mouth instead, his lips savoring the contact with a sweet sense of purpose, gently persuading her to open. The thought of his tongue lightly probing the inside of her mouth sent shivers through her, followed quickly by panic.

It wasn’t that she’d never made love with a man--though she hadn’t. It was just that this man was totally naked, totally devastating to her senses, and totally not what she’d expected. With all the will she could muster, she expended the great amount of energy required to move back the fraction of an inch needed to separate her hand from his lips.

“I... uh... .” What was wrong with her? She’d never been at a loss for words before and certainly never been bowled over by a man. After all, as a three-hundred-year old virgin, she had certainly learned to say no.

And it wasn’t that she was tied up in some old-fashioned sense of morals or anything like that, it was just that she was very confused. Mentally, she shook her head, trying to get her thoughts to fall into some coherent order. A wizard only experiences one mentor relationship, yet she had received The Call to be this man’s mentor--an event which was totally unprecedented in the wizard community. Mentors and students were destined to form a Love Bond, but she couldn’t be bonded to two men, and Rand was her mentor, and her first loyalty.

When she’d asked other female wizards about their Love Bonds, they’d told her when she was with her intended, the resonance between them would send a ringing note of such clarity through her mind that there would be no doubt they were meant to be together. This hadn’t happened with Rand yet, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t. So why was it that, right now, the inside of her head felt like St. Paul’s Cathedral on Christmas morning? And her thoughts were anything but pious.

“I... expected you to be a teenager,” she said.

One of his eyebrows arched high. “Oh, you like younger men?”

“No, I mean... Really, I was hoping for a baby.”

He pulled her close and leaned toward her with a wicked gleam in his eyes, sending her hormones into hyper-drive. “If that’s what you want... .”

His intent was only too clear. Her womb tightened at the erotic thought of touching his Eiffel Tower--er, erection. Of stroking it, feeling the intense heat of it, and then sliding it inside her. Quickly, she got control of herself and flattened her palms against his chest. His springy hair curled around her fingers, tickling the sensitive inner flesh. She tried to ignore the delightful sensation.

“No!” Lucinda cried out in desperation. “I mean, I came here to help you. You... just aren’t what I expected.”

She heard voices and knew she had to get him out of here before he was discovered in all his naked glory. “We’ve got to go.” Worried about his reaction if she transported them without warning, she explained, “I can work magic and--”

“Yes, I know.”

Surprised, she gazed up at him. “You do?”

He stroked her cheek with his fingertip. “You’ve already worked magic on me.”

She gulped and mumbled some words so automatically they didn’t even reach her conscious mind. Then they stood in her living room.

She shrugged. “I’m a wizard,” she explained, surprised that he wasn’t even fazed by the change of scene around them.

His superb physical form dominated her living room. Suddenly, his nakedness seemed even more intense and the situation felt far too intimate.

To preserve her own peace of mind, she turned away from him and swept her hands through the air.

“Assemble clothes for this man
as fast as you can.

To cover all that now shows
from his neck to his toes.”

She jabbed her finger toward the large armchair across from the couch and a stack of clothes appeared. Socks, underwear, pants, and a pullover sweater, all in black. Odd. Her choice would have been more colorful.

Without turning back to look at him, unwilling to expose herself to the temptation of his bronzed, sexy body, she headed for the kitchen. “Put those on and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with some tea.”

She pushed open the door and marched into the kitchen. Merlin opened one green eye to stare at her as she strode past him towards the sink.

“What are you doing on the table?” she demanded, eyeing the munched remains of lilac blossoms lying on her stack of mail.

He raised his head and yawned, the pink of his tongue and the jagged row of white teeth a sharp contrast to his black fur. He mewed in his bored fashion as she plopped the kettle on the counter and plugged it in.

“What do you mean I’m a more entertaining hostess than usual tonight?”

He mewed again and she felt a shiver down her spine. “Cold?” She glanced down at herself and felt her face burn. She still wore only the skimpy lingerie. Closing her eyes, she summoned her robe from the closet in her bedroom. Once she had it securely tied around her waist, she glared at Merlin, then unplugged the boiling kettle.

When she returned to the living room ten minutes later with a tray loaded down with tea paraphernalia and muffins, her guest was just pulling the last article of clothing on, pushing his arms into the long, black sleeves of the sweater, and then rolling the fabric down that broad, muscular chest of his. As she stood watching him, yearning wrenched her insides. Her teeth tugged on her bottom lip as she wished her fingers followed the edge of the sweater sliding over his pectoral muscles, down his flat stomach, and finally over his navel. Then all that wonderful, hard male flesh was hidden.

“Something wrong?”

His strong, masculine voice broke her concentration and her gaze flicked to his. Amusement glittered in his eyes and she realized he’d been watching her appreciative appraisal. She released her bottom lip and straightened her back.

“No, of course not. I’m glad to see that the clothes fit.”

“I had no doubt they would. You seem quite efficient.”

“Thank you.”

With his glossy black hair and midnight eyes, the black clothes suited him. It was as though the magic had been affected by what he would have chosen. In fact, it seemed almost sinful to consider putting anything else on him. Her gaze traveled the length of him, critically inspecting the black, cable-knit sweater and the long black jeans. Even though the clothes were modern, he looked like a dark knight from an ancient time. An aura of strength and power surrounded him. All he needed were high boots and a long cape to complete the ensemble.

She stepped forward and placed the tray on the coffee table in front of him, then poured them each a cup. Settling into the armchair, wanting to keep a reasonable distance between them, she regarded him thoughtfully.

“You said you don’t know who you are. What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know where I was when you found me or how I got there, and I don’t know where this is.” His hands swept up to indicate their surroundings.

“This is my home in Ottawa. I found you in an alley in Paris, but I have no idea how you got there. Do you know your name?”

“No.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you much.”

He grinned and rose from the couch, reaching out to take her hands. “I seem to be in very capable hands.” He pulled her from her seat and put his lips against her palm, sending a vibration of awareness through her. “In fact, very soft, gentle hands. I’m sure whatever my situation was before, it couldn’t be better than this.”

His words, leaving his mouth as whispery puffs of air against her skin, sent shivers across her shoulders and down her spine. She wanted to step forward and melt into his arms, to press her body into his until nothing could come between them, to reach up and tease the bottom of his chin with her lips. She blinked several times, trying to clear her head. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even know him.

Why did she feel this way?

“I sense your uneasiness. Surely you feel, as I do, that we are destined to be together?”

Destined to be together? Did he believe they would form a Love Bond?

As soon as she realized a slight hope stirred within her, she stomped it down. This man knew nothing of Love Bonds. He was simply exercising his masculine charm on an available female.

Damn. Nothing about this situation was normal. Not the fact she’d received The Call to be a mentor. Not the fact she felt this undeniable attraction to this man--given that Rand was her mentor. Why did nothing in her life ever proceed along normal lines?

Rand was the one she should feel this way about.

She could not allow the relationship with this new wizard to develop into anything more than teacher and student.

He tilted her head up with one finger and his granite eyes stared into hers. “I may not know myself, but my soul knows you, and it is clear we are meant to be one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“So cautious, little one. Why are you afraid to let me get close?”

Little one? He’d called her little one! Randalph called her that, but he’d been in her life for longer than she could remember and she wanted, and needed, the affection they shared.

But this man was a stranger. “I don’t know you.”

“I’d like to change that.”

She sidestepped him. “Look, do you want my help?”

He inclined his head. “I would be honored.”

“Fine. Then kindly stop pushing me.” She sent him her most authoritative stare--and saw the glitter of amusement in his dark eyes. She pushed aside her annoyance and went on to explain. “As I told you, I’m a wizard. I was drawn to you--”

“As I am to you.”

She sent him a piercing glare. “What I’m saying is, I was called to help you.”

His eyebrows arched. “By whom?”

She paused, taken aback by the question. “Umm. It’s not like that. It’s a... .” She waved her hands, searching for words to explain. “... a wizard thing. When a new wizard is born, an established wizard is linked psychically to that child. We don’t understand how it happens, it just does. The older wizard keeps tabs on the child until he or she is ready for training. That happens at puberty when the change in hormones triggers the ability to control magic.” She searched his expression. “That’s why I expected you to be a baby. Except that I sensed your magical ability to be quite advanced. I had wondered if something had gone wrong and our link wasn’t forged until you were already in your teenage years. It came as a complete shock that you are a full-grown man.”

“Have you had many such links?”

“No, you’re my first.” At least, as mentor.

“Good.” He looked so self-satisfied that she suspected he’d taken her answer to mean something different.

“Well, no matter why this has happened, you need my help and I will help you all I can. But right now we’re both tired. I think we should go to bed.”

His smile broadened. “Excellent suggestion.”

Intimate muscles twitched inside her at the obvious meaning of his words.

He reached out to take her hand, but she quickly stepped out of reach. “This way.” She led him up the stairs to the second door on the right. She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The lightening sky visible through the window, along with the musical twittering of birds, made her realize just how late it was. Or rather, how early. She glanced at the bedside clock. Five seventeen. It would soon be full daylight.

She stepped to the window and drew the blinds closed, leaving the room in darkness except for the light glowing from the hallway. His shadow loomed over her and she started to turn, but one of his hands closed over her shoulder while the other swept her long hair to one side. His lips caressed the nape of her neck. It felt as though she stood in a warm pond with cold water trickling down her spine. She almost gasped at the sensual pleasure as his breath sent loose tendrils of hair at the back of her neck fluttering. His mouth edged up to nuzzle behind her ear. The cold trickle down her back warmed, and the warm pond encompassing her body cooled. He nipped her earlobe and the sensations bombarding her seemed to collide and realign in unrecognizable patterns.

His hands slid around her waist and he eased her against him. The hard wall of his chest pressed against her back. Her breasts felt heavy and warm, and her nipples pulsed to life. One hand, warm and strong, cupped her face and he turned her head. Their gazes locked and she felt hypnotized by a force older than time, and far more compelling. As though on a carousel spinning toward heaven, she felt her body turn to face him. The ride continued, her body pressing the length of his. The world seemed to tilt. Satin brushed the backs of her legs and she realized she stood against the bed.

Her eyelids popped open--when had they fallen closed?--and she ducked out of his arms and strode across the room toward the door. She sucked in a few quick breaths, concentrating on returning her body patterns--like breathing and respiratory rate--to normal.

“This is where you’ll sleep,” she announced. She avoided his glittering gaze as he folded his arms across his chest. “There are blankets in the closet if you get cold.” Yeah, right, she thought. She only wished he would cool off. “Good night.”

She closed the door with an assertive thud.

* * * *

Once she was finally snuggled into her own bed, Lucinda had trouble falling asleep. It wasn’t the tea that kept her awake--she’d been sure to make decaffeinated--it was the thought of the tall, handsome stranger sleeping in the bedroom next to hers.

Why wasn’t anything in her life ever straightforward? Every other wizard formed a mentor relationship only once. Every other wizard received The Call when the new wizard was a baby. But not her!

No, indeed. Her student was very grown up. Thoughts of his body pressed to hers made her heart flutter. The way she felt around him worried her. Never had she felt anything so strong for a man. But he was exactly the wrong kind of man for her. Too overwhelming, too overconfident, and definitely too domineering.

She could not be destined to fall in love with a man like that, so the effect he had on her could not result from a Love Bond. She simply suffered from a serious case of lust. Obviously, three hundred years of saying no had been too long and her hormones had decided to rebel in a big way!

Sadness edged with guilt seeped through her. Why did she feel this way for a stranger and not Rand?

Chapter 2

He might not know who he was, but he knew the woman named Lucinda. She was his woman. He’d known that from the moment he’d met her.

He sank onto the bed and watched her leave the room. The loose robe she wore bagged over the tie wrapped snugly around her waist, but he still held a vision of her in the flimsy purple outfit she’d worn when she found him.

As he remembered the silky fabric clinging to her curvaceous figure, desire jolted through him again. He clenched his hands into tight fists, fighting the urge to chase after her and sweep her into his arms. He knew it would do no good. She would resist her obvious yearning for him.

When she closed the door, blocking the light from the hallway, darkness surrounded him. But not the ominous blackness that had gripped him for what seemed like an eternity--before he’d met the lovely young woman with sky-blue eyes and hair like glimmering sunshine. She had revived his spirit as well as his body.

Lucinda.

Her name curled through his mind like satin ribbon--as smooth and sensuous as the woman herself.

Divine.

Very apt indeed. The vibrant Lucinda certainly was divine--and she would be his. He knew that with a certainty he would stake his life on.

He lay back on the soft, smooth bed covering, tucking his hands behind his head. He couldn’t remember anything before waking up in the dark place she’d found him, but that didn’t concern him. At first, he’d been disoriented and uncertain, but as soon as he’d seen her, he knew he had a purpose here. To win this woman--his woman. That knowledge, along with an ingrained sense of strength and power, fortified him with confidence. Memory would return with time, and then would come understanding.

Right now, he was more intrigued with his woman. Somehow, he knew he’d never met a woman so strong, or so soft and alluring. When he’d held her close, he’d had to clamp down on his powerful response lest he sweep her away to a staggering eruption of passion.

The memory of his sweet, innocent woman in his arms turned his blood into molten fire. It pounded through his body, rushing to his groin. At the potent flood of heat, his cock stiffened and rose in a powerful, painful erection. He freed it from the confines of the tight, black breeches she had given him, kicking them to the floor. As he wrapped his fingers around his hot flesh, he remembered the softness of her neck under his lips, strands of her golden hair a delicate wisp across his cheek, the slight scent of apple blossoms filling his senses. He flung off the rest of his clothes and swept the excess cushions off the bed, ignoring the chaos he created on the floor, then dropped onto the bed and stroked his hand the length of his engorged penis. Imagining erotic images of her soft body pressed into his, her breasts firmly against his chest, her rapt expression as she stared up at him, he groaned. The intensity of his need for her clenched tightly within him. God, how could she deny the heat pulsing through them?

Seeking relief, he stroked the length of his staff. He imagined her opening the door to his room, stepping inside and slowly, oh, so painfully slowly, opening her robe. His fingers tightened around his penis as, in his mind’s eye, Lucinda pulled off one scrap of cloth to reveal her naked breasts--round and full, the aureoles dusty pink. God, he wanted to taste them.

His breathing quickened as she drew down her short, satin pants, slowly pushing them over the slope of her hips. The garment fell to the floor, but his imagined gaze locked on the silky, golden curls at the crest of her thighs. His tongue slipped over his lower lip as he thought about the heated slickness awaiting him there and what it would taste like. His hand slid up and down his rod as he watched her step toward him, then climb over his legs, capturing him between her thighs. The blazing heat of her womanly center firmly pressed against his legs. He pumped his erection, his heartbeat rapid. His dream Lucinda leaned forward, offering him a taste of her soft, peaked breasts. His mouth encircled her and her nipple pebbled within his mouth and she sighed, a sound that melted through him. She shifted her pelvis upward, sliding over his raging, overheated cock. His hand moved faster. He felt tightness in his balls and, as he imagined Lucinda sliding her body down on him, encasing him in her warm, silken vagina, his cock exploded in a forceful ejaculation.

He relaxed against the soft pillows, allowing his breathing to return to normal, and tucked his hands behind his head. He had siphoned off the hard edge of his desire for Lucinda, but his need still prickled inside him.

He wanted her. He needed to join with her to make them both complete--but he couldn’t. Not yet. For some reason, Lucinda resisted her own need, even though he knew she felt the same overwhelming attraction to him.

For self-preservation, he must put aside thoughts of intimacy with her and focus on something else. Lucinda had suggested he sleep, but he was not ready to surrender consciousness again just yet. Wherever he’d been before she found him, his senses had been locked into darkness for a long time. He did not want to reenter that state so soon.

A light thump sounded outside the door. He didn’t know what it was, but keen internal senses told him it was not an intruder. At least, not of the threatening kind.

He pushed himself from the bed and pulled on his clothes, then walked to the door. Cautiously, he opened it and peered outside. Nothing untoward loomed in the dim illumination, so he stepped into the hallway. A murmur drew his attention to a narrow table against the wall. From underneath sauntered a slender black cat with large green eyes.

He smiled. “Hello. Who are you?”

The cat leaped onto the table and walked toward him. The vivid green eyes watched him intently as he reached out his hand to allow the animal to sniff him. Instead, the cat ducked its head under his palm and pushed up, effectively forcing him to pet it. Then it made a mewing sound and stepped forward to bump its furry head against his sweater-clad stomach.

He scooped up the cat and scratched under its chin. It rewarded him with a loud purring sound, then climbed up his arm and draped itself over his shoulder.

“You are a friendly beast, aren’t you?”

He stroked the length of its long, glossy back. Something felt strangely familiar about the creature, but he couldn’t place what. Was it simply that he had an affinity for animals, or had he had a feline familiar in his past?

“Come, little friend. Help me explore the home of your mistress.” Perhaps that would be a good way to keep his mind off his desire for the lovely Lucinda. And it would be wise to familiarize himself with her house. It would give him knowledge that might be useful if he found himself--or Lucinda--in a dangerous situation.

He smiled as he petted the creature and it purred heavily. “Feel free to point out any areas of particular interest.” The cat mewed and bumped its head against his ear.

He grinned indulgently. He had meant areas of the house, but the little fellow seemed more intent on where it wanted to be stroked.

He strode down the hall but when he reached the top of the stairs, the cat pushed its paws against his chest and leaped to the floor. It mewed, then turned around and marched down the hall. It glanced over its shoulder as if to see if he was following. It mewed again, somewhat insistently. He followed as it led him toward a doorway. It stopped in front of the door and sat down, its green eyes fixed on him.

Was this Lucinda’s room? Thoughts of her sent his senses whirling. Memories of her wonderful womanly scent pervaded him. The soft feel of her body pressed against his, her hair sliding under his fingertips, made him long to touch her again.

Damn, he had to find a way to overcome her resistance--and the sooner the better. He rubbed his chin. His persuasion must be gentle but firm. He smiled at the memory of her self-assured manner that so obviously thinned when he got close. His little one seemed desperate to remain in control--and he knew he must leave her with that illusion.

His furry friend paced back and forth in front of the door, making a murring sound. He pushed open the door and peered into the darkened room. Lucinda lay curled up under puffy-looking covers, sleeping peacefully. His body urged him forward. Then the cat bumped its head against his calf, as though pushing him into the room.

He stepped inside.

His gaze returned to his sleeping woman. So what approach would convince his sweet Lucinda to succumb to her desire? Remembering how alluring she’d looked in that delicate bit of cloth she’d worn, he decided the direct approach would be best. He’d simply keep her off balance. Eventually, she would fall--right into his arms.

He urged the cat out of the room with a gentle push, then closed the door behind it.

* * * *

Lucinda had finally drifted into a fitful sleep. Sometime during the night, she felt a draft, then something warm pressed against her back. She snuggled against it, sighing happily.

Warmth embraced her. Her breasts swelled and the peaks tightened as heat permeated her body, pooling in her lower regions. Hunger spiraled through her vagina, longing for something she’d never known. A man’s hands covered her breasts and she arched against them, her nipples aching as they hardened into rigid nubs. She pressed her hands on the warm, strong fingers, pressing them harder onto her, wanting more.

“Yes,” she moaned softly.

Warm, soft lips tugged on her earlobe and she drew in a slow breath, then rolled onto her back. The lips brushed her neck, then settled in the curve of her collarbone.

“Yes,” she sighed.

The hands swept down her body, then caressed her inner thighs. She opened for him.

“Yes,” she invited.

The hands stroked her private flesh, then a large, curled finger slipped between her lower lips and stroked inside her.

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

Exquisite sensations pulsed through her. Another finger slipped inside her, then a third. She rocked her pelvis forward, then back, pleasure catapulting through her. Lips, soft and moist, captured her nipple and the pleasure spiked, then intensified on a wave of heat. She fell on a spiral of pure bliss, held by strong, masculine arms, as she moaned in delight. The long ribbon of pleasure trailed to an end and she relaxed, sated.

“Mmmm.” She turned onto her side and snuggled against warm, hard satin.

* * * *

Light blazed against her eyelids and she scrunched them tighter together, hoping to block it out. Slowly, she drifted out of the slumber that cradled her, becoming aware of strong arms embracing her and her face resting against silken skin cushioning rock hard muscles. Something tickled her nose and she opened her eyes to see dark curls on a male chest.

Her body stiffened.

“Good morning.” The words were spoken softly but in a definite male voice. The voice of the sexy stranger she’d discovered in Paris last night.

“I... you... .” She pulled against his embrace but to no avail. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?”

The feel of his skin pressed the length of hers threw her senses way off balance.

“Well, it’s not proper.” No, that didn’t come out right. “I mean, I don’t even know you.”

He kissed her forehead. “Of course you do. We met a few hours ago.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she flared.

She wiggled her arms between them and flattened her hands on his chest. His chest hair tickled her palms, but not in a way that made her want to laugh. The feel of it stimulated her senses to new heights.

Oh, God, the dream. Had it really been a dream?

“You can’t tell me you don’t want me here.” He nuzzled her hair, sending sparks ricocheting through her.

She wanted to push her hands against him, but her muscles refused to obey.

“I don’t want you here.” Her voice sounded weak. Please... please... please... let it just have been a dream.

He grinned. “Truthfully.”

His amusement annoyed her. “Look, if we’re going to work together, we’ll need to get a few things straight. Like, you don’t invade my private space. Okay?”

“Private space?”

“That’s right. For instance, stay out of my bedroom!” This time she did push against him, and he allowed her a few inches distance.

“I guess that means your bed is strictly off limits.”

“That’s right!” She was pleased he was starting to understand, but worried at the look of smug confidence that still defined his features.

He nuzzled her neck with his lips. “I guess that means I shouldn’t kiss you or touch your soft, inviting skin.”

Soft? Inviting? She’d never thought of her skin as anything but a blotter for the fancy moisturizers she used. His lips traveled to her ear and the wisps of air he puffed inside made her eyes quiver closed and her resistance ebb. His hand stroked the nape of her neck and his fingers splayed through her hair. Why did it feel so marvelous when he touched her? Her nipples tightened and she longed for his hands on her. Again? The heat of a blush crept along her cheeks. She leaned against him, using his wonderful chest as support, his arm around her waist holding her gently.

“Lucinda!”

Rand?

She gasped at the sound of the newcomer in the room. What was Rand doing here?

She pushed away from the obnoxious, but all too inviting, man holding her. Scurrying to her feet, she glared accusingly at the man with no name who still occupied her bed, then swung around to face Randalph’s imposing figure. She caught sight of herself in the mirror behind him and suppressed a gasp. Her blond waves stuck out around her face like cotton candy caught in a strong breeze, and her oversized sweatshirt had shifted off one shoulder. She set the shirt straight and dragged her fingers through her hair in a futile effort to detangle the mess. Thank heavens she’d changed out of that stupid camisole set before she’d climbed into bed the second time last night.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Exasperation edged her words and Rand eyed her speculatively. He kept his gaze firmly away from the bed she’d just fled, pointedly not looking at the man lying there. At least Rand allowed her that privacy.

“Would you have heard me?” he asked.

Probably not, she thought, embarrassed by how far she’d been drawn into a sensual abyss.

When she didn’t answer, he continued in a hurried fashion. “You know I don’t usually barge in, but I must consult with you on a matter of great urgency.”

Anxiety curled the edges of her stomach. It was true that Rand normally did not intrude. This must be important.

“Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”

She watched as Rand nodded, then spun around to face the door and strode from the room, his cape swirling around his ankles. Lucinda turned back to face her other guest and saw him staring at the door, a fierce expression on his face. When he realized she was watching him, his features settled back into their usual pattern of confident ease.

“A friend of yours?” he asked blandly.

“Yes. Randalph is a very good friend.”

His eyebrows drew together. “How good?”

Her attention perked up at the demanding tone in his voice. “That’s none of your business.”

“On the contrary, it’s very much my business.”

She planted her hands firmly on her hips and glared at him.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you! Now, I’m going to get dressed.”

When he settled back against the pillows, his hands behind his head, clearly ready to watch, she froze for a split second as a persuasive voice deep inside her coaxed. Go ahead. Strip off your clothes. Do it slowly and seductively. Show him yours, then he’ll show you his. And, oh, how lovely it would be to see his again.

She swallowed, then added, “I want you to leave.”

He shrugged. Throwing back the covers, he revealed his long, muscular body covered only by black briefs. Her gaze crept down his thighs despite her effort to stop it, watching his muscles ripple as he carelessly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Knowing she shouldn’t be staring, she slid her focus to his face, but the landscape along the way fascinated her so much it was a slow journey. Of course, she’d already seen him naked, but the fact that he now wore something, even though those briefs were brief, allowed her to look a little more thoroughly than last time. His slim waist broadened to a massive chest of clean lines formed by well-defined musculature. His long, dark hair trailed loosely over his shoulders, halfway to his waist. When she finally reached his face, her breathing had become a little ragged and, judging by his cocky grin, he knew it.

He returned the favor by starting a slow perusal of her. She watched his gaze slide down her frame and she stood stock-still, suddenly conscious of what she wore. Certainly her loose grey sweatshirt wasn’t very revealing, as far as it went, but it stopped well short of her knees. In fact, it barely covered her pink lace panties and left her legs exposed to his scrutiny. She found herself hoping he’d find them worth a second look.

What’s wrong with me? I don’t want him taking a second look.

Did she?

He strode toward her and tipped her head up to meet his gaze, his hand cupping her chin.

“I’ll go now, Lucinda. You talk with your friend, then you and I will talk.”

He released her, and she watched him leave. As she stood staring at the door, she wondered how her life could be thrown into such turmoil over the course of a few short hours.

* * * *

Randalph paced, impatiently waiting for Lucinda to join him in the living room. He shouldn’t have barged in on her like he had, but he’d been so intent on his mission, he hadn’t thought about the possibility that she’d be entertaining an overnight guest, especially of the male variety. For all her boldness and adventurous spirit, he’d truly believed his Lucinda to be innocent when it came to men.

But there she’d been, in the arms of some hulking male. As soon as he’d caught sight of the broad masculine shoulders, he’d kept his gaze away from the bed, not wanting to make an embarrassing situation worse.

He stepped toward the window and dragged back the curtain, staring out at the clear blue, cloudless sky.

Ah, well, Lucinda would get over it. Right now, he had to speak with her.

Last night, he had felt his presence again. At first, he’d thought it was just a bad dream, then an overwhelming certainty had spiked him to wakefulness.

Nyte had returned.

Heaven help them all!

Rand’s apprehension had been growing over the hours, as if Nyte were getting closer. In fact, ever since arriving at Lucinda’s house, the feeling had become almost unbearable.

Lucinda crept down the stairs, watching Rand stare out the window. If only she could grab a cup of coffee before having to deal with him, but her hopes of sneaking into the kitchen in search of caffeine dissipated when Rand turned and fixed her with his crystal blue stare.

Her hand leapt to the crystal she wore around her neck. Her fingers traced the bottom arc of the smooth, tapered pendant. She’d chosen rutilated tourmaline--clear tourmaline with black fibers of rutile crystal meandering through it in a glittering pattern--because she needed something to help her stay centered and calm. The day promised to be full of turmoil.

“Lucinda, I’m sorry I walked in on that, but I didn’t realize... I mean... .”

She met his gaze, searching for any sign of jealously. To her surprise, she found none.

Rand waved his hands back and forth. “Never mind.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “Something has come up. I have to find someone.”

Concern lurched through Lucinda. Rand was never unsure of himself and rarely apologized for anything. Actually, he rarely did anything that required apology. Walking in on her unannounced was not a usual occurrence. It always signified something urgent.

“Who, Rand?” She watched him pace the length of her living room.

“You don’t know him but he’s... .” Again Rand hesitated.

“An old friend?”

He glared at her, his nostrils flaring. “No! Certainly no friend of mine!”

His vehemence startled her. “Is he one of us?”

His expression relaxed a little. “Yes, he is a wizard.”

“Then I must know him.” Only a couple dozen wizards existed in the world and they all knew each other.

“No. He’s been out of touch for a very long time.”

“What do you mean ‘out of touch’?”

“It’s a long story and I don’t have time right now--”

Annoyance flickered through her. “Wait a minute,” Lucinda interrupted. “You’re saying there’s a wizard around that I’ve never met, a situation that I personally believe is impossible, and you think you can leave it at that?” She jammed her hands on her hips and frowned at him. “I don’t think so.”

Rand sighed. “I will tell you. Just not right now.”

She glared at him, willing him to speak up, but his determined expression made it clear she wouldn’t get the story now.

“Okay, so at least tell me why you think it’s going to be difficult to find him, since you seem to think he’s no longer ‘out of touch.’”

Rand shrugged. “His personality signature is weak, so I can’t pinpoint him.”

Another mystery. Great. Well, at least it was Rand’s to sort out this time. Unless... Why had he come here? “Rand, did you want my help?”

“No!” he snapped, then drew in a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice. “Luce, this is something I need to do myself. I just wanted to let you know I’d... .”

Rand’s voice trailed off and his eyes flared wide. She swung around to see her overnight guest strolling down the stairs, fully dressed, his gorgeous hair drawn back from his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Rand roared.

Lucinda’s gaze flew back to Rand and her eyes widened. Good heavens, he’d moved into battle stance!

He raised his arm. He was going to send a projectile at her guest!

Lunging at Rand, she slammed his arm out of the way. She’d been on the receiving end of one of those a couple of years ago and she didn’t want to be again--but she would not allow him to harm anyone under her protection.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “Why are you attacking my guest?”

“Your guest?” Rand demanded. He glanced at her and then at the man calmly lounging against the banister at the bottom of the staircase. “Was this the man upstairs in your bed? Good Lord, Lucinda, you didn’t sleep with him, did you?”

She barely noticed the look of horror on his face as she flushed hotly.

“Rand.” Her voice growled in a low warning. She didn’t understand Rand this morning. He’d never crossed these unspoken boundaries before, even when he’d been bursting with curiosity about her and Death.

He clutched her hand. “Luce, I know it’s none of my business, but this is different. Don’t you know who this is?”

Very conscious of the man in question watching her carefully, she glanced toward him. To her surprise, rather than staring at her, he stared at Rand. And not with an expression of irate possessiveness over her, but with a narrow-eyed gaze, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

“What am I thinking?” Rand continued. “Of course you don’t know.”

She frowned and drew her hand away, not wanting to enflame the situation. All she needed now was for her amnesiac guest to fly into a jealous rage.

“No, and neither does he, but clearly you do. Do you want to shed a little light on the matter for us?”

Rand’s finger pierced the air as he pointed at her tall stranger. “He’s trying to make you believe he doesn’t remember who he is? Don’t fall for it, Lucinda. It’s a trick.”

She stiffened, expecting a violent reaction from her guest, but it didn’t come. Rand had essentially called him a liar and still he held his silence. Her admiration for him rose sharply. Any other macho hunk she knew would explode at an accusation like that.

She glanced at him. He held his face in an expressionless mask. Watching. Waiting. An aura of supreme confidence veiled him. No sign of weakness there.

She planted her hands on her hips and turned back to face Randalph.

“Really, Rand. Why would he try to trick me?”

Rand stepped forward and took hold of her upper arms. From the corner of her eye, she saw their observer’s mouth compress. So, he wasn’t totally unaffected by the situation.

“You don’t know Nyte like I do.”

Nyte. So that was his name.

“Maybe not, but I will.”

Once she explained the whole situation, Rand would understand. Nervousness tickled the inside of her stomach at the thought he might be jealous of her attachment to another man.

“Rand, he needs me. There’s a link between us. I’m meant to teach him how to use his powers.” She took his hands, knowing he’d find this hard to believe. “I felt The Call last night.”

Rand stared at her, incredulous, shaking his head. “That’s impossible.”

“I know I shouldn’t have because of... .” She glanced away, uneasy at how Rand would react to her being linked to another man. “You and I. And because I’m not... you know... .”

Damn. He knew the rules of mentorship as well as she did. Better. She didn’t have to tell him that a wizard never went into a second mentor relationship, nor that only children of wizards became mentors.

He stared into her eyes with that penetrating look of his. “Lucinda, you’re mistaken. It could not have been The Call.”

“I’m not wrong about this.” She disengaged herself from his grip and stepped away, sensing that, despite the relaxed stance of her guest, he wouldn’t tolerate much more touching between her and Rand. “I don’t understand why it didn’t happen when he was born. Maybe his talent was dormant and an accident of some sort triggered it. I know that sounds bizarre, but--”

“Don’t believe it.” Rand’s expression grew fierce. “I don’t know why he’s here but it’s for no good. Of that I am certain.”

Why was Rand behaving this way? Could it be jealousy? After all, he had found her in bed with this man he called Nyte.

Did Rand still hope to form a Love Bond with her? They had never discussed the situation, both too embarrassed to broach the subject, but she had wondered if he had given up on the possibility.

“Lucinda, you’ve always been so strong.” The anger had trickled out of Rand’s voice and concern etched his words. He stroked her cheek and she noticed the slight clenching of the other man’s hands. “I’ve never had to worry about you. But with him... .” Rand gripped her shoulders. “He’s different.”

She’d never seen Rand like this. His obvious agitation shook her. She glanced at the attractive stranger. His mouth was drawn into a straight line and he held his back rigid.

What did she really know about the man Rand called Nyte? He was strong, there was no doubt about that. And confident. But was he a liar?

He watched her, clearly awaiting her judgment. Her inner senses told her Nyte needed her, and that his amnesia was real.

“Rand, he’s telling the truth. You know I’d be able to sense if he wasn’t. He doesn’t remember anything.” She gripped Rand’s arm. “No matter what you think he is, or was, he needs my help now. Do you understand? I can’t just turn him away.”

Rand grasped her shoulders, his eyes piercing hers with their blue intensity.

“Lucinda--”

“Why don’t you listen to the lady?” Nyte’s voice cut through their argument. “Or don’t you trust her judgment?”

Rand narrowed his eyes as he turned his head to face him. “I trust Lucinda. It’s you I don’t trust.” He turned back to Lucinda. “And what he could do to you.”

Chapter 3

“Are you suggesting that I would hurt Lucinda?” Menace crept into Nyte’s voice. He barely suppressed his anger as he glared at the man named Randalph.

Obviously, Lucinda trusted him--so Nyte had stood silently by, ignoring the insults the man flung at him. But now this Randalph insinuated he would cause Lucinda pain. That he could not allow.

“I know what you’re capable of,” Randalph responded.

Blind anger jolted forth at the words. Nyte felt it singe through him in a blaze of heat. He wanted the man to leave. Now. Power surged from his body without control and, suddenly, the man named Randalph was gone.

Shock thundered through him as he realized he was responsible.

Lucinda blinked at the spot where Rand had stood a second before, startled by his sudden departure.

“He sure left in a hurry.”

It wasn’t Rand’s usual style of exit. But then, he was sometimes obsessive about having the last word.

The whole discussion with Rand confused her, but it was way too early in the morning to think logically. She needed coffee desperately. But first she must face her guest.

At least now she had a name for him. Nyte.

It suited him. Dark and full of mystery.

“Um, that was Rand. He’s not usually quite so inhospitable, but... .”

Nyte still stared at the spot where Randalph had been, a preoccupied expression on his face. One that told her he wouldn’t hear anything she said.

Typical male. Wanted to know everything but wouldn’t listen to a word.

Caffeine jumped to the top of her priority list. She marched past the man cluttering her living room and pushed open the kitchen door. Merlin greeted her with a meow and rubbed against her legs.

“Well, you’re unusually chipper this morning.” She padded across the room, the light blue ceramic tile cool against her bare feet. “I notice you stayed out of Rand’s way.”

He murred and lapped some water from his dish, then sat down and proceeded to lick his front paw. The old nonchalant act.

“Chicken.”

She stepped past him and opened the fridge. Diet Coke. A faster source of caffeine. She popped open a can and downed half of it before the fizzle finished echoing through her brain. The jolt of caffeine shocked her synapses into some kind of coherent order. Questions dropped into her mind like rain falling from the sky.

Rand had said the person he sought was a wizard. Did that mean the man Fate had called her to mentor was a full-fledged wizard, not someone who had just gained power and didn’t know how to use it? If so, what did it mean to be his mentor?

Rand obviously knew him, but how well? And how long ago? Rand had said Nyte had been ‘out of touch.’ Whatever that meant. Since she’d never sensed him before, could it be he’d disappeared before she was born? That meant he’d been missing for more than three centuries. Where had he been all that time?

And what could possibly cause a wizard to suffer memory loss? She shuddered, not wanting to think about that.

Then the most disturbing thought of all settled into her mind, pushing the others aside. Why was it that the two men who affected her most--Rand, whose wisdom and affection she relied on, and Nyte, who sent her hormones reeling--had to be so totally at odds? As if her life weren’t complicated enough. Clearly, the two men were enemies, but why?

“You two are obviously close.” Her guest’s voice drew her from her thoughts.

“Yes, very close.” She turned to face him. “So, now we know your name is Nyte. Does it ring any bells?”

He shook his head, his ponytail sweeping back and forth across his shoulders. “Afraid not.”

“Well, I’ll give you some time to think about it. I’ve got to go out for a while.”

She had an appointment with one of her clients this afternoon, so she had to go into the office. Also, she’d have to make arrangements for someone to take over her cases while she trained Nyte. She intended to give her full attention to mentoring him, at least until she taught him the basics. Sensing his powers to be quite advanced, she assumed that wouldn’t take too long. Maybe a few months. Once they got into higher-level magic, he could study on his own some of the time.

He eyed the red can in her hand. “What about breakfast?”

She swished the cola around. “I’m not much of a morning person. I don’t usually bother.”

He stepped toward her, a little too close for comfort. The hairs on her arms stood up and the blood flowing through her felt charged with electricity. Static, most likely.

“But you must begin the day with a proper meal.”

Great. He was already trying to control her life. Just like a man.

“Look, if I don’t want to eat, then it’s really none of your business.”

Merlin leaped onto the counter beside her and bleated. She stared at him.

Was she forgetting her manners? Nyte was her guest and he would probably like some breakfast. And she felt sure he wouldn’t want to eat alone. Her gaze returned to his broad, muscular shoulders. And by the look of him, he’d want a substantial meal to start the day.

Okay, so she’d have breakfast this once.

She debated whether to use a spell to make breakfast or cook it on the stove. It threatened to be a long, tiring day, especially after such an abbreviated night’s sleep, so she wanted to conserve her magical strength. She headed to the stove and pulled out a couple of frying pans.

Half an hour and several greasy pans later, she carried the food to the kitchen table. The bacon strips looked a little crunchier than she’d intended, but she liked it crisp. She placed a plate with a relatively intact omelet in front of Nyte. He raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

“Bacon?” She lifted four slices from the platter in the centre of the table and set them on her plate.

“If you mean those black strips, I think I’d rather not.”

She picked one up and waved it in front of her. “It’s delicious this way. You should try it.” She bit into it and flinched as her teeth threatened to give before the bacon did. Okay, so maybe it was beyond crisp. Regardless, she crunched through the whole piece, taking care not to break a tooth in the process.

As she sipped her coffee, she heard Merlin mew near her feet. Expecting him to hop onto the table, as was his habit anytime food was there--and any other inconvenient time, come to think of it--she was surprised when he leaped onto Nyte’s lap then climbed onto his shoulder. She watched Nyte’s large hand stroke her cat’s head.

Merlin being friendly? Her jaw dropped as his purring drowned out all coherent thought.

“Nice cat you have.” Nyte scratched Merlin behind his ears and Merlin’s eyes closed halfway.

“Nice? I guess.”

Merlin had never been particularly nice before. He was good company, she supposed, ignoring the fact that he destroyed her plants, always laid in her favorite chair, and slept most of the time. When he wasn’t nagging her, of course. But he never purred like that for her.

She finished her breakfast, trying to ignore how Merlin draped himself over Nyte’s shoulder, an obscenely content expression on his face. Taking one final mouthful of coffee, she glanced at her watch. Ten o’clock.

“I have to go to my office.”

If she didn’t hurry she’d be late for her appointment. She stood up and cast a quick spell to change her sweater and jeans into a tailored violet suit with a jade silk blouse.

Nyte stood up and his gaze skimmed her outfit. His smile and the glitter in his eyes told her he liked what he saw, filling her with deep feminine satisfaction, despite herself.

“I will go, too.”

Oh, great. That was all she needed. Some hulking man trailing after her at work.

“No, I’ve got things to do. I won’t have time to... .”

She hesitated, watching his eyes narrow dangerously and she realized she’d better not suggest she needed to take care of him. A man’s pride was not something to be trifled with, especially this man’s. But if he came, she would have to watch him. What would she do with him during the meeting with her client? She couldn’t have him just wandering around the office.

Merlin hopped onto the table and purred.

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be a good idea to leave him here,” she said to Merlin, her gaze reluctantly drifting back to Nyte.

Nyte raised one eyebrow. “Do you mean me or the cat?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry I was talking to... .” Merlin. How would she explain to Nyte that she talked to her cat? After all, it wasn’t a true communication. Merlin wasn’t her familiar, he was just a plain old cat. He didn’t send thoughts to her or anything like that. She just... thought things around him. But... the thoughts were just her own bubbling up from her subconscious.

Her gaze lanced back to Merlin. Weren’t they?

Right. He blinked at her with those green cat eyes of his and she could almost swear that he was smiling at her. Or more likely laughing, if she knew Merlin. Which she thought she had, until Nyte had arrived. She’d never seen Merlin so friendly with anyone.

“All right,” she said to Nyte, “you can come with me to the office, but don’t draw any attention to yourself, okay? I have a business to run.”

“Around you no one would even notice me.”

An hour later, every eye focused on Nyte as he followed Lucinda into the lobby of the high-rise building that housed her office. Every female eye anyway. Lucinda had never noticed how many women passed through this lobby at eleven in the morning. Of course, none of them were exactly passing through right now. They were all standing around gaping.

Yeah, right, like I’ll ever believe him again.

She stopped at reception to sign in her guest. The female security guard performed the whole procedure of grabbing an “Escort Required” security badge, filling in the information on the sign-in sheet, then thrusting a pen at Lucinda, all without removing her gaze from Nyte. Her idiotic smile bared white teeth too straight to be natural. Lucinda glanced at Nyte and felt a niggle of irritation when she saw him smile back at the woman.

Sure, Lucinda supposed the woman would be attractive to someone who liked shiny auburn hair, flawless skin, and enormous emerald eyes.

The woman stood up to help Nyte fasten the badge onto his sweater. So she was five-eleven--topping Lucinda by five inches--with a stunning figure? The woman batted her disgustingly long eyelashes at Nyte and Lucinda jammed down the urge to belt her one. After all, what had she really done? Other than spark Nyte’s interest, judging by the glint in his eyes and that devilish smile of his. She should be happy he was turning his attention to someone else.

But she wasn’t.

She marched to the elevator door and jabbed the up button, trying to dampen the storm building inside her. She took a deep breath. Why was she letting herself get worked up over this guy looking at another woman? Appreciating another woman. Wanting another woman! Her fists clenched.

The elevator door opened and she felt his presence behind her as she stepped inside. His fiery, masculine presence that kept her hormones engaged for battle.

So what if last night he had ignited her inner desire like a lightning bolt hitting her dead center? So what if now he wanted to light another woman’s fire? Why should she care?

She jabbed number seventeen. As the doors closed, she stared at the list of companies on the elevator wall, her focus settling on ‘Divine Intervention,’ her company name, emblazoned in gold letters below three others on the same floor. The elevator started to move and she drummed her fingers on the leather bag hanging from her shoulder. Anything to distract herself from Nyte’s prickly presence beside her.

“What’s wrong, little one?” he murmured in a low, sexy rumble. “Is it possible you’re... jealous?”

She swung around and glared at him. Just as she’d feared, that ever-present glint of amusement lit his eyes.

There might be no point denying her feelings, but she saw no point in admitting them, either. “Not in this lifetime.”

The elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open. She marched down the hall to her office and pushed open the door.

“Oh, hi, boss.” Fiona, her secretary, grinned over the computer on her desk.

Fiona wore a bright fuchsia pant set, which set off her black, shoulder length hair quite nicely. An elaborate pattern of jewels and glitter paint decorated her top, which Lucinda knew was probably one of her own designs. Lucinda had always admired her talent.

“Made it in before noon today, I see. And your first appointment is still an hour away. I’m impressed.”

Lucinda rolled her eyes. Why did she put up with this abuse? Of course, the answer was that Fiona did a great job. And besides that, how many secretaries would be willing to work for a boss who was a wizard? Most mortals were nervous around anyone who worked magic, but Fiona took it all in stride. For that reason alone, Lucinda would put up with a great deal more than the occasional teasing. Besides, she liked Fiona.

She glanced at the spreadsheet visible on the computer screen. Things must have been pretty quiet this morning. Why Fiona bothered pulling up that phony screen to hide her solitaire game, Lucinda could never understand. Fiona never used a spreadsheet and they both knew it.

Lucinda grabbed the heap of mail stacked on the corner of the desk and flipped through it. A stationery catalogue, an invitation to attend a time management conference, and a brochure suggesting she advertise on the Internet. She dropped it all in file ‘G’, for garbage. It hit the bottom of the black wastebasket with a thunk.

“Fiona, I need you to make some calls for me, so I... .” She realized Fiona’s eyes had glazed over and Lucinda glanced in the direction of her gaze.

Nyte. She should have known. The dancing lights in his eyes seemed to have mesmerized her secretary.

She waved her hand in front of Fiona’s eyes. “Earth to Fiona. Are you still with me?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Fiona’s eyes shifted from glazed to dreamy, her focus remaining on Nyte. “Who’s your friend?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

More batting eyelashes. The air must be unusually dry today because either these women were suffering from severe eye irritation or their brains had turned into prunes.

“His name is Nyte and he’s come here to... observe.” More accurately, to be observed, but she’d thought it would be by her, not every female in the vicinity. “He’ll be hanging around my office today.”

“Lucky you.”

“Fiona, if we could get back to business now.” She waited until her secretary dragged her gaze from Nyte and settled it on her. “I need you to set up appointments with my current clients. Get whoever you can this afternoon, and make the rest tomorrow.”

“Sure, boss. What’s up?”

“I’m taking a leave of absence for a little while. Don’t worry about your job. I’ll be getting someone to fill in for me.”

Fiona’s gaze darted back to Nyte and she opened her mouth to speak.

“No, not him.”

“Oh.” Tangible disappointment colored her voice. Fiona glanced back to Lucinda. “Is he... I mean, does he... do what you do?”

“No, he doesn’t, but he is a wizard.”

Fiona dragged the end of her pen across the desk. “Then he could--”

“Forget it.” She stomped into her office. She heard the door close behind her and a low masculine chuckle.

“Don’t worry, little one. Other women may look, but none ignite my desire like you do.”

Why did that statement relieve the tension building in her? It should make things worse. She didn’t want to ignite anything of his!

He chuckled again. His hand touched her shoulder and she felt a little igniting of her own going on. She stepped out of reach and moved toward her desk. He smiled at her then allowed his gaze to roam her office, skimming the array of Eskimo soapstone sculptures on her glass shelving unit, pausing on the ‘Midnight Wolf’ Bateman print hanging on the wall, then settling on her oak desk.

“That’s not a natural color for wood,” he observed.

She’d chosen a whitewashed oak, which gave it a slightly pinkish hue.

“No, but it’s better than brown. I’m not much into brown.”

The door opened and Fiona came in with a mug in her hand.

“I thought Nyte might like some coffee,” Fiona said, smiling broadly at him.

Lucinda blinked at the blue mug with steam rising in lazy swirls that Fiona placed on the desk in front of Nyte. In all the years Fiona had worked for Lucinda, she’d never brought either Lucinda or one of her clients coffee.

Lucinda’s eyebrows flicked upward. “What about me?”

Fiona’s face flushed red, clashing with her fuchsia attire, and she had the grace to look sheepish.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll get you one.”

“Never mind. Just make sure we’re not disturbed until Ellen arrives.” Lucinda rolled her chair from the desk and smoothed her skirt under her as she sat down.

Fiona pursed her lips and beamed at her, as though she’d just come to some brilliant conclusion. “Whatever you say, boss. Absolutely no one will disturb you.”

Oh, no. She thought... “No, Fiona, it’s nothing like that. I--” But the door thumped closed behind her, Lucinda’s words unheard.

Great. How would she live this down?

Nyte chuckled, the sound like sandpaper scraping along her nerve endings.

“Would you please sit down?” She gestured to one of the rose leather chairs sitting in front of her desk.

He settled into it and crossed his long legs. He stared at her. She stared at him. Now what was she supposed to do with him?

She had work to do, people to talk to, loose ends to tie up. She couldn’t just sit here staring at this man.

Even though he really was the most magnificent man she had ever seen. Even though staring at him was really quite easy to do--in fact, almost impossible not to do. Even though her head refused to turn away so she could stop staring at him.

Her heartbeat accelerated and her stomach tightened. Good heavens, she wanted him to march over to her and pull her into his arms. She wanted him to ravish her lips with his insistent mouth and send her pulse skyrocketing.

His eyes darkened and he started to rise.

“No!” She waved her hands to gesture him back down and he complied. “We... I... I’ve got work to do. I’ve got to clear up some things so I can give you my undivided attention when--”

“I certainly want your undivided attention.” His words rolled through her. Low. Sensuous. Intoxicating.

The phone rang, robbing her of a chance to retort. She snatched up the handset. “What is it, Fiona?”

“I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but Ellen Raddisson just called to postpone her meeting until tomorrow.”

“Rats.”

She grabbed a pen and tapped it on the edge of her desk. She had to get things tied up before she could start Nyte’s training. She glanced at him, stretched out comfortably in one of her guest chairs, his dominating presence filling the room--and filling her with longing.

The sooner she started working with him, the sooner she would finish. And right now, finishing--and being rid of him--was fast becoming a priority. She didn’t like being carried away by a surge of hormones every time he got close to her. She felt like she was up the proverbial river without a paddle, except with him it was a tidal wave and no paddle on Earth would save her.

She turned to her computer and accessed her calendar. “Did you set up appointments with anyone else this afternoon?” she asked hopefully.

“No. No one can make it today.”

“No one?” Out of five clients, she was surprised someone couldn’t make it. “I see... .”

Now what would she do? She didn’t relish the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon alone in her office with Nyte. Or alone at home with Nyte. Or alone anywhere with Nyte, for that matter!

“Your friend Randalph called, though, and he said he needs to talk to you right away.”

“Rand?” Out of the corner of her eye, Lucinda noticed Nyte’s expression go taut. “Get him on the phone again, will you?” She heard a whooshing sound on the other end of the line, followed by a startled cry.

“I don’t have to, boss. He just arrived. I’ll put him on.”

Lucinda heard muffled voices, and another moment passed before Rand’s voice came on the line. “Lucinda, I must speak with you. Alone.”

“But, Rand, you know I have--”

“Don’t worry about your guest.” He said the last word with distaste. “I’ve made arrangements to keep him occupied.”

Oh, no. Her gaze darted to Nyte, worried Rand might fling him to some distant place, but he sat calmly watching her.

“Rand, I don’t think--”

“Sometimes I agree with you. And this whole incident confirms it.”

She glared at the phone. “Rand! I will not allow you to--”

“Don’t worry, I’ve simply arranged to keep him occupied for an hour or two.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How exactly?” She could envision Nyte faced with a dozen alligators to wrestle, compliments of Rand.

A knock sounded at the door and Fiona entered. She beamed a brilliant smile at Nyte.

“I understand you’re new in town and since Lucinda has an appointment for the next hour I thought I’d invite you to lunch.” Fiona fluttered her eyelids. Again.

Good heavens, Lucinda couldn’t take much more of this.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Lucinda.

“Why not?” Rand demanded over the phone. “I need to talk to you and you know Fiona can be trusted.”

Trusted? Sure, Fiona knew about wizards and magic, so if Nyte did or said anything strange, she would be able to cope. But what about the fact that she was dying to practice her female wiles on him? Lucinda had seen many a man crumble under Fiona’s expert skill.

It wasn’t that Lucinda was jealous. It was just that she didn’t want to put Nyte in an awkward position. Nyte smiled and winked at Lucinda.

Why did she have this crazy feeling he knew what she was thinking? There was no way he’d be able to do anything like that until he was at least level five, and even then she’d be able to sense his attempt and block it.

He stood up. “You worry too much, Lucinda. I’m sure you’ll be much more at ease conducting your business with me out of the way.” He offered his elbow to Fiona and she linked her arm with his.

Lucinda started to protest as they stepped out the door, but Rand’s voice--behind her this time, not on the other end of the phone--startled her.

“Let them go. Fiona will be fine.”

Yes, but would Nyte? He might come back engaged. She swung around to face Rand, her temper rising to the surface.

“Did you sabotage my plan to meet with my clients today?”

His resolute gaze met hers. “I had to. We need to talk.”

Her hands clenched tightly. “So you’ve said. But that doesn’t give you the right to reorganize my life.”

Rand placed his hand on her shoulder, his touch draining some of her anger. “I know this has been difficult for you, Luce. I know how much you’ve wished you could receive The Call.”

He knew? Did he also think she longed for a Love Bond with another man? From the deep sadness in his eyes, she wondered if he had been secretly yearning for her.

“But, Lucinda, you’ve already had your mentor relationship.”

“I know. We’ve always believed there’s only one per customer.” She flattened her palms on the desktop. “But I did receive The Call.”

“I realize you received a call, Lucinda, but it can’t be the real thing.” He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “Not like what you and I had.”

When her gaze locked with his, he shifted sideways, as if he couldn’t look her straight in the eye. He released her and paced.

She sighed. She didn’t know why she’d thought he might actually talk about it. He never had before, and this situation made it all the more awkward.

“You say he has amnesia. This may be Fate’s way of calling upon you to help him re-learn his powers. But it is not truly The Call.”

“You’re saying this is a temporary call?”

It was possible.

He paced. “Luce, there are too many rules being broken. This relationship isn’t unorthodox on your side alone. He, too, has a previous relationship that casts doubt on this thing between you.”

A nugget of distress formed in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he has already been in love with a woman.”

Why did her heart suddenly feel like a toy airplane on a fast downward spiral? She sank back into her chair.

“A wizard?”

“You know that’s the only option.”

Nyte had already formed a Love Bond with someone else? Lucinda’s stomach clenched. She might have already decided they weren’t meant to be together, but there had been that shadow of a doubt, that tiny hope in the corner of her mind, that there might be a chance for her and Nyte. Now that had been torn from her. What else could Rand possibly tell her that would be worse than this?

“If that’s true, then... where is she?”

Rand locked his gaze with hers. She didn’t like the dark emotion she saw raging in the depths of his stormy blue eyes.

“Nyte killed her.”

Chapter 4

Lucinda’s lungs forgot to keep functioning and when she finally realized she might pass out from lack of oxygen, she forced them to draw in air. The thought that Nyte could kill anyone, let alone the woman he had formed a Love Bond with, was like a sharp icicle thrust through her heart.

“No way.”

She lurched to her feet, jammed her hands on her hips, and glared at Rand. She wasn’t in the mood for jokes right now, especially one as bad as this.

“He couldn’t have killed her.”

“What I say is the truth, Lucinda. I saw him do it with my own eyes.”

She could see the pain in his face and her anger deflated. She didn’t understand how, but Rand spoke the truth. Or what he believed to be the truth.

“Have you forgotten we’re immortal?”

“That may be true, but he still killed her.” He leaned toward her, his eyes blazing with emotion. “Why do you think I believed we could die? Despite the fact that we live so long? Despite the fact that none of the other wizards have aged appreciably?”

He stared at her expectantly.

“Death said it was because you saw humans age and die and you just assumed our lives followed the same phases but over longer time periods.”

“Hogwash!” He startled her with the adamancy of his response. “I believed we could die because Clarissa did die.” Pain flickered in his eyes and his fist tightened. “She was the first wizard to die.”

Lucinda tried to organize the thoughts spiraling through her brain into some kind of order, which was very difficult with Rand staring at her with intense, unblinking eyes. True, Rand was the only wizard who had aged to the appearance of old age, but she had thought it was because he was much older than the others. And she had thought no wizard had ever died.

“The first? You mean, there are others?”

He waved his hand in irritation. “I don’t want to get into that. Right now we’re talking about Nyte, and the fact he’s dangerous.”

“Rand, this just doesn’t make any sense. If she was immortal, and she could protect herself with magic, how could he have killed her?”

He slammed his fist on her desk. “I don’t know. Damn it, don’t you think I’ve been struggling to understand? But I just don’t know.” He paced several steps one way, then back again.

“Perhaps Death is wrong and we can die, if our body is destroyed, but... .” Rand’s eyes clouded and she couldn’t read the emotions there. “But I have reason to believe even that may not be enough. At least, not for Nyte’s kind.”

“What do you mean Nyte’s kind?” Lucinda asked, eyes narrowed.

“Nyte is a different kind of wizard than we are. More powerful. More knowledgeable about the working of magic. Where the best we have accomplished is ten levels of magic, he is level twenty or beyond.”

A wizard with twice the capability of what she thought was the limit?

“But how is that possible?”

He shrugged expansively. “Just like with mortals, I guess prodigies happen sometimes. An Einstein or a Nostradamus will be born who surpasses those around him. The point is, Nyte is substantially stronger than any of us and I believe he has the capability of killing the average wizard.”

A shiver cascaded down her spine. Did Nyte have the ability to kill wizards? And if he did, would he use it?

From what she sensed from him, the answer was no.

“Rand, this is all speculation. I don’t believe he would do that.”

“Lucinda, whether you believe Clarissa died or not, I know Nyte intended to kill her.” He raised his hand dramatically at his side. “And she is no longer here.”

He clenched his fists in front of him, and his voice softened. “She hasn’t been for thirteen centuries.”

As she watched him slump into her visitor’s chair, she realized that Rand cared very much about this woman Nyte had loved.

Good heavens, had Rand been in love with Nyte’s woman? Was that possible? If so, it might explain why he’d never developed those kinds of feelings for Lucinda. Thirteen hundred years was a long time to miss someone. The long centuries could have whittled away at his heart until he’d had little left to share.

If he had loved Nyte’s woman, it also explained his animosity toward Nyte.

Lucinda knew Rand was wrong about Nyte killing Clarissa. There would be some nugget of truth to the whole thing, since clearly Rand was worried about Lucinda with Nyte, but she had to do what she had to do. As for Nyte being dangerous, other than to her heart, she believed wholeheartedly that Nyte would never harm her.

She leaned against the edge of her desk.

“Even if what you say is true, I still have an obligation to help him. I must--”

Rand’s flattened hand slashed through the air. “No! Perhaps Fate is taking care of Nyte, but I intend to take care of you.” His sharp blue gaze locked with hers. “I don’t want you spending time with him.”

Lucinda bristled. She jammed her hands on her hips. “Now wait just one minute.”

Maybe Rand had done a lot of taking care of her over the decades, but that was when she’d needed taking care of, before she’d become a mature wizard. She jabbed her finger against his chest.

“For one thing, I don’t need anyone taking care of me.” She jabbed again. “And for another, I will spend time with whomever I please. And as far as spending time with Nyte, I have been called to be his mentor and I intend to fill that role to the best of my ability.”

His sharp blue gaze locked with hers and he stared at her for several long seconds. She stared back, hard resolve setting her gaze in ice. His harsh features melted into softer lines. He dragged his fingers through his thinning white hair.

“Lucinda, how do I make you understand?”

The partially open door swung wide and Nyte strolled into the room. “Maybe you should trust the lady’s judgment and assume she does understand. And that she can take care of herself.”

All softness left Rand’s face and he glared at Nyte. “Why don’t you stay out of this?”

“Because this is about me. And it’s about Lucinda.” He folded his arms across his chest. “As a matter of fact, it seems the only person here this isn’t about is you, so why don’t you stay out of it?”

Anger flared in Rand’s cobalt blue eyes.

He tugged up his sleeves and marched toward Nyte. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

Nyte shifted his stance and Lucinda watched the two men square off in readiness to do battle. Alarm spiked through her as she realized one bolt of lightning from Rand and Nyte would be toast. He wouldn’t die, of course, but he would experience a lot of pain.

“Rand, don’t be ridiculous,” she cried. “You’re a tenth level wizard and he hasn’t even begun his training. If you two want to fight, at least wait until it will be an even match.”

Nyte raised an eyebrow. “That time will never come.”

By the confidence in his voice, Lucinda knew he wasn’t talking about Rand’s superiority over him. Surprisingly, Rand didn’t make a cutting remark in return. In fact, she saw what looked suspiciously like wariness flit across his face, before he hardened his expression to one of calm indifference.

Rand glanced toward Lucinda, but she noticed he kept Nyte in his peripheral vision.

“Lucinda, I will see you Thursday night. If you need me before then, call.”

He swept his arms down and up and the air around him rippled like water in a pond. He took on the visual texture of a mirage, shimmering in the heat of the desert, then he faded to nothingness.

Nyte sank onto the chair and stretched his long legs straight out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. She couldn’t help following the length of black denim from ankle to hip. He sure gave a pair of jeans a shape worth watching.

She mentally shook herself, like a dog shedding itself of unwanted water. She couldn’t believe she was distracted by a man in tight jeans with all the emotional turmoil Rand had flung upon her.

Nyte clasped his hands together in his lap. Her gaze slid to his granite eyes, which stared at her with a dark gleam.

“Why will you see him Thursday night?”

Her first reaction was to tell him to mind his own business, but she quelled that response. She couldn’t fault him for simple curiosity.

“Once a month, Rand and I spend an evening out.”

“I thought he was just a friend.” His hands shifted to the armrests.

The proprietary tone of his voice made her bristle.

“He is. A very close friend. A friend I like to spend time with.”

His fingers tapped against the leather.

“He intends to take your relationship further than that.”

She snatched up a palm-sized stone from her desk. Sky blue rosasite--one of many crystals that she used as paperweights. The smooth, curved shape fit nicely in the palm of her hand, and she felt the soothing properties of the crystal begin to work their magic.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Lucinda.” He glanced at the spot where Rand had stood moments before. “I don’t understand why he thinks you’d be interested in a man so much older than yourself.”

She laid the crystal down, feeling much more relaxed than she had all morning.

“He isn’t really old. He may look seventy-five, but he isn’t.”

“How old is he?”

Lucinda grimaced. “Well, about fifteen hundred.”

His eyebrows quirked up. “And you don’t call that old?”

She paced across the office to the credenza on the far wall. “Not relatively speaking. Since wizards are immortal, age doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why does he look so old?”

An inky shadow blotted her heart. That was a good question. He shouldn’t look old. It was a constant reminder that Rand wasn’t well.

“Until a few years ago, we believed wizards were as mortal as humans,” she explained, “but with longer life spans. Rand is the oldest wizard and he’s grown old the same way a human would, but at a much slower rate. Once he hit an equivalent age of about eighty-five, his powers, both physical and magical, started failing him.”

She remembered how he’d looked back then, and how she had worried. He had grown old gracefully. Regal lines had carved his face into a landscape of ancient dignity, but many things about him had hinted at the disintegration of his abilities. The slight bend to his back. The thickness of the lenses in his wire-rimmed glasses. The paleness of his blue eyes.

“He actually decided his life was over, and he wanted to leave this world by his own choice.”

The hollow emptiness she’d felt at his loss still echoed within her, like the quiet wail of Arctic winds across an icy, desolate landscape.

“You’re saying he decided to die?”

“Basically, yes. But Death wouldn’t take him.”

Nyte crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk. “I don’t blame him.”

She grinned despite herself, the words snapping her out of her melancholy. Rand could be ornery when he set his mind to something.

“After that, I met with Death and he explained that Rand had only aged because of his expectations. It boiled down to the fact that Rand believed he would grow older, so he did. It took a lot of energy to maintain the unnaturally old state of his body and that sapped his strength, resulting in his loss of power.” And self-esteem.

That had been a momentous discovery for wizards, and a difficult one for Rand to adapt to. Since then, she had worked with him to help him rebuild his vision of himself and recover his strength.

But for some reason, Death’s explanation of Rand’s aging had never quite satisfied her. It had something to do with the flicker of pain she sometimes caught in the depths of Rand’s cobalt eyes. And the conversation she’d just had with him made her wonder all the more.

Nyte picked up the portrait of Rand, framed in oak, which sat on her desk. Nyte’s granite gaze studied the image of her friend.

“Why does he still look old?”

She glanced at the photograph, one of the few the camera shy Rand had allowed her to take. It was only a few months old, and a vast improvement on the one stuck behind it in the frame.

“He doesn’t look as old as he used to. Over the past two years, he’s gradually been taking on a younger form. You see, he isn’t the type to jump into anything.”

He returned the picture to its home beside her favorite pewter figure--a cat sniffing a ruby-tipped wand lying on an open magic book.

“He was quick enough to jump into your business.”

“Nyte, you’ve got to understand. He worries about me and he wants to take care of me.”

Nyte stepped forward and took her hand. “I can understand that. I’d like to take care of you, too.”

Oh, great. Just what she needed. Two bull-headed men who thought she couldn’t stand on her own two feet.

“You seem to forget. I’m the one taking care of you.”

He took her hand and his lips grazed her knuckles, sending shivering heat through her.

“How could I ever forget?”

With great strength of will, she tugged her hand free. She couldn’t cope with the mind-numbing effect he had on her right now. Despite the fact she’d been worried about him going out with Fiona, she realized she’d been looking forward to some time away from him, to allow her head to stop spinning long enough to figure out a few things.

“Why are you here and not at lunch with Fiona?”

Fiona picked that moment to whiz into the room, a can of Coke in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“I’m sorry about lunch, boss, but we were heading out the lobby door when I mentioned that Rand was the one you had the appointment with and he turned and marched back here, insisting you needed him.”

Lucinda narrowed her eyes as she watched her secretary hand the less-than-steaming cup to Nyte--and his charming smile of thanks--then place the cola on Lucinda’s desk. She wondered how long Fiona had been waiting outside the door for a cue to come in.

Fiona shrugged and threw up her hands. “I tried to stop him, but it was like tugging backwards on a locomotive.”

Lucinda could imagine. She shifted her gaze to Nyte and tapped her foot. “I needed you?”

“I feared Randalph would upset you. I wanted to ensure you were all right.”

Fiona leaned against the credenza by the window, her gaze darting from one to the other like a spectator at a tennis match. She seemed to be trying to fade into the decor, but with her bejeweled fuchsia shirt paired with matching pants, she hadn’t a hope.

Lucinda glared at her. “Fiona, don’t you have something to do?”

Fiona grinned impishly. “No, not really.”

“Then go find something.”

Fiona shifted forward and shuffled out of the office. When Lucinda saw that she’d left the door slightly ajar, she flung her hand toward it, closing it firmly with a burst of magical energy.

She turned back to Nyte and folded her arms across her chest. Slowly. Purposefully.

“Look, mister, get this and get it now. I can take care of myself.”

“You may be able to take care of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you have to face everything alone.”

She nodded. “That’s true. If I need to face anything, I’ll call on Rand.”

She spun around and marched to her desk. Maybe that would make him think twice about his effect on her.

Nyte watched Lucinda perch behind her desk and pick up the phone. He quelled the surge of jealousy her words invoked, knowing she’d said them to stir just such a reaction. Not that she would ever admit to wanting him to be jealous, but like all females, she couldn’t resist using the innate power she had over him. The ability to stir his emotions to a riotous level, while remaining calmly untouched herself.

On the surface.

He settled onto the leather couch near the window and watched her go about her business. His automatic reaction might be to feel jealous of Randalph, but he pushed the edgy feeling aside, knowing with a depth of understanding that was totally unshakable that Lucinda was his woman, and always would be.

If only he could convince her of that fact.

* * * *

Lucinda dropped her bag on the table inside the front door and kicked off her shoes. Four hours at the office and not one thing accomplished. Darn Rand and his interfering. She’d have to go back tomorrow and sort everything out.

Nyte pulled off his shoes and set them on the mat beside hers.

“Make yourself at home.” She pointed to the shelves full of books lining one wall of the living room. “Help yourself to a book, if you want. There are magazines in the magazine rack beside the shelf. Or you can watch TV. The remote control is in the wooden box on the coffee table.” Of course, if what Rand had told her about Nyte being from the past were true, he wouldn’t know what a remote control was. Or a TV for that matter. She switched on the radio and set it to her favorite soft-rock station.

“I’ll go make dinner.”

She strode into the kitchen. Merlin leaped off the table and rubbed against her legs. She marched to the large tin full of hard cat food and scooped out a serving, then dumped it in his dish.

He trotted to the bowl and sat down in front of it, staring at her with unblinking green eyes.

“No, I’m not in a bad mood. I’m just frustrated, that’s all.”

She grabbed a diet Coke from the fridge and popped the lid. She sat at the table and plunked her head on her palm, then watched Merlin munch down on his food.

She should make dinner for her and Nyte, too.

Poor Nyte. Clearly, he’d sensed her mood. He’d held his silence all the way home, then refrained from following her into the kitchen. He probably felt the same sense of frustration at being held off on his training.

She took a sip of cola, enjoying the tingly feel of bubbles bombarding the inside of her mouth. Maybe, if everything went very smoothly, she could tie up all the loose ends by noon, then she’d be free to start training Nyte in the afternoon. Then tomorrow wouldn’t be a total loss, too.

She strolled to the cupboard and grabbed a bag of rice, then opened the freezer in search of chicken. In fact, maybe she could explain some of the basics this evening so at least she wouldn’t feel the whole day was wasted.

With renewed vigor, she tossed ingredients together in a large casserole dish, then popped it in the oven and set the timer.

* * * *

She returned to the living room and saw Nyte stretched out on her recliner, his long, lean legs crossed at the ankle, a magazine on his lap. She settled onto the couch.

A stack of magazines stood on the table beside him. He held a pen in his hand and marked steadily on the page.

She waited for him to notice her, but long moments went by and he didn’t. She cleared her throat, thinking maybe he just hadn’t noticed her come in. No reaction.

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” she said.

He nodded, but didn’t look up.

What was he doing? And why had a magazine suddenly become much more interesting than her?

Merlin leaped onto one arm of the chair then nudged his hand, and Nyte absently pet him. The cat stretched the length of the armrest and watched Nyte’s pen move across the page.

This was ridiculous. She had tons of things she should be doing. All afternoon she’d been wishing she had time to herself so she could get some things done, and now, with Nyte happily occupied, she could go do them.

The special web page she’d been designing came to mind. She had been trying to figure out how to advertise her services without having witch-hunting fanatics try and close her down. She’d come up with the idea of setting up a home page on the Internet with a spell that would allow access only to believers. She still had work to do on that, and she’d been meaning to get to it for weeks now.

She pushed herself to her feet, intending to sit down at the desk and turn on her computer, but instead she found herself staring over Nyte’s shoulder. It looked like “City Woman” magazine on his lap. She leaned against the side of the chair, aware of his broad shoulder within inches of her and the way he had pushed his long hair back over his ear. Would it feel silky under her fingers?

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He finished jotting something with the pen, then snapped the magazine closed and stared at her with a satisfied smile.

“Lucinda, I know you’re fighting the belief that you and I are meant to be together, but now I have proof.”

“Proof?” What in heavens name was he talking about? “What kind of proof?”

He held up the magazine and pointed to the cover, where the words, ‘Is your relationship the happily-ever-after kind?’ were written in large black letters, along with several other teasers. In smaller letters below, it said, ‘Take our quiz and find out.’

She stared at the magazine, wondering if this was a joke. When she shifted her gaze to his face, however, she could see he was quite serious.

“Nyte, the quizzes in these magazines, they’re not really--”

“I can see you’re going to fight this, too, but I have used your own literature to come up with incontrovertible proof of our rightness.”

Literature? Man, she really had to set him straight.

He thumped the magazine on his knee in emphasis. “You can’t ignore this, Lucinda.”

“But, Nyte, those questions are silly. They’re so general they don’t mean anything.”

“Before you condemn it, come take a look.”

He lifted Merlin onto the floor then patted the arm of the chair. When she hesitated, he took her hand, sending tingles dancing the length of her arm, and drew her forward. Reluctantly, she sank onto the armrest as he flipped open the magazine.

“These are all directed at women,” he said, “but since we already know how I feel, I’ll put it in the male perspective.”

His closeness and his musky male scent prickled at her awareness.

He glanced down the page. “Listen to this one.” He pointed at one where she could see he’d put a check beside the second answer. “When your partner looks at you, a) does she smile, b) do her eyes widen, or c) does she fidget?” He glanced at her, staring from one eye to the other. “Your eyes most definitely widen.”

He shifted his legs on the chair, dragging her attention to his long, lean body. Her gaze traveled the length of his legs from ankle to thigh, then on up.

“It says here that intense attraction makes the pupils dilate giving the effect of widened eyes.”

He pushed his hair out of the way as he turned the page. Her gaze traced the curved line it formed across his chest, fascinated by how it caressed his well-muscled contours.

He lifted his head and smiled. “And what about this next one? Do you catch your partner watching you when she thinks you’re not looking?”

She felt her face flame crimson and she shot her gaze to her hands knotted in her lap. “I’m telling you, those questions really don’t tell you anything.”

His fingers stroked her cheek, sending an exciting tingle through her. “I had hoped they’d tell you something.”

She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t deny her attraction to him, but that didn’t mean they should be together forever. Love was a complicated thing. Even for a wizard.

Especially for a wizard who had learned that Fate didn’t treat her the same as everyone else.

She stood up. “What I’m interested in right now is teaching you about magic.”

He stood up, too, with a glint in his eyes and a smile that threatened to topple her already shaky composure. He stepped toward her and took her hands. She felt his fingers slide between hers, entwining in an intimate, lingering caress. Her nerve endings crackled with unsuppressed desire.

“I would love to learn about magic with you.” His words, deep and sexy, rumbled through her.

She drew in a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the compelling urge she had to step forward and nuzzle the underside of his chin, to feel the raspiness of his whisker-shadowed skin against her lips.

What in the world had sent him off on this tangent? She glanced at the stack of magazines on the table and large red letters caught her attention. ‘How to put the magic back in your relationship,’ and below it, ‘Use sexual fantasies to light his desire.’

Great. Just what she needed. Magazines that encouraged Nyte to think about relationships and sex.

She eased away from him and picked up the stack of offending publications, intent on discarding them in the recycle bin.

“Nyte, I think I’d better see about a better source of reading for you.”

Lucinda carried the magazines into the kitchen and quickly sorted through them. She put aside the two decorating magazines she’d picked up to give her ideas for her spare room, the Nu Age magazine she’d received yesterday, and a couple of technology oriented publications. The rest she carried to the garage and dumped in the blue plastic bin.

Obviously, her task of training Nyte had to do with far more than magic. Tomorrow, on the way home from work, she would pick up a selection of magazines that would educate Nyte about the world.

Chapter 5

“The first thing you have to do is believe that magic exists.”

Lucinda sat in the armchair facing Nyte as he lounged on the couch.

“Then,” she continued, “you must believe you can do it.”

He shrugged. “I do.”

She stood up and strolled to the fireplace, checking the supply of wood in the box on the hearth. Half full.

“You may think you do, but I’m talking about a deep-down, believe-it-from-the-depths-of-your-soul kind of belief. It’s not that easy. The average person knows magic doesn’t exist, so for them it doesn’t. Even if they witness a feat of magic, they usually find a way to explain it away. Hypnotism. Illusion. Special effects.”

He smiled. “That may be true, but I’m not the average person.”

She certainly couldn’t argue with that. There was nothing average about Nyte: not his looks, not his confidence, not his effect on her.

“Okay, but even if you think you believe it, you may fight the belief. For many, the idea of magic adds a feeling of instability to their otherwise safe, secure world. A feeling that things are not as substantial as they seem.”

“Which, of course, they aren’t.” He planted his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “I do believe, Lucinda. I have already experienced your magic. I’m ready to move on to the next lesson.”

She sighed. Clearly, he would be an impatient student.

“All right. The next step is to understand the energy flow through your body and to learn to control it.”

She stepped toward him. “Stand up.”

He stood and, as his body unfolded before her and his broad chest loomed in front of her, her heart accelerated in a pittery-pattery sort of way.

“Turn around,” she said, her voice less assertive than she’d intended.

She held her hands slightly above his spine, about midway down his back, and felt the tingle of his energy field. She allowed her hands to drift away from each other, following the flow of energy to his shoulders. It felt extremely powerful, laced with magical potential. Like a magnet, it drew her toward him. She eased forward as her hands drifted down his back, reveling in the positive current emanating from him.

Warm. Enticing. Drawing her closer. She felt the soft wool of his sweater against her cheek.

The unexpected physical contact startled her. She jerked away. Good heavens, she must be losing it.

He turned toward her. “Don’t stop, little one. Whatever you were doing, it felt marvelous.” He linked hands with her, his fingers wrapping her in gentle warmth.

“I was sensing the energy flow through your body.” If she felt a bit more stable, she would draw away, but the feel of his hand surrounding hers was too inviting to abandon just yet. She couldn’t help it. She liked being touched by him.

“Energy? Like the electricity that powers your lights?”

“In a way.”

It wasn’t the best analogy, but it would do for now. She certainly couldn’t come up with anything better in her current muddled state.

“So what would happen if you and I allowed our energy fields to mingle?” He drew her close and the nearness of his body sent her pulse thrumming. “If we form a circuit, what will we turn on?”

Turn on? Heat flooded through her at the thought of she and Nyte... mingling. She knew darned well what--or more precisely, whom--would be turned on. And so did he!

She tugged her hand free. “I think you should learn about your own energy field before you start wondering how to adapt to others.”

Putting some distance between them would be a good idea, but her feet seemed rooted to the floor.

“Now, as I was saying. Every being has a flow of energy through their body. To work magic, you draw from the universal energy and direct it through your flow. As you work with this energy, your own flow becomes stronger and healthier, and your natural capacity grows.”

If he weren’t so close, she might be able to breathe easier.

“During this training, I’ll teach you how to direct the energy and during the process you will grow in your ability to handle it.”

His thumb caressed the back of her hand with short, delicate strokes that seemed to directly affect her breathing.

“You’re saying the more I work with it, the more I can do.”

“That’s right. It’s like lifting weights. You need to build muscle as you push yourself to lift larger amounts.”

She rested her free hand on his chest. “Your energy field is quite strong.”

The tingling in her fingertips acted like an irresistible force, drawing her other hand to rest beside the first. Heat rippled through her and she reveled in the liquid vitality. It pulsed through her, enlivening her, enticing her closer. He’d become one giant, masculine magnet, and she was helpless against the attraction.

She leaned toward him and his arms slipped around her. He drew her against his chest, holding her with such sweet tenderness that she couldn’t bear to break away. In fact, she delighted in the warmth of his breath caressing her temple, the steady beat of his heart against her ear, and the delicious feel of his energy pulsing through her.

He cupped her face in his hands and drew her head up. He gazed at her with eyes the color of the midnight sky on a moonless night. As he slowly lowered his lips to hers, some small resistance clamored inside her, but she could barely hear it over the bombardment of her senses.

She wanted this. She needed this. The primal urge to join with him, to experience the sharing of their energy in the most fundamental way possible overwhelmed her. His lips touched hers and energy flooded her in a wild torrent. Swept away by the frenetic electrical storm thundering between them, she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. Her breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples two tight points of white-hot need. A flame ignited inside her vagina and seared along the inside walls. She seemed to be melting from the inside out as hot moisture pooled at her base, preparing for him.

It was too intense. Too fast. She felt out of control and that frightened her. The frantic desire surging through her threatened to dislodge her from the world of sanity. Beyond the chasm lay the unknown, with potential dangers too great to risk.

“Nyte,” she gasped against his lips, her voice an octave lower than usual.

He drew back an inch, his midnight gaze searing hers. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I... we... can’t do this. It’s... .” She sucked in a breath of air. “It’s too much.”

He stared at her for long seconds, his scrutiny fixed on her eyes. With all the willpower she could muster, she held his gaze, hoping she didn’t look as dazed as she felt.

He slid his hands to her upper arms. “All right.”

As he eased her away, part of her screamed its need to stay in his arms, to continue what they’d barely begun, but she held onto her resolve. He held her steady, which was a good thing, because her balance had been thrown off kilter so badly, she would have stumbled without his support.

She blinked, surprised he’d given in so easily. She’d thought she would have a fight on her hands, a fight she would be sorely in danger of losing.

She eased away from him and slumped onto the couch. She clutched her glass of pop, welcoming the icy cold pervading her palms.

He’d always had a riotous effect on her, but why had it been so much stronger this time? Somehow, in sensing his flow, she had aligned their energies, opening a floodgate between them. She would have to be terribly careful in the future because, now open, the deluge could sweep her away to catastrophe.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never done anything like that before,” she murmured, staring at her hands.

He settled beside her on the couch, then took one of her hands in his own and squeezed it in a reassuring manner.

“I know. It’s all right, little one.”

She shook her head. “I don’t throw myself at men, and I don’t believe in casual sex.”

Nyte cupped his hands around her face and turned her so he could gaze into her wide, blue eyes. In quiet, deliberate words, he said, “There would be nothing casual about our lovemaking.”

The thought of joining with Lucinda ignited Nyte’s desire once more. The gut-wrenching desire he’d been fighting so valiantly. The desire that had raged through him since Lucinda had first touched him with her magic hands. The desire he had to fight, because she had asked him to.

And he’d been winning, too.

It didn’t help when she flicked her tongue around the edges of her lips, leaving them glistening and dewy. His groin felt heavy with need and he wanted to lower his face to hers, to capture her soft lips again and let passion flare.

But he wouldn’t.

As he stared at her dazed blue eyes, he wondered why he held back. She had been ready, willing. She had fallen into his arms just as he’d hoped. True, she had balked at the intensity, but he could have encouraged her through it, with firm, reassuring words and a gentle touch. Then she would have joined with him and they would both know the unparalleled joy of bonding.

But he couldn’t do it. It would have been catching her off guard. Ambushing her. He wanted her fully cognizant of her decision to make love with him, to complete the bond.

He wanted her to want him.

Besides, he couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability.

She stared at him uncertainly, then cleared her throat. “I’d better go check on dinner.”

* * * *

Lucinda knew she had to do something about Nyte’s amnesia.

She set dinner on the table and, as they ate, she sat contemplating the problem. He’d probably get his memory back naturally given time, but she was anxious to find out what had happened to him, and she wanted some answers to the questions Rand kept raising.

After dinner they moved to the living room. Lucinda used the brass poker to shift a log on the fire Nyte had started before dinner. Bright sparks flared as the log tumbled sideways.

She settled into the green recliner beside the couch. The fire blazed cheerfully, the light reflecting warmly off Merlin’s coat. The fuzz ball had found his usual spot on the hearth and curled into a tight, black circle with no apparent appendages. She was surprised he hadn’t curled up with Nyte on the couch. Dinner must have filled his little belly enough that he just wanted to nap peacefully--especially after all the treats Nyte had shared from his plate.

She glanced at Nyte. He had his fingers steepled in front of him as he stared into the orange flame. From the serious expression on his face, he was probably contemplating the events of the past day, which, strangely enough, constituted his whole life as he knew it.

“Nyte, this whole situation must be very difficult for you.” She sipped her Coke as he lifted his gaze to hers. “Last night you found yourself alone in Paris with no memory of who you are, no possessions to give you any clue, and then I show up and drag you back here.”

He smiled, a devilish gleam in his eye. “That last event made the whole thing worthwhile.”

She ignored his sweet talk--and the annoying quiver of delight at his flattery--intent on getting some answers. “But it must leave you feeling very disoriented.”

He sipped his hot chocolate. He’d gotten hooked on it when Fiona brought him a cup mid-afternoon. When he’d tried it, he’d decided it was love at first taste--similar to his reaction to Lucinda and the first time he kissed her--and he’d indulged in several since then. Also similar to kissing her.

“Actually, I am coping quite well.”

Absently, she drummed her fingers on the armrest. “That’s what confuses me. For someone who’s in such a strange situation, you’re taking it a little too well.”

He placed his mug on the coffee table and laced his fingers together.

“Lucinda, I am as anxious to find out who I am and what happened as you are, but anxiety will not help me attain that goal. I have a feeling of rightness being here with you and I am confident you will help me discover who I am. And more.” He leaned forward and took her hand, sending shimmering awareness scooting up her arm. “That coupled with the knowledge that you and I are meant to be together--”

She tugged her hand away. “As mentor and student.”

His gaze drew hers like the sun draws a comet, then held it captive.

“We will be much more than that.”

The solemnity of his words seeped into her, like water into cracked, dry soil, making her believe a carefully nurtured seed of love just might grow if she allowed it to take root.

Fool. It’s only his way of keeping you off balance.

She ignored Nyte’s comment, not allowing herself to be distracted from her purpose.

“Wherever you’re from, or rather whenever, you seem comfortable in today’s world.” Which seemed a direct contradiction to the fact that Rand insisted he was a wizard from way in the past and that he’d been missing for countless centuries. “You don’t seem to be intimidated by our modern gadgets.” Not that she’d expect Nyte to be intimidated by anything, but he shouldn’t be quite as at ease as he seemed. “Do you remember anything about before?”

“No, I have no memory of the time before you found me. At least, nothing concrete.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He sighed and leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch. “I have a sense that this place isn’t exactly like the one I’m from, but there are many similarities. Gadgets, as you call them, don’t seem new to me. I also believe I’ve had to adjust to radically different situations over time.”

She nodded, though she really didn’t understand. “That would explain your adaptability, I suppose.”

The mystery of Nyte grew deeper and more obscure with time, and she found herself desperately wanting to shed light on it.

She hesitated. Over dinner, she’d had an idea that might help him, but it involved interacting with his energy field again. After the strong effect of this afternoon’s encounter, she was wary.

But she had to make every effort to help him. He was her responsibility. And besides, she was a tenth level wizard. She could handle this situation.

With a quick swallow of Coke, she pushed aside her wariness.

“I’d like to try something, if you don’t mind. It may help bring back your memory.”

His features aligned in a keen look of interest. “By all means.”

She leaned toward him, resting her elbows on her knees. “It will involve... touching you.”

He smiled wickedly. “All the better.” His velvet voice brushed across her in a sensuous caress.

A jittery tremor traveled from the bottom of her stomach to her throat. Touching him could only mean trouble. She was far too susceptible to his charisma.

On the other hand, she had to try this.

“Lie down on the couch,” she directed.

He said nothing, but a devilish gleam lit his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that. This is a healing technique, nothing more.”

He reached forward and took her hand, then drew it to his lips. “I’m sure the touch of these hands could heal my very soul.”

The tremor within her turned into a full-blown earthquake.

He settled into position on the couch, his muscular body stretched out before her. Man but she’d love to do some exploring of that landscape, and not for health reasons. In fact, she was certain it would prove decidedly negative to her emotional health.

She tugged the hand-crocheted afghan--a gift from a client--from the back of the couch and covered his magnificent body, hoping if she couldn’t see it, she wouldn’t lust after it. She hadn’t counted on the blue ripple pattern drawing her gaze the length of his body, and emphasizing the breadth of his chest and narrowness of his waist.

She knelt beside the couch and drew in a deep breath, concentrating on the role of healer. This time, she would not allow hormones to bombard her like overheated popcorn, jerking her senses into a frenzy.

She laid her hands on the sides of his head. Nervousness quivered through her as his magical energy mingled with hers. A trembling wave of desire surged through her, but she focused on her purpose and slowly--infuriatingly slowly--it eased back. It still lapped at the edge of her consciousness, but she could ignore it for now.

His long, silken hair threaded around her fingers as she pressed her palms against his cheeks. His breath whispered across her face. His dark eyes watched her and she felt far too close and far too exposed.

“It will be better if you close your eyes,” she said. For her, not him, but she didn’t have to admit that.

He closed his eyelids, shuttering those intense, disturbing eyes from view.

She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Then again. After several moments, a calmness settled over her. She focused her healing senses on his physical form.

She felt nothing out of alignment in his head, the first place she would have expected to find an injury that might cause amnesia. She drew her hands downward, over his chest. Strong, healthy muscle and bone was all she sensed. As she drew her fingers over the tight muscled ridges of his stomach, she noticed he was having a uniquely male reaction to her touch. An impressive bulge stretched his pants taut. An answering twinge convulsed in her vagina. She felt a blush tinge her cheeks and thanked heaven his eyes were closed. She shifted to his hips, then down his legs.

No sign of injury anywhere.

In fact, the incredible health of his physical body stunned her. No signs of wear and tear, no signs of stress or deterioration. It just seemed... brand new. She found no signs of an injury that might have triggered amnesia.

She flattened her palms on either side of his collarbone and curled her fingers over his shoulders, ignoring the feel of solid muscle under her hands and the intimacy of his body so seductively close to hers.

She forced the erratic rhythm of her breathing to calm, until it became deep and even, at the same time emptying her mind of every thought but one.

Heal Nyte’s amnesia.

She felt the energy within him, let it guide her hands across his body. They shifted down his chest, then to the right. A feeling of agitation skittered through her, indicating an area of energy disruption. She needed to feed energy to it and smooth out the flow. She shifted to the center of the disturbance.

Instead of feeling heat, as she would expect from a recent hurt, she felt intense cold. The energy pulsed in her palms, like a live thing snuggling against her flesh, but as she concentrated on healing the wound, it drained from her hands as if the extreme cold was sucking the life from her. She concentrated on drawing more energy through her body, to feed the frigid hole.

A swirling torrent swept through her. Dizziness. Disorientation. Pain. Blackness.

More energy. She needed to draw more. She felt it quiver through her body like electricity through a wire. But it wasn’t enough to fill the deep well of agony within him. She felt herself dragged down, falling into the icy depths of hell.

“Lucinda, what’s wrong?”

Nyte’s words sounded very far away. She struggled to drag herself from the cataclysmic pull, but the need to close that gaping wound and heal the anguish blocking memory from his conscious mind was too strong.

“Lucinda!”

Warm hands covered her own and dragged them from his body. At the sudden disconnection, her eyelids popped open and the world seemed to spin around her. She realized she was sprawled across Nyte’s body. He held her hands firmly within his own, and he rubbed them vigorously as his dark gaze, filled with concern, searched her face.

“Lucinda, you should not have put yourself in danger to help me.”

He sat up and drew her onto his lap. As he held her against his chest, he stroked her back gently. She shivered in his embrace. He tugged the afghan around her shoulders and she welcomed its warmth.

Had she been in danger? She’d never experienced anything like that before, where she felt she might lose herself in the process of healing. She’d never felt anything so disturbing.

She shook uncontrollably and he held her closer, pressing her cheek in a comforting position against his chest.

“My God, Nyte, what happened to you?”

“I don’t know, Lucinda. That’s why I’m here.” His words were calm, spoken in a reassuring tone. He continued to stroke her back in short, soothing caresses.

A disturbing thought bolted through her. Tomorrow afternoon she would start training him. As he attained his magical powers, he would probably regain his memories.

When his memory did return, what horrific incident would he have to face?

* * * *

The next morning, after Lucinda went to her office, Nyte sat down with the small stack of magazines she had left for him, then quickly read and discarded them. He perused a few books from her shelf, but he wanted to find out about the current culture, so he turned to the television, which Lucinda had shown him how to operate last night. He found the commercials absolutely fascinating.

When Lucinda returned at noon, Nyte was watching a documentary. She piled a new set of magazines in the magazine rack, then announced she would start Nyte’s training that afternoon.

He looked forward to learning how to work magic, but more importantly, he knew it was the way to unlock the secrets of his past.

After lunch, she led him to a large room across the back of the house. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, except where a worktable stood against one and a desk against another. Her preference for a bright decor reflected in this room. The furniture was all white, and paintings of cool pastel shades decorated the walls.

A crystal ball sat in a prominent place on one of the shelves and several crystal pendulums hung on hooks behind it. She had a wide selection of colored stones--ranging from bright and speckled to subdued and translucent--in various clear bowls around the room.

One small shelving unit, mounted over a table, was dedicated to tiny pewter figures of dragons and wizards in various poses.

Nyte watched as Lucinda selected a large, moss green, leather-bound book from one shelf and set it on the desk in front of her, then started flipping through the pages.

He looked forward to exercising this energy field she’d explained to him.

Magic. It seemed such a natural concept. He had no idea why she thought he would doubt it, yet he had no trouble accepting the fact that most people would have trouble believing in it. Odd. Once his memory returned, perhaps it would make more sense to him.

He wished he understood what had happened to Lucinda during her attempt to heal his amnesia last night. He had enjoyed the feel of her hands on him, and the deep, soothing warmth where she’d touched his chest--until he’d sensed something was wrong. He’d dragged himself from the wonderful haze of healing to see Lucinda’s eyes draining of light. He’d actually felt her growing weaker. His heart clenched.

He didn’t think he’d ever known fear before that moment.

“Are you ready to start?” she asked.

Lucinda smiled in his direction and he could tell she was anticipating this as much as he was.

He smiled in return. “As ready as you are.”

She removed her necklace--a clear crystal rod, pointed at one end and rounded on the other which hung from a delicate silver chain.

“We’ll start by having you move something without touching it.”

He wanted to say that he’d already done that with her, but he bit back the words, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate being reminded of how she’d reacted to the attraction between them. During yesterday’s kiss, she’d been swept away by her own response, and clearly it had alarmed her. Now, he only had to get close to her and she skittered away.

Just as well. He didn’t think either of them could withstand the overwhelming attraction between them if they actually touched.

“Feel the energy flowing through your body,” Lucinda instructed. “Feel it flowing through your arms to your hands.”

He felt a lot of things flowing through his body, and not just energy, but he focused on her words and concentrated.

She held her arm straight out at her side, the necklace dangling from her finger.

“Now hold up your hand and point at the pendant. Imagine the energy leaving your fingertips and shooting across the room toward it. Concentrate on focusing the energy. Try to overshoot the target so you have a good amount of momentum.”

He felt warmth flow through him, like overheated blood flooding his veins. But it was more potent than that. Less restricted. It surged across his shoulders and down his arms. He focused on the crystal pendant, determined to move it. The energy burst from his fingertips and he could sense it blasting across the room in a steady stream.

“At first you may only nudge it a little, but--”

The energy hit the pendant and it swung wildly. As he watched its erratic jostling, he concentrated on the energy streaming from his fingers, focusing it to a tight, steady flow. The necklace swung upwards. He willed the energy to follow it, up and around, completing a full revolution, then continued until it swung in a circle, like a propeller. He smiled, pleased with his effort, though it felt more like a child’s game than a serious attempt at magic.

Once he had it at a steady state, he glanced at Lucinda. Her wide-eyed look of shock surprised him. He broke off the energy flow and the pendant dropped, bounced a few times, then settled into a mild swing.

Lucinda’s gaze turned to him and he could see she was trying to tamp down her astonishment. Clearly, he had surpassed her expectations.

“That was... very good. You seem to be a natural at this.”

She sat down at the table and referred to the book she’d opened earlier. She dragged her finger down the page. “Well, I think we can skip some of these other exercises.” She glanced at him. “How do you feel? Tired?”

On the contrary, energy seemed to crackle through him, enhancing every one of his senses.

“Not at all. I feel quite invigorated.”

“I see. Okay, then... .” She flipped a few pages then brushed her hand down the center of the book to smooth down the pages. “Let’s try levitation.”

Chapter 6

Lucinda watched the large boa constrictor slither past her toward Merlin, who was curled up asleep on the carpet under the worktable. The snake opened its gigantic jaws. As its mouth bore down on Merlin, he opened his eyes. His ears flicked down flat and he hissed into the huge mouth.

Nyte chuckled and the snake disappeared.

Merlin blinked, then slowly stood up. His fur had spiked in all directions and he resembled a black pinecone with a long, bushy squirrel’s tail. He shook himself, smoothing his fur down to its usual sleekness, then glared at Lucinda. He turned his back on her and stalked toward Nyte, then leaped onto his lap.

It wasn’t my fault. It was Nyte’s illusion.

Merlin curled up, keeping his back toward her.

Fine, be like that.

She watched as Nyte’s large, strong hand stroked Merlin’s glossy, black fur.

“I think it’s time for a break,” she suggested. “I’ll go fix something to eat.”

She went to the kitchen and retrieved a large pot of homemade soup from the fridge, then served up two bowls and popped them in the microwave.

Nyte was an excellent student. He mastered everything she explained after one try. It was as if he’d always known how to work magic but had only forgotten. Which would make sense if he were a wizard with amnesia. He wouldn’t be learning new things, he’d be remembering what he already knew.

It seemed that part of Rand’s story--that Nyte was a wizard from the past--was true. If that was true, she couldn’t help wondering what else was true.

“You seem deep in thought.”

She turned to see Nyte standing in the doorway, Merlin draped across his shoulder, purring.

“Either you’re a prodigy of some sort, or Rand never told me I was the slowest wizard who ever lived.” On the contrary, he had told her she’d advanced very quickly, but modesty prevented her from admitting that. “It took me two months to levitate a thimble and I’d been in training for at least six months before I could form even the simplest illusions, and yet you have mastered levitation in only an hour and are creating illusions real enough to scare the wits out of Merlin.”

Merlin’s ears flicked forward then back again, the only indication he’d heard his name.

“Obviously, you’re an excellent teacher.”

Merlin sneezed, then blinked at Nyte as though questioning his sanity.

She ignored the cat and shook her head. “That’s not it and you know it.”

He drew Merlin from his shoulder and placed him on the floor. “What do you think is the answer?”

“It seems clear Rand was right that you’re a wizard from the past.”

He stepped toward her, a serious expression on his face. “Is it the fact that I’m from the past that bothers you, or something else?”

How could she answer that? Rand had told her a lot of other things about Nyte and she didn’t want to believe any of them. She turned to the microwave and opened the door. The humming stopped. She stirred the bowls of soup, then closed the door and pressed the start button. The humming resumed. When she turned around again, he was watching her intently.

“Lucinda, I know Randalph has told you things about me, and obviously you’re starting to believe them.” He stepped closer. “What has he told you?”

“He told me a lot of things.”

He was getting too close for comfort, so she tugged open the drawer and snatched out two soup spoons, then thrust them into his hands.

“Like?”

The microwave beeped, so she opened the door and pulled out the two bowls, one at a time, and placed them on plates, then strode to the table.

“That first day... he told me you were trying to trick me. That you didn’t really have amnesia.”

She sat down and pushed the flower arrangement from the center of the small rectangular table to the edge near the wall so she’d be able to see Nyte across the table. The new lilacs she’d brought in this morning already looked a little ragged around the edges, thanks to Merlin.

“I assure you, I’m not trying to trick you.” He set the spoons on the table and sat down across from her. “If I were, I would attempt to hide my abilities. I would pretend I couldn’t do anything and progress slowly. Instead, I want to learn as fast as possible. I want to know who I am and what happened as much as you do.”

He leaned toward her. “What else did he tell you?”

She stared at her soup, dipping her spoon into the broth. “He told me you were dangerous.”

“Yes, I remember. And he insinuated I would hurt you.” The tightness of his voice hinted at contained anger. “But I would never do that. You must know that by now.”

She glanced at him, her eyebrows raised. “How could I possibly know that? I don’t know you.” She pointed her spoon at him. “And if you have amnesia, you don’t know you either.”

“But I do know,” his no-nonsense tone startled her, “you are my woman. I would never hurt you.”

“I’m not your woman,” she automatically denied.

But his words sparked the memory of Rand telling her how Nyte had hurt another woman. A woman he’d supposedly loved. From what she knew of Nyte, in both his actions and the sense of rightness of character she felt from him, she believed him to be an honorable man. A man who would cherish and protect a woman he cared about.

But neither of them knew what had happened before the accident that had robbed him of his memory. What if he had killed the woman named Clarissa? It could have been an accident. Or--another disturbing possibility occurred to her--what if Rand had been having an affair with her and Nyte had found out? Could he have struck out at her in a fit of jealous rage? If he had killed her, the shock of facing what he’d done could have triggered his amnesia. It would allow him to avoid the unbearable pain.

From her attempt to heal him last night, she knew he had suffered something deeply traumatic.

Maybe Rand had been telling the truth.

Nyte’s dark eyes turned solemn. “Lucinda, why are you looking at me like that?”

She shook her head and dipped her spoon into the soup again. “I-I was wondering what it must be like to have no idea who you are or what happened to you. Have you had any memories return?”

He sighed. “No, not as such. There are things I know because they feel right.”

“Like?”

“Like my name is Nyte. It fits like a well-worn glove.” He reached out and took her hand. “Like the fact you and I are meant to be together, even though you don’t believe that. Yet.”

She drew her hand from his warmth. “What about you and Rand?”

“I know he and I knew each other. You know from his own words that he doesn’t trust me. And I reciprocate that feeling. As soon as I saw him in your living room that first day, I felt a deep anger inside and... .”

The dark intensity of his eyes disturbed her. “And what?”

“And betrayal.”

She felt a knot form deep in her stomach. What had happened between Rand and Nyte to force them so at odds? Had Rand had an affair with the woman named Clarissa? The woman Rand said Nyte had loved.

“Lucinda, you claim you need no help from anyone, yet clearly you rely on Rand a great deal.”

“Yes, well... .” She averted her gaze, not wanting him to see the vulnerability so near the surface. “He was my mentor. He was there when I first discovered I was a wizard. You wouldn’t understand what that means, but it’s a very difficult time.”

She stood up and carried her half-empty soup bowl to the counter. “I was so alone, even though I was surrounded by my family. I didn’t understand what was happening, why I was so different.” She placed the bowl in the sink. “To tell the truth, I was always different, never quite fitting in. When I went through the Change, though, there was so much to accept, so much to understand, and on top of all the normal worries of a teenager... I needed someone special to help me through it. Rand was that person and I couldn’t help but rely on him completely.”

Nyte stood up. A jittery feeling started in her chest as he approached, but he stopped about an arm’s length away. His solemn gaze drew hers, and held it.

“I wish it had been me.”

A strong sensation quivered through her. As if what he said felt right. A vision formed in her mind of Nyte’s comforting arms embracing her when the churning emotions of youth and confusion had been too much. Of his words guiding her through her first spell book. Of his companionship when she’d been lonely for the company of others of her own kind.

Of him by her side, holding her hand through the funerals of each of her family as they left her behind. Pain simmered through her. And the long bouts of grief afterward.

An intense wish that he had been the one, too.

She desperately wanted to reach out to him. To go into his arms and surrender to the raging attraction between them.

If only things were different. If only her life had progressed along normal lines, not the erratic mess it always seemed to be.

She realized Nyte’s eyes had been steadily growing darker and he’d been easing closer to her. She licked her lips, part of her hoping he would kiss her.

As though reading the desire in her eyes, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his own. Her lips softened under his. Aching to touch more of him, she slid her hands along the side of his whisker-roughened face, then stroked through his hair, tangling her fingers in the silky length. His arms circled around her and drew her against his firm body. She became intensely aware of her breasts. Full, round, hard-tipped. She pushed her body closer, the slight movement causing her rigid nipples to brush against the heavy texture of his sweater, causing them to swell in ever increasing arousal to an almost painful pleasure.

The tip of his tongue slipped between her lips and her own tongue dashed forward to curl around his in open invitation. He teased with light strokes along her length until her breath caught at the intense heat swirling through her torso, sending her head into a spin.

As the shimmering heat threatened to consume her, she silently cursed her aggravating hormones and dragged herself from the hazy trap of desire. She stared up at him, breathing heavily.

He lowered his mouth to hers again.

“Nyte, no.”

He paused, staring at her with unnerving intensity. He lowered his hand to the small of her back and drew her tight against his pelvis. The large bulge in his pants made clear to her how aroused he’d become.

“Lucinda, you can’t really want to stop.”

She hesitated and he continued to lower his head. When she felt his full, firm lips settle on hers again, she couldn’t pull away. He grasped her waist and lifted her, settling her bottom on the edge of the counter. He leaned into her, his huge bulge pushing into the cradle of her thighs. The blazing heat of him seared her with need and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling his erection hard against her. Slick dampness readied her for him. Her heated skin felt a wash of cool air as Nyte slid her sweater upward. His lips separated from hers as he pulled the garment over her head and dropped it to the floor, then he nuzzled her neck. His lips danced across her collarbone, then downward. His hand covered one breast, his thumb circling over her rock-hard nub, desire drilling to the core of her. She wriggled forward and wrapped her legs tighter around him, wanting to feel his naked skin against hers, wanting to feel the huge, rigid length of his erection slide inside her. Ecstasy called to her.

She slid her hands under his sweater and stroked over the rigid hardness of his stomach, then over his ribs, to his small, hard nipples. His finger slid under the edge of her bra, touching her nipple, skin to skin, and she moaned at the raging desire the contact aroused within her.

He disposed of her bra and drew her hard nipple into the warmth of his mouth. His tongue flicked across the hard nub.

“Oh, God, Nyte.” Her body went weak with need and her head fell back. He slid one arm to her upper back to support her.

His other hand released the button of her jeans and slid the zipper downward. Some kind of sanity scratched through her.

“No.” Her hand stilled his fingers, drawing them away from her jeans.

“But, Lucinda--”

“Nyte, I can’t do this.”

He wrapped his hands around her hips and drew her tight against him. His penis pushed against her, triggering another wave of incredible desire.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t make love with you.”

He stared into her eyes with intense scrutiny, then pursed his lips and nodded.

“You aren’t ready.”

“That’s right, I’m not ready,” she echoed, grabbing onto the lifeline he’d thrown her, knowing she’d need every scrap of help he offered to withdraw from the web of desire holding her in its grasp.

“You aren’t ready to make love with me yet, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do this.”

“This what--?”

His tongue lapped over one nipple, then the other. He drew it into his mouth and sucked.

“Oh, Nyte,” she moaned.

He ripped off his sweater and pulled her against him. The feel of her breasts crushed against his naked chest sent explosive bursts of pleasure through her. His hands cupped her bottom and he pulled her tightly against his pulsing erection. He thrust against her, triggering a startling bolt of pleasure through her, then he eased back and thrust forward again. Only the fabric of their clothing stopped him from driving into her body.

Oh, God, she wanted to feel him inside her. He thrust again and again and she felt a wave of pleasure wash over her, then more and more waves as his sweet, erotic propulsion drove her closer to ecstasy. A second later, she felt his finger slide between them, then slip under her panties. He zeroed in on the little bundle of nerves at the front. As he stroked it, she felt herself quiver inside, from top to bottom, then an intense swirl of energy pulsed through her and she sucked in a breath, then moaned from deep inside. The sound carried her to a rippling, blissful release.

Nyte’s groan followed hers and his body stiffened against her. Slowly, his body relaxed as her climax eased to an end. She collapsed against him, reveling in the feel of his arms around her.

He held her close, stroking her back. Slowly, realization dawned on her as to what they’d just done. She eased away, overlapping her arms in front of her to cover her naked breasts, her face flaming with heat. Nyte grabbed his sweater, which had landed on the countertop beside her, and tugged it over her head. She pulled it down to cover herself. The course wool rubbed roughly against her nipples but she ignored the discomfort as she shoved the overlong sleeves up her arms.

“Lucinda, I--”

She held up her hand to stop his words.

“If you’re going to apologize, don’t. I got just as carried away as you did. It’s not fair to expect you to be the strong one.”

This attraction between them was real. How could she expect him to resist it if she didn’t? How could she expect him to respect her strength if she didn’t show any?

“Lucinda, I lose myself when I get too close to you... especially when you get vulnerable the way you did a few moments ago.”

Irritation zinged through her and she hopped down from the counter. The sweater hung almost to her knees.

“I’m not vulnerable.”

She grabbed the kettle from the stove to put a little distance between them. She put it in the sink and started filling it with water.

“I get an overwhelming urge to protect you.”

Lucinda glared at him. “I don’t need protection.”

He turned off the water and drew her towards him, then stroked her cheek with one finger.

“Lucinda, consider this. You are very strong, but... .” He tipped her chin up and met her defiant gaze. “Sometimes, you need someone else to be stronger.”

Her eyebrows dipped down. She was still stronger than he was. In fact, putting modesty aside, some of the wizards would say she was the strongest of them all. Besides Rand, of course.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Nyte said. “Suddenly, it’ll become clear to you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “For now, we’ll take our time.”

Chapter 7

Two evenings later, as Lucinda pulled a spell book from the top of one of her bookshelves, the doorbell sounded. It was Rand’s ring, she thought as she handed the book to Nyte. He always enhanced the electronic sound of her doorbell with his own particular musical flourish.

“Take a look at the spells on pages eight through twenty,” she said, as she pulled open the door to the den.

The bell sounded again and she hurried to the front door. She hoped Rand wasn’t here to make further attempts to dissuade her from training Nyte. And, as much as she cared for Rand, she hoped he wouldn’t stay long. If he did, there was bound to be a blow up between him and Nyte, and she just didn’t have the energy to cope with that. Training Nyte, along with fighting the overwhelming attraction between them, had taken a lot out of her.

She tugged open the door, but instead of Rand, a tall, blond, very good-looking stranger stood on the other side. A stranger who, from the feel of him, could work magic. Her fingers clasped tightly around the doorknob.

Good heavens, not another unidentified wizard.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, you can let me in.”

That voice. Her gaze ricocheted to his startling, cobalt blue eyes. His gaze held hers with a disturbing intensity.

“Rand, is that you?”

This was not her Rand, the one she’d seen only a day ago, the one she’d known since her childhood. He stood tall and straight, with shoulder-length hair the color of wheat glistening under the warmth of a summer sun. His eyes, a more vivid color than she’d ever seen, held the vitality of youth. As did his well-muscled, virile-looking body. He appeared to be about thirty-five.

His presence felt different, too. About him she felt a sense of purpose, a determination beyond anything she’d felt in him before.

She had no idea what to make of that.

“Are you going to let me in?” he asked.

As much as she’d like to suggest he come back another time--like after Nyte had finished training with her--judging from the set of his jaw, saying no was out of the question.

“Of course.” She stepped aside to allow him passage.

As he strolled across the room, she couldn’t help watching his strong, purposeful steps, and thinking it would take some time to get used to the idea that Rand was really quite a hunk.

She didn’t want to think of him that way. The older Rand fit better into her view of life and she wished he could stay the way she remembered him, but at the same time, realized how selfish that attitude was.

“Can I get you anything?”

He settled into his usual seat--the recliner beside the fireplace.

“A glass of wine, please.”

She glanced at the door to the den as she passed, hoping the spell book had captured Nyte’s attention enough that he wouldn’t come out for a while. She didn’t want the two men to start anything.

In the kitchen, she poured some red wine from the bottle she kept aside for Rand and a glass of diet Coke for herself. When she returned to the living room, she handed him his glass, then sat down on the couch. Merlin uncoiled from his napping position on the hearth and arched his back in a long stretch. He sauntered toward her, then leaped onto the couch and stretched out on the cushion beside her. She stroked his head and he laid his chin on her leg and purred contentedly.

Rand placed his glass on the end table beside his chair and folded his hands in his lap.

“Do you mind if I choose where we go this evening?”

“Go?”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s the third Thursday of the month.”

“It is?”

Rats. Even though Rand had reminded her only a few days ago, with all the confusion associated with Nyte’s appearance, she had totally forgotten. She and Rand always reserved one day a month to spend together.

“I’m sorry, Rand, I think we’d better postpone for a few weeks.”

His eyebrows arched. “Why?”

She gestured toward the den door. “I have a responsibility to Nyte. You know he’s suffering from amnesia, and he’s still getting his bearings. I can’t just go traipsing off and leave him--”

He leaned toward her. “It will only be a few hours. Surely he can take care of himself for that long.”

“Of course I can take care of myself,” Nyte’s voice cut in, “but if Lucinda doesn’t want to go out with you, you shouldn’t coerce her.”

Oh, damn. She glanced around to see Nyte stride into the room. He raised an eyebrow as he took in Rand’s altered form, and sent Lucinda a significant look. She was certain it was meant to remind her of his suggestion that Rand would attempt to take his relationship with Lucinda beyond friendship. He obviously thought that was why Rand had taken on this young, attractive shape. Her hands clenched tightly on the armrest. Could he be right?

“Nyte, please let me handle this.”

“All right.” He strolled to the window behind Rand and stood watching, like an ominous shadow in his black jeans and sweater, hair loose and flowing over his shoulders.

“Rand, let’s do it one day next week.”

“But I have somewhere special to take you tonight.”

The tightness in his voice, though barely perceptible, alerted her to his mood. His relaxed posture was only a facade, and she had a feeling he didn’t intend this to be an evening of simple entertainment.

He shifted forward in his chair, his gaze intent. “I need your opinion on something.”

He needed her opinion? He’d never said that before.

How could she turn him down? For years, they had maintained this one day each month as a special time to renew their friendship.

“Okay.” She glanced down at her bulky, denim blue, cable-knit sweater and faded blue jeans. “I’ll go change.”

“Lucinda,” Nyte’s protesting voice broke in. “You aren’t really going with him? He’s been interfering from the beginning, and now--”

She turned to him. “Nyte, Rand is my friend, and this is my decision.”

Her determined gaze held his until the simmering anger in his eyes cooled to resignation.

“Of course,” he said finally.

“Wear something warm,” Rand suggested.

As she headed for the stairs, she wondered what kind of place Rand had in mind.

In her bedroom, she pulled on a pair of black wool slacks and a purple, lacy knit sweater. She opened her jewelry box and selected the dragon pendant suspended on a silver chain that Randalph had given her last Christmas. She fastened it around her neck and checked her reflection in the mirror. A quick brush through her hair and she was ready to go.

When she returned to the living room, both men sat stiffly waiting for her. Nyte took in her outfit with a quick sweep of his gaze, and then his lips tightened into a straight line. Suddenly, the pants seemed too snug and the sweater too formfitting. Distractedly, she toyed with the winged dragon pendant.

“Nice necklace,” Nyte observed.

Lucinda’s gaze lanced to Rand, praying he wouldn’t mention it was a gift from him. “Yes, I like it.”

Nyte stepped toward her and his fingers lightly brushed her chest as he picked up the pendant. Awareness sizzled through her, which she was certain Nyte intended. He wanted her to be intimately aware of her overwhelming attraction to him, and her lack of physical attraction to Rand.

“What is the dragon holding?”

She stared at the half inch rectangular stone clutched in the dragon’s claws. “It’s an emerald-cut ametrine. Half purple amethyst and half yellow citrine.” The effect of the single stone blending from yellow to purple was stunning. “It combines the properties of both gems--power and creativity.”

Of course, it was much more complex than that, but she’d learned long ago that most people didn’t enjoy hearing in great detail about the properties of crystals. Why, she didn’t know.

Rand stood up and strode to the closet. He pulled open the door and grabbed her jacket, then held it for her to slip on. As she pushed her arms into the sleeves, she watched Nyte stroll toward the couch. As he sat down, Merlin trotted across the living room and leaped onto his lap.

“Don’t worry about me,” Nyte said.

Something about Nyte’s easygoing tone bothered her. It was too relaxed. He stroked Merlin’s head several times, then started scratching behind the cat’s ear. Lucinda could hear the purring from the door.

“This little fellow will keep me company.” He lifted his head and smiled at Lucinda with a devilish grin. “And if I get bored, I’ll practice the fireball spell you taught me this afternoon.”

The steady thrum of Merlin’s purr broke into a staticky crackle and his ears pivoted upright.

“I think it needs a little work,” Nyte continued.

Merlin, her cowardly cat, stared at her and mewed. He hated fire.

Oh, Merlin, you’ll be fine.

Nyte’s spell did not need work. Like everything else she’d taught him, he’d learned it the first time and been able to direct it with great accuracy.

Nyte stroked the length of Merlin’s back. “I think I could put a little more force behind them.”

More force? Merlin’s green gaze flicked to Nyte, then turned to Lucinda in appeal.

“I also saw a lighting bolt spell I might try.”

She clamped her hands together. “Nyte, I don’t think--”

Rand grasped her shoulder. “Lucinda, never mind this nonsense. We must go.”

Oh, sure. Fine for him to say. He didn’t risk returning to find his house a pile of cinders on the ground.

Merlin meowed in a rising note of desperation.

Well, what am I supposed to do? Rand needs me.

Rand took hold of her hand and drew her with him. As the air around them shimmered, then blurred, she saw Merlin’s fuzzy head plunk onto Nyte’s lap in resignation.

Lucinda relaxed her body as Rand carried her with him, wondering where he was taking her. Somewhere far, she realized, as she felt the tug of time and space catching on her heels.

After a few moments, the lightness left her body and she felt solid ground beneath her feet. The light of evening had faded to darkness and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust.

“Where are we?”

“Delphi.”

He’d taken her to Greece? Why here? Light from the waning moon glazed the towering ruins around them, lending an eerie quality to the scene.

It had been a long time since she’d been to Delphi. She wished she could see the spectacular view that lay below the mountain, but it was lost in the depths of the night.

Rand had brought her here during her own training, centuries ago. From her first step onto this mountain, she had been moved by the power inherent in everything around her, but especially from the deeply stirring core.

The Oracle of Delphi.

She felt it now, percolating through her, an invigorating, exciting sense of power.

Rand took her hand. “This way.” They meandered further up the mountain.

“Why have you brought me here, Rand?” She kept a steady eye on where and how she stepped.

“I wanted you to feel it for yourself.”

“Feel what?” She felt the power of the Oracle, just as she had both times she’d been here before, but as unusual as that was, it wasn’t new.

“I’ll show you.”

They continued their trek upward until they stood before a leveled building. Moonlight glistened along the flat surface of the bared floor.

The temple of Apollo. Or rather, what remained of it.

She could feel the energy emanating from it. The force pressed against her like the brush of a bird’s wing.

The ancient Greeks had believed the Oracle could provide answers about the future. Many journeyed long distances to seek the advice of the Oracle.

Today, scientists marveled at the strange magnetic fields in the area. It was a mystery even to the wizards. Rand had explained to her that this area had something to do with the spawning of the first wizards, but he had always been vague about it. She suspected he didn’t know the true story.

That’s probably why she didn’t come here often. She didn’t like mysteries.

Her own life was already too much of one.

Rand walked around the perimeter of the temple, as though inspecting the foundation. After one pass, he returned to her side.

“I noticed a change in the energy around the Oracle about three years ago. Whether it’s a fundamental change to the Oracle’s energy, or an additional force combining with it, I can’t tell.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” She stared at the building, trying to sense something different.

“Before it was a mild concern, something I kept an eye on.” He sighed and leaned against one of the tall pillars. “Over the past few days, the change has accelerated.”

“The past few days? You mean, since Nyte arrived?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Rand, is this some kind of scheme to--”

He grasped her shoulders. “Lucinda, the power increase is not a natural phenomenon.”

“That doesn’t mean Nyte had anything to do with it.”

He released her, his mouth set in a tight line. “Are you saying it’s a coincidence?”

He stared at her, his blue eyes intense, waiting for her to arrive at some conclusion, she realized. It didn’t take her long. Rand had always told her coincidences didn’t really exist. The universe used the seemingly accidental incidents to draw a person’s attention to something.

“Okay. So he arrived and one of the world’s great natural wonders changed in a fundamental way. I can’t deny it must have some relationship to Nyte’s arrival. But is it really that significant? I mean, I know I haven’t been here for a long time, but it can’t have been that dramatic a change. I can’t sense anything more than--”

“Wait.” Rand moved his hands over Lucinda’s head, deep concentration lining his features. He cupped his hands and drew them in an arc downward, as through placing a protective spell over her. The air around her seemed to vibrate, causing a throbbing in her ears. Not of pain, but pressure. She realized he wasn’t erecting a protective shield, but peeling one away.

Her skin felt cold then hot then cold again. Energy pulsed against her like the beat of a thousand hummingbirds’ wings. Her equilibrium wavered. Rand’s arm linked around hers, and his other hand grasped her elbow to steady her.

“Sit,” he directed, leading her to a large, flat-topped stone. “I protected you from the energy so it wouldn’t overwhelm you when we first arrived. You’ll get used to it in a moment.”

She concentrated on deep breathing and allowed the energy to flow through her rather than trying to fight it. After a few moments, she no longer felt like a window with sleet pelting against it. The thrum of the energy still echoed through her, but she could cope now.

She had never experienced anything like this before.

“What do you think it is, Rand?”

“It would be a formidable power source, if someone knew how to tap it.”

“Power source for what?”

A shadow haunted the depths of his eyes. “If it’s Nyte’s, I’d be afraid to even guess.”

“Rand, it doesn’t make sense that Nyte has anything to do with this. He has amnesia--”

“Or so he told you.”

“--and he’s just learning to use his powers.”

“Lucinda, why do you keep defending him?” The fierce emotion in his eyes startled her. “You took him into your home even though I warned you he was dangerous. You insist on helping him when--”

She stood up and walked toward him. “You know I couldn’t leave him to fend for himself. Even if I hadn’t received The Call to help him. Not in his condition. I couldn’t do that to anyone.”

Silence hung between them, or as close to it as possible with the thrum of energy permeating the air around them.

“You did it to me--when you decided not to believe my story,” Rand said.

His words, low and filled with pain, told her more clearly than any explanation, how badly she’d hurt him.

“Rand, I never meant to hurt you. I... .”

She what? She’d chosen between duty and heeding Rand’s warning. She’d made the only choice she could. A choice she thought he’d understand.

“You chose him. How could that not hurt me?” Blue fire raged in his eyes.

When she’d chosen to train Nyte, despite Rand’s warning, he’d taken it as a rejection. How could she let him know how much she valued his friendship and still satisfy her duty to follow The Call and train Nyte?

As if it was as simple as that. She cared deeply for Rand, her closest friend and confidant. And she had a tangled mass of growing feelings for Nyte. She’d been trying to convince herself it was just lust, but Nyte stirred something far too potent in her to be shrugged away as something so shallow.

She couldn’t turn her back on Nyte, and if Rand were truly her friend he would understand that.

“I know you have some reason to distrust Nyte, but I can’t let that stop me from doing what I have to do.” She rested her hand on Rand’s arm. “But, Rand, that doesn’t mean I don’t treasure our friendship. You should know that.”

He clamped his fingers around her shoulders. “And you should understand that I can’t stand by and watch you be hurt by Nyte.”

“I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“That’s why I brought you here.” Rand tightened his grasp on her. “I’m going to prove to you that Nyte killed Clarissa in cold blood. Then maybe you’ll believe he is dangerous.”

“How are you going to do that?” She couldn’t conceive of what proof Rand might offer that would convince her.

“I’m going to use the energy of the Oracle to take us back in time.”

Her eyes widened. “Back in time? That far?”

She had toyed with time travel spells before. Short distances, like days or weeks, weren’t too bad, but moving anything more than a year took a vast amount of power, and Rand was talking about centuries. What he suggested seemed impossible.

“There are legends that, with enough power, wizards can break the spatial and time barriers we’ve experienced and travel unimaginable distances,” Rand explained.

“Legends? Rand, you’re the oldest wizard on Earth. You make the legends.”

He released his grip on her shoulders and sighed. The look in his eyes warned he was about to reveal something momentous.

“Lucinda, I believe wizards visited Earth long before I was born.”

“Visited? From where?”

He waved his hand at the night sky. “From out there.”

She glanced at the wash of stars streaking the night sky, a milky swarm of potential worlds that could sustain intelligent life.

“You mean space travelers?”

“Why not? If humans can travel to the moon, why can’t wizards cross the distances between the stars?”

“I guess.”

“And if we can do that, journeying back twelve centuries should be no problem at all.”

* * * *

Lucinda and Rand decided to return to her house to collect a few useful items to help in their journey. She didn’t want to draw Nyte’s attention, so she sensed where he was in the house then, when she was sure the den was clear of his presence, they materialized there. She switched on the light and sighed in relief to see her house still stood in one piece.

She was relieved to be away from the constant thrum of energy around the Oracle. Home felt so much brighter and warmer after the cold moonlit-marble feel of Delphi. She smiled at the view of her familiar white bookshelves filled with her many books on magic and healing. She dug her fingers into one of the bowls full of small crystals on the shelf below her collection of pewter fantasy figures. She scooped up a handful of stones and allowed them to draw away the excess energy causing her to be so off center.

She crossed the room and, as quietly as she could, opened the door a crack and peered into the living room to ensure they hadn’t disturbed Nyte. She didn’t want to explain what Rand intended to do. It sounded too much like she didn’t believe Nyte’s story. And she didn’t want to be waylaid by an argument between the two men. Nyte sat in the lounge chair beside the fireplace reading a book, Merlin curled up in his lap. She closed the door and turned back to Rand. He handed her the zippered canvas bag she kept in one of the boxes on the shelves. She took it and used it to collect together the things they needed. A half dozen clear quartz points, a variety of colored crystals, a few amulets, and her spell book.

“Don’t forget your crystal ball,” Rand suggested.

She crossed to the table where the six inch sphere stood on a stand of pewter sculpted into three dragons.

“Mrreow.”

Lucinda held her breath as she turned around, expecting to see that Nyte had accompanied Merlin to the door. But Merlin stood alone, having pushed through the cat door, and stared at her with the curiosity that felines were known for.

I need it for focus. Rand and I are going on a little journey into the past.

She wrapped the ball in a soft cloth and stuffed it in her bag, then opened the cupboard to grab a stand more suitable for travel.

Merlin crossed the room and jumped onto the table, then stuck his face under her elbow, causing the ball to roll out of the bag. She shoved it back in before it tumbled to the floor.

“No, Merlin, you can’t come with us.”

Rand glanced up, his attention fixed on Merlin. “Why not?”

Merlin trotted across the table and leaped toward Rand, who caught him neatly in mid-air. He settled into Rand’s arms and stared smugly at Lucinda.

“Rand, have you forgotten? He’s not a familiar, he’s just an ordinary, everyday house cat.”

Merlin shook his head, as though something had irritated his ears, then he rubbed his face against Rand’s chest.

You really are learning to suck up, aren’t you?

“I think he may be useful.”

Useful? As a pain in the butt maybe.

But Lucinda had long ago given up trying to talk Rand out of something once he’d set his mind to it. He often had feelings or intuitions, and even though she could see no possible use for Merlin--except as an annoyance--she merely shrugged.

“Fine, but if he wanders off, you go looking for him.”

Chapter 8

When they arrived back at Delphi, Merlin leaped from Rand’s arms and trotted along beside them as they made their way to the Oracle. The building, which was now merely a floor and some small remains of walls, was cordoned off with ropes to preserve the ancient structure by stopping the erosion that would be caused by countless tourists walking across the surface.

Merlin leaped onto the ruins of a nearby wall, then made his way higher until he perched two meters above them. With the clear moonlight silhouetting his regal form, he looked like an ancient Egyptian cat god surveying his realm. Lucinda glanced at the nearly-full moon hanging high in the ink-black sky. Rand had chosen a good night for this little adventure. The energy of the moon in this phase would augment their powers--and they could use all the help they could get.

Rand cast a spell to protect the temple floor from their weight, then he ducked under one of the ropes. Lucinda followed and crossed to the point where she felt the greatest flow of energy. She unrolled a small mat, set the crystal ball in the center, then placed the quartz points around the sphere to help focus the energy. She sat cross-legged facing the ball. Rand folded himself into the same position beside her.

“I don’t have a picture of Clarissa, so I’ll project her image into the crystal ball. That way you can focus on her with me. Concentrate on taking us back to an hour before her last presence here on Earth.”

Merlin bleated.

Rand wants to prove to me that Nyte killed Clarissa.

Merlin bleated again.

No, I don’t believe Nyte hurt anyone, but Rand does. Going back will give us both some answers.

The moonlight shone on Rand’s face, exaggerating the sharp angles of his features. He stared deeply into the crystal ball, his eyes focused and intense. The snowflake impurities in the crystal, which gave it so much character, started to glitter, then swirled as though caught in a winter wind, but in slow motion. They twisted and curled in a slow spiral, then coalesced into the image of a face.

Blue eyes, the color of lapis, stared back at her from the depths of clear crystal. She was stunning. Auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders. Delicately arched eyebrows and a classic nose framed her large, striking eyes.

Lucinda’s gaze flicked to Rand. The depth of his pain showed clearly in his misty, blue eyes. He must miss her terribly.

Merlin had moved beside Rand, staring at the ball with a more focused gaze than she would have expected from her feline friend. He sat close to Rand, as though to offer moral support.

“She’s beautiful, Rand.”

Rand nodded. He did not remove his gaze from the ball, but he did blink a couple of times, resetting his features to an expression of indifference.

Almost.

“Now concentrate,” he said, his voice perfectly level. “I will visualize the time and place we’re targeting. You focus on moving us backward in time.”

Just like when they drove together in a car, he was the navigator, and she the driver. Just as well. It was bad enough getting lost in spatial dimensions. Taking a wrong turn in time was an event she’d like to avoid. Anyway, he had been where and when they were going so he could get a clear fix on it.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, relaxing her body. The moon shone down on her and she imagined the clear, crystal, white light spilling over her, enhancing the power building inside. She took Rand’s hand, wrapping her fingers around his, and felt his power join with hers. As she concentrated, she felt the energy emanating from the Oracle gathering around her, like a cocoon of flower petals pressing against her aura.

The weight of her body diminished and she seemed to float upward, as though she were a hot air balloon rising toward the clouds. The sensation lasted for several moments until suddenly gravity seemed to kick in, and she felt as though she were plunging downward. Her stomach accelerated to the top of her chest, then dropped to her knees. She tightened her fingers around Rand’s, clinging to him like a life preserver in the wild currents of time.

Passage of time in the normal sense was meaningless, but it seemed like an eon before the tumultuous ride slowed. As though they were skimming down a water slide, years splashed by like water droplets. Suddenly, she tumbled off the end and landed soundly on hard ground. Disorientation sent her senses spinning and she clutched Rand’s hand tighter.

She opened her eyes to see they were surrounded by a dark mist. A residue from their long trip through the centuries?

She pushed herself to her knees and peered around.

“Don’t worry, Lucinda,” Rand said. “I’ve enclosed us in a bubble of invisibility so no one will see or hear us.”

Through the dark fog, Lucinda saw the hazy shape of a lone figure. As the mist slowly dissipated, she saw that it was a man slumped on a wooden chair, his head resting in his hands. His shoulders shook in violent shudders and his anguish trembled through the air. Beyond him lay the charred remains of a room. The acrid smell of burned wood filled her nostrils as she watched him slowly lift his head.

Her breath caught.

He was a young version of Rand. Even younger than the one standing beside her. Probably only nineteen. The sorrow marring his tear-streaked face tore at her heart. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, to fill the void she sensed had been carved from his heart.

The Rand beside her bolted to his feet. “We haven’t gone back far enough.” He grasped Lucinda’s hand and closed his eyes. “Concentrate. We must move one hour further into the past.”

Reluctantly, she closed her eyes on the young Rand, knowing that as much as she wished otherwise, she could do nothing for him. He had to make his own way and recover from whatever horrendous event had befallen him as best he could. Whatever path he’d taken had shaped him into the man who stood by her side.

She concentrated and they tumbled into time again, but they didn’t seem to move. She pushed as hard as she could, but to no effect. It felt like a barrier had been planted in their way.

“Maybe we need some momentum,” Lucinda suggested. “Let’s try a running start, focusing further back than this day.”

Rand nodded, then directed them forward in time a few months, then they both concentrated on speeding back through time. They flung headlong into a very tangible barrier, then toppled back into regular time.

Again, the young Rand from the past sat in front of them, grappling with his pain. She could feel it reflected in her Rand. She placed her hand on his arm. His muscles felt like steel bands beneath her fingers, drawn taut in anguish. Her heart ached for him. She didn’t want him to relive this awful pain.

“This isn’t working,” she said in her most gentle voice, trying to draw him from his emotional turmoil. “Let’s go back.

His fists clenched. “But we’re so close. I need to know what happened. Why he did what he did.” His gaze locked on hers, desperation glazing his eyes frosty blue. His fingers clamped around her upper arms. “Lucinda, we must keep trying.”

She eased herself from his grip--knowing he didn’t mean to squeeze so tightly it hurt--and held his hands.

“Rand, if we keep this up, we’ll run out of energy. Remember, the Oracle in this time period is not the supercharged version of the time we left, and we only have so much of its energy stored in our crystals. Once that’s gone, we could be stuck here, with no power source strong enough to send us back.”

“But we’re so close.” His words sounded as tight as a rubber band about to snap.

“We might as well be a million years away. Whatever this barrier is, it’s stronger than we can overcome.”

He slammed his fist on the mat. “Nyte. This is his doing.”

Poor Rand. He was grasping at any explanation.

“You think he erected the barrier? That doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t even know how to cast a basic protection spell, let alone--”

The glare Rand sent her stopped her words. Mr. Skeptical didn’t believe that and she knew it.

“Even if he could, why would he?” she asked.

“He doesn’t want me to prove to you what kind of monster he is.”

She could sense the extreme vibrations in his energy field, a sure indication his stress level zoomed toward overload. She placed her hand on his shoulder.

“We won’t find the answers you’re looking for here, Rand. We must go back.”

His head slumped forward. She glanced at the young Rand in the room and the Rand by her side and saw the same extreme emotions reflected in their features. Anguish and a deep sense of loss.

Normally, she would not intrude into someone’s personal feelings, but it was important she understand more about this situation. She sensed the turmoil of the younger Rand, who clearly did not have the ability to shield his emotions as well as his older self.

His emotions tore through her, sucked into a bottomless pit of agony in the center of his soul. The foundations of his life had been shaken by whatever event had just occurred.

Trust and love for a man he cared for very much had been shattered. For a man named Nyte. And for someone else. For someone closer to him than anyone else... .

The realization struck her like a lightning bolt.

The other someone was himself.

He was suffering from a profound case of guilt.

She took Rand’s hand, squeezing it gently, wishing she had words to offer that would help. But nothing could help unless he let it.

She realized his hand felt fragile and old. She glanced at him and noticed his hair had gone white again and his face was lined with wrinkles.

Right now, the best she could do was get him out of this place.

“Let’s go,” she urged.

She concentrated and directed them back to the present. Rand didn’t interfere. When the mists cleared, she drew in a sigh of relief as she saw the ruins of Delphi, illuminated in moonlight, appear around them. Merlin sauntered up beside her, glanced at Rand’s bowed head, then turned to stare at her.

She pet Merlin’s head.

It was a rough ride.

She took Rand’s hand and tugged him to his feet. “Rand, I’ll take you home now. You need to rest.”

“No, not yet.” He glanced at the crystal ball. “Let me try one more thing.”

“But, Rand--”

He squeezed her hands. “Lucinda, it’s important you understand what happened.”

She suspected there was more to it than that. He seemed to be looking for some kind of answer.

He sat down facing the crystal ball again and gestured for her to do the same. “Maybe we can’t go back in time physically, but there is something else we can try.”

“You want to call up an image of what happened?” she asked.

Since this would take much less energy than moving themselves physically through time, and with the energy of the Oracle working with them directly, they should be able to break through the barrier. She didn’t know who could have erected it, but whoever it was would have to be here directing the energy against them personally to have any kind of chance of stopping them from viewing the past. Either that, or he was a more powerful wizard than she could imagine.

“All right,” she agreed.

Rand took her hand and stared into the crystal ball. She concentrated on sending Rand whatever energy he needed to accomplish his goal. The image of Clarissa dissipated, replaced by the swirling snowflakes. Another image appeared, this time of Nyte. He looked just as he did now, but his clothes were of an ancient style, including a long, black cape, and his hair flowed freely around his shoulders. A long sword hung at his side and an expression of anger colored his face.

The scene shifted slightly to include Clarissa. She stood staring at Nyte, clearly in confrontation, her expression also hardened by anger. Lucinda’s heart clenched at the sight of Nyte with this other woman. They were at odds in the scene before her, but anger like that only occurred between people who cared deeply for one another.

Rand’s hand tightened around hers and she could feel excitement pulsing through him, intermingled with a deep, throbbing ache.

Lucinda wondered what the heated argument was about. The room they moved through was the room they’d seen Rand in when they’d traveled back in time, but clearly before whatever destructive force had hit.

Nyte stalked toward Clarissa and she tilted her chin up defiantly. When Lucinda saw the resultant rage in Nyte’s face, a chill quivered up her spine. At that moment in time, he truly did look dangerous.

Could Rand be right after all? Could Nyte have done the terrible thing Rand accused him of?

The chill rippling along her spine increased and dizziness overtook her brain. She gripped Rand’s hand tighter.

As the feeling of disorientation increased, she realized this was more than a reaction to what she was seeing inside the crystal. She felt something peculiar. Like a presence around them.

The scene with Nyte and Clarissa grew cloudy, the sphere darkening as though full of black smoke, then slowly clearing until finally it regained its translucent state. It stood empty, revealing only the ruins around them reflected in its polished surface.

She turned to Rand. “What was that? It felt like some kind of... .”

Her words trailed off as she saw that Rand still stared into the crystal ball, his eyes glazed as though under some kind of trance. Still searching for an answer.

She placed her hand on his arm, offering energy if he needed it. A moment later, he turned his gaze to hers. “It was a spell blocking us from the past, and it had the same feel as Nyte’s magic.”

It had certainly felt different than any magic she had ever experienced. Stronger. But something more. It had been almost... otherworldly.

As for it being Nyte’s magic, she didn’t believe that, but she didn’t want to argue with Rand. He seemed too fragile.

A thought occurred to her. Just as Rand had tried to use the crystal ball to convince her of Nyte’s misdeeds, maybe she could use it to convince Rand that Nyte had actually lost his memory.

“Why don’t we try to find out when and how Nyte got amnesia?” she suggested.

She focused again and this time the ball revealed a dark scene. It appeared to be a street, or rather, an alleyway. Brick walls lined either side. Garbage cans and refuse cluttered the view.

Recognition dawned in her.

“Paris. That’s the alleyway where I found Nyte.”

The center of the scene blurred, and sparks flared in a small, but growing, circle. A white cat, which had been stalking something behind a wooden crate, streaked out of the picture. The sparks flared to a blinding level. Then she saw the figure of a man, crouched down close to the ground. From the long dark hair tumbling down his back, she knew it was Nyte.

She could sense his anger dissipating to a complete sense of disorientation. She could feel the emptiness of his mind, the sense of a part of him missing. Usually, she could sense memories packed in the corners of a person’s brain, just waiting to be opened and examined, like cardboard boxes lining the walls of an attic. But with Nyte, only hollow emptiness echoed through the corridors of his mind.

She glanced at Rand and saw he felt it, too.

She wondered why she hadn’t felt the same thing when she’d first met Nyte. Of course, after all the magic she’d performed this evening, her energy was very open and flowing, making her very sensitive to other people’s energy.

She returned her gaze to the scene in the crystal ball. Embarrassment flashed through her at the thought of Rand seeing what would follow--with her and Nyte in varying degrees of undress. She released Rand’s hand and stopped sending energy to the ball. It clouded, then cleared again.

Rand nodded and stood up.

“All right, Lucinda. I concede that Nyte has truly lost his memory.”

Thank heavens. Relief surged through her at finally having the issue settled.

“We are now faced with a very interesting question.”

Her flood of relief froze at his tone. He turned to her, his gaze intent.

“Who blocked us from going into the past?”

Chapter 9

Lucinda did not want to think about unknown forces with mysterious agendas.

After accompanying Rand to his house and talking for hours about who or what could have blocked them from the past, with no reasonable suggestions forthcoming, she finally decided to leave the mystery to Rand and head home.

She gathered the crystals and other paraphernalia into her bag, then scooped Merlin into her arms. After teleporting into the den, she put her stuff away, then opened the door to the living room.

“There you are.” Nyte looked up from the Asimov novel he held in his hand.

He had started a fire--safely contained in the fireplace she was pleased to see--and the room glowed with its welcoming light.

“Do you always stay out this late?” he asked, his gaze scrutinizing the length of her as though searching for something out of place.

Great. Now he was acting like her father. If she weren’t so tired, she would have responded with some snappy retort, but instead she simply shrugged as she moved into the room. She knew she should go straight to bed, but the firelight playing across the soft fabric of the couch in rippling shadows mesmerized her, drawing her toward it. It looked so warm and cozy, and it was so close. Even though her bedroom would provide an easy escape from Nyte’s question, the long walk upstairs was simply too daunting.

“Have a good time?” The tight set of his jaw told her he sincerely hoped not.

She slumped onto the couch, exhaustion seeping into her bones. “Not really.”

She stretched her legs across the couch and leaned back on the armrest, allowing her eyelids to drift closed. The warmth of the fire on her skin and the delicate crackling sound gently lulled her. Pushing through time, even with the help of a supercharged magical engine like the Oracle, had taken a lot out of her.

“You look tired.”

It sounded like an accusation rather than a concerned comment. She glanced toward him and noticed his fingers clamped tightly around the book, which belied his otherwise relaxed stance.

“Did Randalph keep you busy?”

She sighed. Just what she needed. Nyte in a storm of jealousy, grilling her.

“You mean did he chase me around the couch all evening? No, nothing like that.”

She flung her arm across her eyes, primarily to block the light, but a little to hide her irritation.

“Lucinda?” His voice had lost its domineering tone, replaced with a gentle note of concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. As you said, I’m just tired.”

She heard a slight creak, telling her Nyte had risen from his chair. She could feel him moving closer. A second later, she felt the heat of him very close, then the light touch of his hands on her shoulders. As his fingers gently manipulated the muscles of her neck and upper back, warm soothing energy seeped into her, releasing one kind of tension, but triggering another. She felt it coil inside her, like a snake ready to strike.

She sat up, needing a moment to calm her confused physical reactions, and Nyte shifted into position behind her. He stroked the length of her back, generating an annoying arousal of sensations: melting warmth, mounting excitement, and yearning deep in the pit of her stomach.

But try as she might, she couldn’t force herself to move out of reach. His touch felt wonderful and she didn’t want him to stop. A persistent part of her insisted a back rub would revive her sagging reserve of energy.

So what about the overactive hormones surging through her?

Ignore them, that persistent part urged.

His hair brushed against the side of her neck as he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I missed you.”

At the sensation of his breath swirling into her ear, she sucked in a deep breath. Before she could decide how something on the edge of tickling could feel so intensely sensual, his lips nuzzled her neck, and another jolt of hormones spurted through her. The fine hairs along her spine flicked upright, like soldiers snapping to attention.

Nyte certainly commanded her full attention.

He stroked her neck with his fingertips on one side and nuzzled with his lips on the other.

Surrounded. His sensual onslaught had her ready to fall before the battle had even begun.

She turned to face him, drawing her sensitized neck out of the target zone. “Nyte, I--”

Oops, tactical error. His lips engaged hers in a gentle persuasion.

Remembering the last time he’d kissed her and what had followed, she knew she should pull away, but her breasts ached for his touch, her nipples tightening to hard buds. A throbbing began low in her vagina, desperately screaming for him to ease it.

The tip of his tongue traced the inside of her lips and the thought burned away entirely with the heat of her need. Instead, she surrendered, sliding her arms around his neck, and concentrated on enjoying the full effect of his mouth on hers.

His arm slipped under her legs and he picked her up. How he knew where he was going as he carried her up the stairs and along the hallway, she wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t be able to navigate a straight line with the delicious confusion of sensations interfering with her internal compass--although it didn’t work that well at the best of times.

Every cell in her body perked to life as he eased her to her feet, never breaking the contact of their lips. Her breasts tightened as they traveled the length of his hard, broad chest, his textured wool sweater stimulating her nipples to hard peaks. Her knees grew weak as her thighs pressed against his.

Once she stood more or less on her own, he shifted his hands to her shoulders and drew his face from hers. Moonlight from the window down the hall glittered in his midnight eyes.

“Lucinda, tell me you want me.”

“I want you.” The words--husky and filled with desire--escaped before she realized what she was saying.

He smiled then kissed her again. Short. Sweet. Drugging. As he stared into her eyes, her lips burned with the need to join with his once more.

She ran her hands along his shoulders, reveling in the feel of his strong muscles. She was becoming totally addicted to this man’s effect on her senses.

She hadn’t lied when she’d said she wanted him. In fact, he’d become a craving she could barely control.

The realization struck that if she didn’t control it, it would control her. A chill quivered the length of her spine. He would control her.

Then his lips captured hers again.

“Lucinda. Tell me you want to make love with me.” He cradled her face in his hands, a look of deep longing in his eyes. “Invite me to your bed.”

She clung to his shoulders. “I want you to... .” She heard the words trembling from her mouth. She licked her lips. “I need... .”

Need? Good heavens, he was like a drug, and she was turning into a junky.

Addicted to love.

But it wasn’t love. It was lust. And she would not let it control her.

“No.” She shook her head, a little too vigorously. “No, I can’t.” She slipped out of his arms.

“Lucinda, wait.”

She shoved open the bedroom door, then slipped inside. As soon as it clicked shut behind her--putting a barrier safely between her and the man who controlled her senses--she leaned against the door, waiting for the frantic pace of her breathing to slow. She could sense Nyte on the other side, so close she could almost touch him. She flattened her hand against the wood, her fingers aching to touch his warm skin instead. Her eyelids closed and she searched deep inside herself for the strength to keep control of her riotous desires.

The strength to keep control of herself.

* * * *

Leaning against the door, Nyte dragged in deep breaths as he tried to calm his pounding heart. Damn, but he wanted her. Life with Lucinda was never boring, but it certainly could be frustrating. He didn’t know how long he could go on reaching the brink and then pulling back.

As long as she needs you to, his heart insisted.

He just hoped she’d give in to her need before he exploded with frustration.

* * * *

“Focus on this point.” Lucinda pointed to the small blue mat on the ground beside her.

Nyte watched her with full attention, as he did during all their lessons.

“I want you to reappear right here.”

She was teaching him to transport himself instantaneously from one location to another. The first attempt would be to move across the room. It was easier for a student to transport to a visible destination because then they only had to concentrate on moving and not on imagining the location, too. Distance wasn’t a major factor. Once a wizard knew how to push through space, it was as easy to move ten thousand miles as it was to move ten feet.

“Imagine yourself in this spot. Imagine the softness of the carpet beneath your feet rather than the hardwood you’re standing on.” She gestured toward the window and the bright beam of sunlight shining across her hand. “Imagine the sun warming your face.” She drew her flattened hands up and down over the carpet as though defining a rectangle of space. “Focus on where you’re going and imagine yourself there, then mentally give yourself a push.” She dropped her hands to her sides and smiled. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, then prepared himself by taking deep breaths, calming his body and his mind. Just as she’d taught him to do.

She watched as his chest rose and fell with his breathing exercises, and her own breathing fell into time with his. The sound of his hands running up and down his thighs, across the black denim fabric, drew her attention. The distracting movement invoked images of her own hands following the same path, his muscular legs hard beneath her palms, then slowly sliding higher... .

“Lucinda, I said I’m ready. Shouldn’t you step back?”

Her gaze darted to his face. Had he seen her half-glazed eyes and known what she’d been thinking? She couldn’t read anything in his expression, but he seemed more intent on his concentration than on her.

And she should be, too.

She reminded herself about the dangers of this lesson. If he overshot, he could rematerialize inside the wall. On the other hand, if he lost concentration, or if he wasn’t focused firmly enough on his destination, either he would not move at all, or he could careen off in some wild direction to a location that seemed more real to him. Like something he’d read in a book. Or a travel magazine--and he’d been reading a lot of those. Then there was the possibility that he would appear too high above the ground, or too low.

With the accuracy and control Nyte had shown in all his lessons to date, however, she didn’t think she had anything to worry about. Except his frustration if he didn’t do it the first time.

Which was a very real possibility.

He now faced the most challenging lesson so far. With every previous one, he’d exceeded expectations, but this was the first one that went beyond straight manipulation of energy. Some wizards found it nearly impossible to give up the anchor of the material world, at first, and actually shift in space. It required a different kind of mind set. A letting go of the rigid rules of physicality. Some students took months, others years, to make the mental leap.

She strode to the middle of the room, away from both his current position and his destination. “Okay.”

His eyes became dark with the intensity of his concentration and he leaned forward slightly, focusing on the small square of blue carpet across the room. She could feel his energy building, and she leaned forward, too, silently cheering him on.

His body rippled, then disappeared.

A shot of excitement raced through her. He had done it!

She smiled widely, pleased he had not been defeated by the hurdle of disbelief. She glanced across the room toward the blue carpet, expecting to see him smiling back at her in exuberance.

The beat of her heart stuttered and she gasped.

Nyte was not there.

* * * *

Darkness surrounded Nyte. Cold and hollow. He felt like a comet, flung across the heavens by a cosmic catapult.

But where was he going?

And where had he come from?

When he tried to concentrate, to retrieve any images, his head ached from the absence of memory. Then he started to shake, and it felt like the top of his head opened up and pellets battered his brain. Images of faces, places, events--all striking his brain with a cruel reality.

And then his heart.

Cataclysmic emotions--fueled by explosive scenes of betrayal--burned through him in a maelstrom of uncontrolled fury. Like an empty sponge, his brain soaked them up, but he couldn’t make any sense of them.

It was too much. The darkness blackened, drawing him further into its depths. One image, like a light at the end of a long tunnel, kept him from giving up to the yawning nothingness.

The face of a woman with sky-blue eyes and hair like glimmering sunshine.

Chapter 10

A quivery ripple of panic shuddered through Lucinda. Why had Nyte not reappeared?

She had to find him. She closed her eyes and pictured his face. Once she held it firmly in her mind, she pushed herself below the surface of his physical being, drawing on the memory of when she’d felt his energy pulsing through her hands. When the image of his essential being, strong and alive, radiated within her, she sent tendrils of energy fluttering through the ether, carrying her awareness through space in a gentle spiral. Seeking Nyte. The image of his essence should carry her straight to him. His personality signature should glow in the blackness like a firefly in the night sky, clear and bright.

But all she saw was darkness.

If he existed on the physical plane, she should be able to find him, but not a single spark of his existence triggered in her awareness.

An icy breath of fear whispered across her skin. Where could he be?

Logic. She had to set aside her raging emotions and look at this whole situation in a logical manner. She had to be missing something. She paced several times back and forth across the room, her arms clamped around herself.

Time to examine her assumptions.

She assumed he’d be on Earth. But her search had not been limited by that assumption. Even if he’d taken a wrong turn at Mars and wound up in the asteroid belt, she would have sensed him.

She assumed he’d be in physical form. But even if he somehow re-emerged as disembodied energy, she would have felt his presence.

She assumed he would be in the present time.

The energy at the pit of her stomach quivered.

Bingo.

That assumption felt wrong.

Could he have drifted in time?

The morning after she’d found Nyte, Rand had told her Nyte was a powerful wizard from the past, and that he’d been missing for more centuries than she wanted to know. From everything Rand had told her, she knew Nyte must have jumped through time before.

If he had skittered through time again, how far had he traveled into the future or past? And, more importantly, how would she ever find him?

She knew if he’d jumped through time, especially if he had suffered another bout of amnesia, thus forgetting the past week with her, there was little chance she would ever find him again.

She turned her shaking wrist to check the time. He had been missing for only ten minutes and already it felt like a millennium.

Had she lost him for good? The pain of the thought, and the realization that she might have experienced everything she ever would with Nyte, burned itself to the center of her being like flaming lava.

A sharp cry of anguish outside jarred her from her misery. At the same time, an overpowering awareness of Nyte’s presence nearly bowled her over.

Elation propelled her toward the doorway and she flew into the hallway to the back exit, then flung open the door. She raced into the backyard and saw Nyte crouched on the ground, his hands clamped tightly over his face. She stopped a few feet from him. His body, as tense as a compressed spring, trembled uncontrollably.

Oh, man, this was way too reminiscent of the alleyway in Paris. Had he lost his memory again?

Had she been a fool to suggest he do anything like teleporting so early in his training? Especially since she didn’t know what had caused his amnesia, or what lingering effects he would suffer. What kind of damage had she caused with her carelessness?

Gingerly, she stepped toward him, remembering his sudden reaction to her presence in Paris.

At least, he was dressed this time. For some reason, she sensed that as a good sign.

“Nyte.” She said his name softly, so as not to startle him. He did not respond. She reached out her hand, slowly. “Nyte?”

Her whole body tensed as she touched him lightly, expecting him to leap to his feet, but he didn’t. She flattened her hand on his shoulder. His body shuddered beneath her fingers. She crouched beside him and placed her other hand on his arm.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

It was a stupid question. Obviously, he wasn’t all right. Constant shivers shook his body. She stroked his hair, reveling in the feel of the silken strands under her fingers.

“Nyte, it’s me. Lucinda.”

He drew his hands from his face and his dark, troubled gaze locked with hers, drawing her into the depths of some private hell. He grasped her hands and wrapped his fingers tightly around them, as though holding a lifeline.

“Lucinda?”

She smiled and squeezed his hands, sending him reassurance.

“Lucinda!” He rose to his feet, dragging her into his arms as he ascended.

She felt herself pulled against his firm, muscled body, her head cradled between his hand and his chest. She could hear the quick, steady beat of his heart pounding reassuringly against her ear.

Thank heavens he was all right.

His arms encircled her, holding her so tightly it almost hurt. Almost. But somehow she thought she’d never felt anything as sweet as his embrace. This was not like any of the heated, passionate encounters they’d had before. This was oozing tenderness and need.

For the first time, she actually felt he needed her. And she realized she needed him to need her. Desperately.

She’d thought she had lost him.

The thought ricocheted through her head.

Oh, God, she didn’t want to lose him. Ever. She tightened her arms around him, crushing her body against his. Her nipples hardened and poked forward, longing for his touch. She unlocked her arms from his waist and slid her hands up his chest, reveling in the feel of that wonderful hardness under her palms, enhanced by the smoothness of his black, silk shirt. When she reached his neck, she continued around to the leather tie holding his ponytail together and released it, then ran her fingers through his silky, black hair. Her breasts ached and heat suffused every part of her body. Desire flared in her like a volcano about to erupt. She pressed her lips to the base of his throat, in the hollow between his collarbones.

His arms tightened around her and he drew in a shaky breath. She worked her way up the column of his neck to his cheek, intensely aware of the sensuous feel of his coarse, whisker-shadowed skin under her lips and of his strong, muscular body wrapped around her. She drew back, holding his dark, desire-laden gaze with her own, then slid her fingers along his cheeks and covered his mouth with hers. For a moment his full, sensuous lips remained passive under hers. His hands moved to cradle her head as he drew in a deep breath, then his lips started moving in response to her kiss.

A burning need scorched through her. She needed much more than this and she needed it now. She needed to join with him, to know what it was like to feel him inside her, to be together in that most intimate of ways. The desire filled her, pushing out every other thought.

“Oh, Nyte,” she murmured against his lips, then swirled her tongue inside his mouth. She drew her hands down his chest and eased them inside his shirt, ignoring the buttons popping from the fabric. “I want you. I need you.”

He stiffened and, to her complete surprise, his hands covered hers and he eased her away from him. She glanced up to see his eyes tightly closed. He seemed to be battling some inner demons.

“What is it, Nyte?”

His hands still shook, and she wondered if it was an aftereffect of the teleportation-gone-wrong. Or something else. Something to do with her.

“Lucinda, we can’t.”

The temperature of her blood spiraled to zero.

“But... I thought you wanted this?”

“I do. I mean, I did. But not now.”

He did? As in, he no longer wanted her? Not now? Now that she wanted him?

Her stomach sank to her ankles and her heart felt like Merlin had used it for a scratching post.

He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, lingering so long she wondered if he might change his mind. Then he released her and turned away.

“I’m going for a walk. Have dinner without me.”

She stared after him. Had she lost him after all?

* * * *

Lucinda stroked Merlin distractedly as she munched a tidbit of chicken from her plate. She didn’t really want to eat--her stomach was too queasy from the turmoil of emotions churning through her--but it provided a way to fill the time. And she didn’t want Nyte to return and think she’d been pining after him.

“I don’t get it, Merlin. All along Nyte has been making a big play for me, telling me I’m his woman, acting as though he wants me more than anything in the world.”

Merlin nudged her hand and she realized she’d stopped petting him. She dragged her hand the length of his silken back, the feel of his purring under her hand soothing.

“But when I practically throw myself at him, he doesn’t want me.”

“Mrreow.”

“No, I don’t get the impression he’s the kind of man who would mind me being too forward.”

Or was he? When she’d first sensed his magical energy, she’d been swept away by the intensity of it and had fallen into his arms. The attraction had been so strong, if he had really wanted her, all he’d had to do was coax her and she’d have been his. But he hadn’t.

Had her aggressiveness turned him off?

She tugged a handful of hair back from her face. Maybe she was just being paranoid. When Nyte had returned from wherever he’d gone during teleportation, he’d been physically shaken. The last thing he’d needed to deal with was her and her raging hormones.

Damn, what had happened to him?

“That’s another thing,” she said to Merlin. “Something very strange happened to him, and he was badly shaken, but instead of talking to me about it, he left.”

She couldn’t help feeling hurt about that.

She remembered reading in the book about men being from Mars and women from Venus that a man will go off to his cave when he has a problem to solve. Or go off for a walk in Nyte’s case. A man liked to think it through by himself rather than talk it out, like a woman would. The book advised the woman to try to understand and not take it personally.

As the woman sitting outside the cave waiting, Lucinda found it pretty hard not to take it personally.

* * * *

Nyte sat on a large rock staring at the stars. Lights twinkled across the lake, leaving bands of color rippling on the water’s surface.

He liked this place. A small island in the middle of a huge lake. It was peaceful. Calm. A great place to think.

He had a lot to think about now that his memory had returned.

In retrospect, it made sense that teleporting would do it. The shock of separating mind from body must have jolted his system--just the way it had centuries ago--and flung his memories back into place.

Vibrant images told him his body had been destroyed over a millennium ago. He must have been hurled through time, the trauma robbing him of his memory.

Nyte picked up a stone and skipped it across the surface of the lake. The delicate plinking noise echoed across the water.

Now he had to face two extremely disturbing facts. One, he and Randalph shared a far closer relationship than he had ever suspected. And, two, Randalph had betrayed him in a way far too devastating to believe possible.

His fists clenched and he glanced upward. A shooting star flashed across the sky.

What had happened between him and Randalph so many years ago had affected more than their lives, it had affected Lucinda’s, too. In a very fundamental way.

Lucinda had not really received The Call to be Nyte’s mentor--and Randalph should never have been hers.

How would he explain all this to Lucinda? Would it confuse her needlessly at a time when she needed all her focus to sort out her feelings for him? He didn’t want to slow down her progress by clouding the issue so, at this point, he didn’t know what he should tell her and what he shouldn’t.

One thing he did know for sure, however. Having seen how close Lucinda and Randalph were, he could not tell her how Randalph had betrayed him. At least, not until he understood it himself.

He had to confront Randalph, and soon, but right now he felt too raw, the wound too open to expose to more pain. He needed time.

He glanced at the watch Lucinda had given him. He would have to go back soon. Lucinda would be worried.

He shouldn’t have left her at all, but he’d needed time alone. To think. And to absorb the horrendous images that now plagued him. The jumble of feelings whirling through him had left him disoriented. If he’d stayed, he might have let something slip that he’d later regret.

He didn’t want to hurt Lucinda. At least, any more than she would be already.

He’d have to handle this whole situation with delicacy.

* * * *

Lucinda offered Merlin a morsel of chicken. He munched the tidbit thoroughly, then licked her fingertips with his sandpaper tongue.

She wished Nyte would return. She was really worried about him.

“I wonder what happened to Nyte when he teleported.”

It had been about fifteen minutes from the time Nyte had disappeared to the time he had reappeared outside, at least from Lucinda’s point of view. For Nyte it could have been much longer. Or shorter, for that matter.

“Do you think whatever happened might have changed how he feels about me? Or... .”

She circled her hands around Merlin’s chest, behind his front legs, and lifted him until they stared at each other square in the face.

“... do you think he never really felt that way about me at all?”

The thought trembled through her.

Merlin continued to stare, unblinking, into her eyes and mewed.

“He kept telling me I was meant to be his woman, and I kind of translated that to mean... .”

She stopped. Good gracious, had she been about to say love? But he couldn’t possibly have meant he loved her. He’d only known her a few days.

She plopped Merlin onto her lap and petted him firmly, from head to tail, with first one hand, then the other, allowing the constant thrumming of his purr to settle her nerves.

“He must have been talking about lust, that’s all.”

About wanting her in his bed. And now, for whatever reason, he didn’t even want that. What had changed his mind?

Again, she remembered how he had pulled back the first time she had initiated a kiss between them. She petted Merlin more intensely, with long, soothing strokes.

“Or maybe it was just a way to make me feel special, out of gratitude.”

In fact, some men charmed every female they came in contact with. Had Nyte just been sharpening his female-handling skills on her?

She’d been fool enough to fall for it. Fool enough to believe a man like Nyte would find her attractive when even Rand, her own mentor, didn’t find her worthy of pursuing.

Loneliness crept through her.

Damn, now she was starting to feel sorry for herself. She picked up Merlin and cuddled him close. He licked her cheek, his coarse tongue rough against her skin. She scratched behind his ear.

The pain she’d suffered when she thought she might never see Nyte again welled up inside her once more.

“Oh, man, the worst of it is, I’d actually started to feel... .” Her heart throbbed painfully. “I mean, I think maybe I... .”

She let the sentence trail off. Again, she couldn’t mean love.

She hugged Merlin to her once again. All she knew for sure was this feeling she had for Nyte was a powerful force.

“Maybe you what, Lucinda?”

She swung around to see Nyte draped casually against the doorway.

He looked relaxed, but she could tell there was an edge to him. Something was simmering beneath those granite eyes.

Chapter 11

Nyte stood at the door, watching Lucinda cuddle her cat, and his heart ached at the haunting sadness he saw in her eyes. How lonely she must have been over the years.

Since Randalph had been chosen as her mentor in Nyte’s place, she had spent her lifetime believing she should fall in love with a man whom Fate had never intended her to bond with. What had that done to her self-confidence? She would know deep inside she could never love Randalph, and would sense that he could never love her in return, yet her conscious mind wouldn’t believe those instincts.

No wonder she didn’t trust her attraction to Nyte.

Yet she seemed on the verge of losing the struggle against loving him.

“I, uh... ,” she stammered, then gave up and just stared at him.

He sighed and stepped into the room. The cat leaped from her arms and bounded out the door.

He had to help her get past the barriers she’d built against her own intuition, and he knew the best way to do that.

“You haven’t mistaken my feelings for you, Lucinda.” He crouched in front of her and took her hands. “I am grateful to you for helping me, but that has nothing to do with this... .”

He drew her from her chair and into his arms. He found her mouth with his. The delicate feel of her soft lips under his ignited the passion boiling deep in his heart. For her and her alone. He allowed it to pour into her, to seep into every cell of her being. He loved her and he wanted her to feel the full force of it.

When he pulled back, one look at her wide, luminescent eyes staring into his, and he was certain he’d convinced her she was more to him than just a good Samaritan.

But had he convinced her he loved her?

He stroked the hair from her face, entwining his fingers in the soft waves over her ears. The feel of her hair against his skin, the sweet, delicate scent of her tickling his awareness, the warmth of her energy curling through him--all sent his senses whirling. How empty his life had been before experiencing the sheer joy of holding this special woman in his arms. She added depth, and color, and light to everything around him. Nothing he’d ever experienced could compare to loving Lucinda.

“Surely you must know what I feel for you is more than lust.” He stroked his thumbs across her silken cheeks and murmured, “I told you, you are my woman, and that means for always.”

The remaining doubt in her eyes clawed at his insides. He closed the inches between them and caressed her lips with his own. The sweet sensation of her mouth on his sent his blood pressure pulsing to the clouds and turned his heart upside down.

He stroked her lips with the tip of his finger, savoring the soft moistness of her flesh.

“And that also means I am your man. Never doubt that.”

Her man? Lucinda desperately wanted to believe that. She had wanted to be loved for such a long time, to be special to one person in a way that would bind them forever, but she had hidden that need in the depths of her soul, buried under a pile of painful memories where even she couldn’t find it.

Her relationship with Rand, as close as it was, had never filled the emptiness. And she had now come to accept it never would.

But dare she believe that Nyte truly loved her?

What she saw in the simmering depths of his midnight eyes told her he spoke the truth. Hope ignited within her--but quickly faded as she realized he might well believe everything he’d told her, but he spoke in the absence of his memories. Right now, he was a man without a past, but that past would catch up with him sooner or later.

He didn’t remember Clarissa, or the bond he’d shared with her. Lucinda could hope it wasn’t a true Love Bond, but knowing her luck, Fate had not stacked things in her favor.

If it turned out he was meant to be with another woman... .

Nyte stroked her cheek and lowered his lips to capture hers again, but she ducked sideways and crossed to the counter, claiming some much needed distance.

“What happened to you earlier, when you teleported?” She turned away from him and stacked dishes in the sink. “I was worried when you didn’t reappear right away.” She kept her voice as nonchalant as she could, but a slight tremor belied her composure.

She felt his hands curl over her shoulders and his warmth pervaded her being.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” The whispered words curled around her like a gentle caress.

“Well, you couldn’t help it.” She eased around to face him. “Could you?”

“No, I had no control over what happened. I just seemed to be... lost... for a while.”

Lost? Her heart clenched at the thought of him alone in darkness, not knowing where he was, not knowing his way back. She longed to reach out to him, to draw him into her arms and hold him in a gentle, comforting embrace.

She waited for him to say more, wishing he would share the experience with her. But he said nothing.

“You seemed shaken when you returned,” she prompted as she scraped the remains of her chicken onto a small plate and put it on the floor for Merlin. When she stood up and turned around, she found herself face to face with Nyte.

“Yes, it was an unnerving experience.”

His closeness unnerved her, but she didn’t move away.

“Won’t you tell me what happened?” She searched his eyes, looking for a hint of the trauma he must have suffered, hoping to find a way to help him through it.

“I’d rather not talk about it right now. It’s still a jumble in my head.”

Disappointment seeped through her. She started to move away, hurt that he wouldn’t confide in her, but he captured her shoulders.

“And there’s something much more important I need to do right now.”

He drew her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. His tongue swept the edges of her mouth and the exquisite sensation aroused her craving for Nyte. She parted her lips and he entered her with a tender touch that muddled all her carefully prepared arguments, drew forth all her hidden passions, and swirled them around until she felt so dizzy she couldn’t think straight.

Her nipples, two pinpoints of super-heated desire, thrust against her sweater, longing to be touched by him. The heat between her legs threatened to exhale in a raging breath of fire.

Right at this moment, she didn’t care about Love Bonds, or Fate, or anything else except this man, this kiss, and the overwhelming desire she had to join with him.

He drew back and she saw his eyes burning like heated coals in a flame. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. That was very clear.

Her vaginal muscles contracted, overwhelming her with the need to feel him inside her, to feel the completeness that she’d never known before, and never consciously wanted to know until now.

“Lucinda... .” His eyes glowed with a gentle understanding that tugged at her heart.

He scooped her up and strode toward the stairs.

“We are meant to be together, love. Don’t ever doubt that.”

His lips found hers again, the tender coaxing pressure assuring her there was nowhere she’d rather be right at this moment. Her eyelids drifted closed.

As he started up the stairs, she felt her body jostled, then a strange disorientation set in. Almost as if she was being tugged through space.

What’s happening?

Her body felt like a feather fluttering through the air, helplessly carried on a forceful breeze. Slowly, a heaviness settled within her, dragging her down. The warmth of Nyte’s arms around her was gone, with nothing to save her from the pull of gravity.

Her eyelids snapped open and she found herself dropping unceremoniously onto a burgundy leather couch. Unfortunately, she wasn’t centered over it and the wind puffed out of her as her back slammed down on the armrest. Her arms flailed as she tried to grab onto something, at the same time gasping for air. A pair of hands steadied her as she threatened to tumble to the floor. Finally, she slumped safely on the couch, staring up at Rand’s concerned blue eyes.

“For heavens sake, Lucinda, why didn’t you correct your landing?”

She blinked a few times, trying to catch her breath. After a moment, she realized Rand must have pulled her here.

An intense flash of anger bolted through her.

“My landing? It was your spell that pulled me here,” she snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

Of course, she should have been able to compensate for his ineptness, but she’d been a little preoccupied.

“I’m sorry. It was a hasty spell and I didn’t quite adjust properly.” He stepped back to give her room to stand up. “You know how hard it is when you’re pulling someone else, especially when you’re in a hurry.”

She pushed herself to her feet and brushed herself off. She glanced around at the dark leather furniture, the shelves of books lining the walls, and the large stone fireplace against one wall. The mantel was lined with several beer steins and a familiar soapstone sculpture stood in the center position. A line of dense trees was visible through the front window. Rand’s place.

“Why did you feel it was necessary to drag me here like this?” she demanded.

“I thought you might resist coming.”

She crammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Might resist?” Her voice had careened at least one octave too high. “You’re darned right I would have resisted.”

Her hands clenched into fists and she stalked back and forth across the carpeted floor. “It’s bad enough that you walk in on me unannounced in my own home, then manipulate my business schedule to your own convenience, but you’ve gone way too far invading my personal freedom this time.”

She knew she was angrier than Rand’s misdeed deserved, and she also knew it was because of the sexual adrenaline still flooding her system, but she didn’t care. She wanted to get back to Nyte.

“I’m leaving.” She raised her arms, ready to fling herself through space, anxious to continue what she and Nyte had begun.

“No, wait!”

The urgency in Rand’s voice made her hesitate.

“You’ve got to listen to me,” he pleaded.

She sighed impatiently. Her heart still pounded with her desire for Nyte.

She plunked down on one of the two armchairs and folded her arms across her chest. “All right. I’ll give you two minutes. Explain away.”

“It’s about Nyte. He has his memory back.”

She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. Last time she’d seen Rand, she’d finally convinced him Nyte had lost his memory in the first place. Now Rand hoped to convince her he had it back?

“No, you’re mistaken,” she said.

“It happened a few hours ago.” He settled into the large gliding rocker, which was his favorite chair.

Doubt coiled through her. If Rand spoke the truth, it would explain why Nyte had gone off by himself. If a flood of memories had swept through his brain, he’d want time to sort through them.

But when he came back... .

She slid her arms onto the armrests, her fingers curling around the edges. “No, he would have told me.” Wouldn’t he?

“What did you teach him today?” Rand asked.

“Teleportation.”

“That could have done it, considering.” Rand stood up and paced across the floor. “It could have triggered the return of his memories just like a second bump on the head could bring back the memories of an amnesiac suffering from a concussion.” He stopped in front of her. “Lucinda, you must realize that now he has his memory back, he also has his full magical power, too. Since you were called specifically to help him regain his power, that means he doesn’t need you anymore.”

Didn’t need her?

The thought spiked straight through her heart. Is that why he’d hesitated this afternoon when she’d kissed him? Because he now understood she’d only been a temporary stand-in as mentor?

But the kiss? The way he’d picked her up and carried her up the stairs? His goal clearly to make love to her?

“Lucinda.”

She felt Rand’s hand on her arm and she shivered.

“Nyte and I were very close once. I’m worried that he will do anything to hurt me.” He stared straight into her eyes. “And the best way to do that would be to hurt you.”

She clutched the dragon pendant hanging around her neck, stroking the stone it held in its claws.

Rand planted his hands on her shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes.

“Tell me, Lucinda. Have you slept with him?”

Every bone in her body turned to ice. “That’s none of your business.”

“Lucinda, think about it. That’s one way he’d try to hurt me. By coming between you and me. I can already see he’s gotten to you, tricked you into caring for him.”

Tricked? She felt her face drain of blood. Could it all be based on a lie? His intense looks filled with desire. His seductive smile that melted her heart. His promise that they were meant to be together forever.

A queasy feeling rolled through her stomach.

She shoved her hair behind her ear and sucked in a deep breath.

No. She couldn’t reconcile that thought with what she knew of Nyte, and with the feelings she had for him. He was sensitive and caring, not the sinister stranger Rand described.

She eased away from Rand, and his too-close scrutiny, and settled onto the couch, clinging to the armrest.

“But what’s the point, Rand? Say we did... well, you know. How could that hurt you? Are you afraid I’ll be devastated when it ends?”

“Yes, because I know that you wouldn’t ‘you know’, as you call it, unless you’d fallen in love with him.”

Her gaze locked with his. He thought she loved Nyte? How did that make him feel? Did it hurt him to think she might love someone else and not him?

“If you’re expecting him to love you back... .” He shook his head. “Believe me, Lucinda. He’s not capable of the emotion.”

Rand took both her hands in his, turning her to face him. Looking into his glittering blue eyes, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what he had to say next.

“Lucinda, I know we’ve never talked about it, and we should have... .”

She stared at him blankly, one part of her knowing where this was going, another not believing that after all these years, he might actually talk about it. He shifted on his feet and scowled.

“It always seemed there were too many years between us and... .” His voice trailed away.

Her stomach clenched. She knew she should stop him, but now that he’d finally broached the subject, the rejected little girl inside wanted to hear what he had to say. He shook his head and strode to the fireplace, then leaned against the mantel.

“I’m talking about a Love Bond. The one that should have formed between you and me.”

“But never did,” she finished.

He turned back to her, his blue eyes glittering with emotion.

“Because we never let it.” He shook his head and glanced away from her. “Because I never let it.”

Now that the topic had finally been opened, Lucinda felt all the pain that had been locked away deep inside her, open up and flood her being. When she was younger, she’d thought he was just waiting until she got a little older, then when she got older, to the age when most other wizards had long since formed their bonds, she didn’t understand why he still waited. She had wanted to talk to him about it, had made a few feeble attempts, but he’d always dodged the topic.

“Why, Rand? Didn’t you want me?”

He approached her and took her hands in his, a soft light of kindness glowing in his eyes.

“It’s not that I didn’t want you, Lucinda. It had nothing to do with you. It was me. I didn’t think... I couldn’t... .” His eyelids scrunched tightly closed.

The pain she saw in his face shocked her. “What is it, Rand?”

“When you came along, I had already lived so many years. I thought I was well past my prime. In fact, by my own reckoning, I was already an old man. I couldn’t reconcile that fact with the thought of,” he stroked her hand, “... of falling in love with a beautiful young wizard like you.”

She covered his hand with her own. “Rand, I understand what you’re saying. I... .” She shifted a little, averting her gaze from his. “I was concerned about the age difference between us, too.”

His eyes grew misty. “And as far as Love Bonds go, I’ve never quite trusted in Fate, Luce. I’ve seen things happen that have tested my faith.”

Lucinda understood having her faith tested. Her life hadn’t been exactly textbook. She wanted to tell him it was all right, that she had accepted the fact they would never form a Love Bond, but the tortured look in his eyes warned her to delve deeper.

“Rand, there’s something else, isn’t there?”

“I never felt I deserved you.”

She squeezed his hand. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Lucinda, there are things you don’t know. I... .” He drew his hand from hers. “I did something, long ago, before you were born. If you knew, you would understand.”

The agony in his eyes tore at her heart.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

He paced again.

“I wasn’t being fair to you. I hadn’t realized how much you needed that kind of love in your life. I had thought the friendship we shared would be enough, but... .”

An uneasy feeling prickled through her.

“Rand, are you telling me you want to... ?”

Did he really think he could consummate a Love Bond with her now? After all these years? Panic streaked through her heart.

How could she tell him that she knew they weren’t meant to be Bonded? If she rejected him now, it would be a major blow to his self-esteem.

He pulled his shoulders back and drew his head high. “Is it really so unthinkable?”

“No, it’s not that,” she replied hurriedly. “It’s just that... well, this is so sudden.”

She stared into his eyes, trying to read his feelings. Was he just doing this to keep her away from Nyte or did he truly feel a closer connection with her than she’d always believed?

“Rand, are you serious? Do you really feel this way about me?”

She loved Rand, there was no question of that, but to be lovers?

Rand leaned toward her and she knew he was going to kiss her. As his lips touched hers gently, almost reluctantly, her eyes fluttered closed. At first it was a sweet, friendly kiss that held no magic. But suddenly, she felt a tingling through her whole body and... the kiss changed.

The world swayed precariously and she felt as though she were going to fall. His arms came around her and the heat that raced through her body shocked her.

She couldn’t be feeling this for Rand!

His lips moved persuasively on hers and she felt a growing need build inside her.

This was outrageous!

She didn’t want to hurt him, but she couldn’t let this go on. She pushed him away, gently but firmly.

“Rand, I--”

Midnight eyes stared into her own. It was Nyte, not Rand, who held her in his arms.

Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Nyte!”

She glanced around and realized she was in her own living room. “How did I get back here?” She felt certain Rand had not returned her, especially at that particular moment.

His eyes darkened to onyx hardness. “You thought it was Randalph kissing you?”

She hesitated, confused feelings swirling through her head like colored leaves caught in an autumn breeze. Rand had kissed her. Rand wanted a different kind of relationship with her. The kind he thought they were supposed to have had all along.

“I thought he was just a friend,” Nyte demanded.

“I never said Rand was just a friend.” The words came out even and flat. She knew she should be bristling at his proprietary tone, but shock still gripped her at Rand’s suggestion.

Nyte’s eyes flashed. “Why was he kissing you?”

Indignation broke through the shell encasing her. She pushed out of his arms. “That’s really none of your business.”

“Considering what we were about to do when you disappeared, I’d say I have a right to know.”

She saw the intense emotion in his eyes. He deserved an explanation. She just didn’t know how to give it.

“Nyte, you’ve got to understand. Rand is my mentor and he believed... we both always thought... .”

“That you would form a Love Bond with him?” he demanded.

Her eyes widened.

“You know about that?”

He grasped her shoulders, a little too tightly.

“Believe me, Lucinda, you are not meant to bond with him. You are meant to bond with me. You know that but for some reason you’re fighting it, lying to yourself.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. Nothing works right with me. I had a textbook mentor relationship with Rand, except for the fact there was no spark between us. Now with you... .” She glanced at the mesmerizing intensity of his ebony eyes.

“You can’t deny we have the spark.”

She pulled out of his grasp, then stepped toward the couch.

“How can I trust that? Nothing else about this mentor relationship makes sense.”

She leaned on the back of the couch, her fingers digging into the plush upholstery. The weight of her dilemma felt planetary in scale. She didn’t want to hurt Rand. She didn’t want to hurt Nyte.

And she didn’t want to be hurt.

His hands stroked over her shoulders, squeezing gently with reassurance, his thumbs pressing on her muscles with a firm, circling motion. Stress eased from her a little.

“It doesn’t have to make sense.” His words whispered across her ear. His hands slid along her shoulders and warmth radiated through her. He drew her back against him. “Just feel.” His lips caressed her temple and she felt energy dance along her spine.

It would be so easy to just surrender. Turn into his arms. Give herself over to the need boiling inside her.

But she didn’t want to make a mistake.

“No.” She sidestepped out of his reach.

“You were already a wizard when I found you. I was only intended as someone who would help you back on your feet, to teach you what you’d forgotten. Once you get your memory back, you won’t need me any more.”

“That’s not true.”

Her fists clenched by her side and she turned to face him.

“Nyte, I know you believe we are meant to be together.” She paced. “With your amnesia, you don’t remember, but... you were bonded to someone else.”

Nyte’s face curled into a scowl.

“Randalph has been filling your head with lies.” He tugged her around to face him. Anger rippled from him in waves. “Don’t you understand? He dragged you out of here to seduce you into his bed, to convince you that you belong to him--”

She thrust her chin up. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

With a fierce expression, he grasped her shoulders. “Yes, you do. You belong to me.”

“No,” she denied even though her body seemed to pulse at his closeness.

He sucked in a deep breath and softened his voice. “And I belong to you.” He stroked her cheek, a gentle caress despite the raging feelings she sensed surging through him.

“Lucinda, I was born long ago, just as Randalph told you.” Turbulent emotion stormed through his eyes. “Something went wrong. I was not... available when you were born, so Randalph was called in my place. Just as you were called to help me when I reappeared. Our bond is real.”

Emotions bubbled within her like fizz in a shaken pop can. She felt like she would explode any minute. She broke away from his hold. “How can you possibly know that?”

He dragged her into his arms. “When you’re an adult wizard who has been denied your life mate, you feel a deep, dark emptiness that you know will only be filled when you join with that special person. You feel a rightness between you that transcends understanding. You anticipate a sense of completeness that will echo through the chasm of time and heal your innermost scars.” He cupped her face between his hands, his touch tender yet potent. “Listen to your body now.”

His lips joined with hers and the swelling tide of desire that rose in her crushed the breath from her. She backed away from him. Somehow, he’d found a way to put into words exactly what she’d been feeling.

Frightening emotions churned through her and began falling into alignment. The pattern they formed disturbed her. She shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts into some comprehensible order.

“You feel it, Lucinda, I know you do, but you’re fighting it. Listen to your heart.”

Her heart? It told her to throw herself into Nyte’s arms, but maybe it wasn’t love that drew her to Nyte, but a basic, physical need. Lust could drive away common sense. It could lure her down the wrong path. A path filled with pain.

Nyte watched the confusion spiraling in Lucinda’s eyes. He wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her until she surrendered to the need that held them both captive. But he needed her to accept the rightness of the situation. And more, he wanted her to want him.

The hazy look in her eyes crystallized and she turned to meet his gaze. A disturbing sense of distance chilled him. He stepped forward, intent on closing the gap.

She held up her hand and he stopped. “I-I need some time. To think about all of this.”

His gut clenched painfully. “You’re going to go to him, aren’t you?”

Guilt cracked the edges of her composure. She linked her hands together in front of her and started to pace.

“Try to understand, Nyte. He and I have known each other a long time. He’s very important to me. I need to discuss this with him. He’ll help me sort it out.”

Her sense of loyalty to Randalph was fierce.

For the first time, Nyte understood the immense power she controlled, for only a very strong wizard could block herself from the overwhelming force of a Love Bond.

She was too damned strong for her own good, and his. And she allowed Randalph to influence her too much. If she went to Randalph, he would confuse her further, delaying her from accepting her true destiny. To be by Nyte’s side.

He would not allow Randalph that power.

Chapter 12

“I’ve got to go, Nyte. Please understand.” She concentrated on Rand’s living room, then raised her hands and flicked them down her sides, a little flourish she always used while teleporting.

Nothing happened.

Stunned, she glanced around and saw she still stood in the same place.

“You aren’t going anywhere.” Nyte’s words cut across her confusion. A look of dark determination shadowed his taut features.

She scowled, then tried again, with the same lack of results.

A chilly thought quivered through her. Her magic had been blocked at Delphi, now again here, and she didn’t like the feeling. She tried again. When it still didn’t work, her breathing tightened. What was happening?

“I won’t let you go to him, Lucinda.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. A sick feeling coiled deep in her stomach. Nyte was blocking her? To do that, he must have regained his powers. And that meant... .

“You have your memory back?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes.”

Alarm skittered through her. If he could block her teleportation spell, he must be very powerful. In fact, much more powerful than her. Her hands started to tremble and she clasped them together.

She had to get control of herself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It happened this afternoon. That’s why I left. I needed time to think.”

She nodded. “I see.” Anger shot through her. “So now that you have full use of your powers again, you decided to exercise them by imprisoning me in my own house?”

At least he had the grace to look guilty. “I can’t allow you to go running to Rand every time you have a question about our relationship. He is determined to poison your mind against me.”

She glared at him. “You can’t allow?” Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, her fingernails digging into the heels of her hands. “You have no right to keep me here.”

“You’re right. I have a better place in mind.”

Anxiety crept through her as he grasped her arm and she felt the pull of space yet again. Damn it! She was starting to feel like a yo-yo!

Pressing her hand against her chest, she took a moment to take a breath and look around her surroundings. It was very modern. Open and airy. Like something right out of a magazine.

High ceilings. Soft, rainbow colors. The delineation between the large living and dining room was a sunken floor rather than a wall.

A profusion of greenery filled the rooms with a natural, revitalizing energy: a huge fern in a stand beside the buffet, spider plants hanging in the corners, and bright, flowering fuchsia spraying across the surface of a side table by the wall. All plants Merlin would love to munch on.

Then her gaze caught on the view.

As lovely as the inside was, the whole thing seemed background to the enormous window overlooking a glittering ocean, with white beach stretching as far as she could see.

“This is somewhere you’ll be safe,” Nyte said.

She tugged her arm from his grasp. “From whom?”

“From Rand. He can’t influence you here.”

“Do you mean he can’t contact me?”

“He can’t contact you and he can’t steal you away. While you’re here, he won’t be able to interfere.”

She stared at him warily. “Interfere. With what?”

“I intend to convince you that we’re right for each other.”

She jammed her hands on her hips. “You’ve dragged me off to some secluded hideaway to seduce me?”

“I didn’t say I brought you here to make love, although--” He curled a lock of her blond hair round his finger.

She snatched it away. “You had no right to bring me here.”

His eyebrows slanted downward. “But Rand can drag you off any time he wants?” His voice sounded low and dangerous. He seethed with barely suppressed anger.

So what? She was pretty mad herself.

She twirled away and strode across the room. “I won’t stay here.”

“I know you’re not used to anyone being able to stop you,” he said, patience stretching his words, “but you’ll have to get used to the idea that I am stronger than you.”

The thought absolutely terrified her, but she shoved the fear aside. She grasped the filmy curtains tied at the sides of the window and stared out at the crashing waves.

“This is how you try to convince me we’re meant to be together? First you bring me here against my will, and now you’re threatening me?”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m simply stating the facts.”

She turned and glared at him. “Let me go this instant!”

He folded his arms across his chest. “No.”

She let out a sharp breath.

“I am leaving!”

If she couldn’t teleport, then she’d walk. She stomped across the room to the door and twisted the knob, but it would not turn. She focused her energy and attempted to unlock the door with magic, and when that didn’t work, she tried to break it open with a burst of energy. Nothing.

She seethed as she glared at him on the way to a window a few feet to the left. She grabbed the handle and tugged upward, but it didn’t budge. Neither did magic move it. She stomped to the high table behind the couch, grabbed a lamp, and flung it at the picture window. No luck. It simply bounced off the glass and landed on the carpeted floor, intact.

“You’ll tire yourself, Lucinda.”

She spun around to face him, and flung a lightning bolt in his direction. His eyes widened, but the bolt whizzed past him and struck the wall. She hadn’t aimed at him. Well, not directly, though she had wanted to scare him.

And judging from his pale cheeks, she had succeeded. She didn’t take time to analyze why knowing that gave her no satisfaction.

Her intent had been to inject a hole through the wall, hoping Nyte had only thought of reinforcing the normal exits with magic, but the bolt of electricity hit the wall and flared into a shower of harmless sparks.

Just her luck--he was very thorough.

Lucinda felt drained. It seemed that every time she tried to use her magical energy, she felt the power surge through her as usual, but seemed to lose it before she could shape it to her needs. It was as though it were being siphoned off.

Lucinda realized she was getting tired. Every attempt to use magic seemed to drain her even more.

She turned to him, her fists clenched at her sides. “How are you doing this?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “You are very strong, Lucinda, but I am stronger.”

Damn him. At a loss as to what to try next, she glanced around aimlessly. Anxiety made her stomach churn. She had never felt this helpless before. It must have shown in her face because Nyte’s expression turned to one of concern and he stepped toward her.

“Lucinda--”

She swung towards him and cried out, “Why are you doing this to me? I tried to help you. Why do you want to hurt me like this?” Her voice sounded strained and near the breaking point. She sucked in some air and tried to calm herself.

Gently, he grasped her shoulders. “I’ll never hurt you.” His voice was soft and persuasive.

She wanted to believe him, but how could she? He’d made her a prisoner. He had the strength to overpower her--and would use it. Panic quivered through her, stealing her breath.

“Then let me go!”

His touch, his closeness, sent her way off balance. She tried to move back but he held on.

“No. I need to convince you that--”

“You won’t convince me of anything holding me prisoner here, except that Rand is right about you.”

The softness in his eyes burned away to glittering, granite hardness. “That’s the way it will always be, isn’t it? When it’s his word against mine, you’ll believe him every time.”

She shuddered at the scrutiny of those cold eyes. “I’ve known him for a very long time and I trust him.”

“And you don’t trust me?”

She held his gaze evenly. “You haven’t given me any reason to, have you?”

The air shimmered with his suppressed anger.

“I suggest you get some sleep, Lucinda,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’ll talk again when we’re both calmer.”

She felt that very familiar push again and found herself in a spacious bedroom. With a locked door, she soon discovered. Another door she couldn’t open with magic.

“I can walk you know!” she screamed, then kicked the door.

She glanced around the large room. A huge four poster bed with the bedclothes and canopy in a pattern of rich jewel tones dominated the room. Sapphire. Jade. Amethyst. A white marble fireplace stretched along one wall and a dresser with a large beveled mirror on another. A sitting area of two blue love seats, covered with throw cushions the same pattern as the bedclothes, and a huge bouquet of assorted flowers on a low square table occupied the far end of the room.

She flopped onto the bed, more exhausted than before. Sleep was the best thing for her. It would recharge her batteries. Tomorrow, she would devise a plan to escape from here, but right now it was too much to even contemplate. Thinking required way too much energy.

She tried to conjure up some sleepwear but even that didn’t work. Sighing, she pushed herself off the bed and glanced around the room. The dresser caught her attention. Maybe she’d find something in there.

She searched through all six drawers, but found nothing even close to her favorite oversized grey sweatshirt. She returned to the second drawer, which was full of lingerie. She lifted pieces out, one by one, and quickly discarded them. Staring at the skimpy, scraps of satin and lace littering the top of the dresser, she wondered if Nyte had found her Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogue.

Finally, she picked up a slinky royal blue number, the most conservative of the lot, and changed into it. The bodice was a slightly stretchy fabric which conformed to the contours of her breasts like a second skin. Very sexy. If she wanted to seduce a man, this was the kind of thing she’d wear.

But she didn’t. She slid under the covers and pulled them up to her neck.

She’d gone years without any man showing the least interest in her and now all of a sudden two wanted her. She was still in shock about Rand. How could she convince him they weren’t right for each other without hurting him?

Despite her roiling emotions, she fell asleep within minutes. She dreamed of a dragon climbing into bed with her which turned into Rand who was then pursued by Death who turned into Nyte.

Then Nyte was kissing her and nothing else mattered. His hands awakened her body, his kisses illuminated her soul. Naked skin to naked skin, she found a depth of meaning to life she’d never known before. A feeling of completeness approaching bliss. When he took her to those dreamy heights of star bursts and comets, she cried out his name.

* * * *

“Lucinda?”

Her eyes fluttered open and a face, obscured by darkness, stared down at her. Her body felt hot and slick. And very needy.

“Lucinda, are you all right?”

Nyte’s voice.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Her voice sounded almost like a purr. It must have been a dream--Nyte holding her, stroking her. Only a dream, but she wanted it to be real. Her body ached for his touch.

“You cried out.”

Yes. He had filled her with pleasure and she’d moaned his name. The memory of that intense, shattering experience sent goose bumps quivering across her flesh. She slid her arms over her head and stretched, reveling in the tingling excitement washing over every part of her.

“Just a dream,” she murmured, a note of regret in her voice.

He knelt beside her and stroked her hair from her eyes. His touch sent her already sensitized skin thrumming with pleasure. The comforter had slipped to her waist and she felt his gaze wander over her moonlit shoulders then down to her breasts.

“I see.” He smiled and eased closer, his lips only a breath away. “It sounded like a very exciting dream.”

His hand trailed across her shoulders and down her neck. Her nerve endings tingled at his touch. The memory of anger curled through the edges of her awareness, but the delicious feeling of desire brushed it away. Her eyelids dropped closed and she arched her chest upward, longing for his touch. He groaned, then she felt his hands cup her breasts. The incredible sensation of his warm palms surrounding her ignited the long suppressed yearning within her.

She couldn’t contain herself. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, pressing her mouth to his. Her lips moved with a passion that surprised them both. She needed him closer, so she tugged him onto the bed with her. As his bare chest slid across her body her nipples thrust outward, burning through the satin fabric and he groaned again.

He scooped his arms around her and pulled her to a sitting position, then flattened his hands on each side of her face and eased his mouth away, denying her the tingling excitement of his lips.

“Lucinda, tell me what you want.” The words came out strained and hoarse.

Wasn’t it obvious? She curled her fingers around the back of his head into the silky mass of his hair and drew him forward again, seeking the exhilaration of his mouth on hers again. She moved her lips persuasively, pushing her tongue forward to plunder his inner warmth. He responded enthusiastically. She slid her hands down his hard chest, past the rippled muscles of his stomach, then glided over the enormous bulge straining against his briefs. Her insides melted at the thought of slipping her fingers beneath the flimsy fabric and stroking his rigid, pulsing erection. Thoughts of it sliding inside her, catapulting her to ecstasy caught her breath like wool dragged across course sandpaper. He grabbed her hands and tugged them away.

“Lucinda, I need to hear you say it. What do you want?”

She stared into his moonlit eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I want you.” She tugged her hands free and dropped one narrow strap of her nightgown off her shoulder. “I need you.” She dropped the other, watching him lick his lips as he watched her every move.

When she peeled away the clinging fabric, revealing her breasts the effect of the cool air, magnified by his burning gaze, caused her nipples to pucker. His eyes fell closed and he gulped. He opened them again and stared straight at her face. “Lucinda, I... .”

She took his hand and placed it on her bare breast. His warmth covering her felt incredible. His fingers tightened around her and her nipple peaked into his palm. She hooked her hands around his neck and pressed her forehead against his.

“Nyte, I want you to make love to me.” She arched against his hand. “Please.”

The words seemed to unleash something in him. Whatever control he’d been wielding, collapsed in an instant. She felt herself propelled backwards onto the bed.

His lips surrounded her nipple and exquisite pleasure rippled through her.

“Oh, Nyte.”

His hand found her other breast and the alternate sensations of moist on one side, dry on the other, claimed her entire attention. She lived in the peaks of her breasts. All pleasure came from those two points.

Until his other hand started to move.

Down her belly.

Past her navel.

Curling around into her warmth.

She arched her lower body, desperate for more. He slid his finger the length of her moist opening and she moaned.

“You’re ready for me, sweetheart. As ready as I am for you.”

His mouth moved to hers, his tongue sliding between her lips and thrusting inside.

“I’ve waited so long for you, Lucinda. More centuries than I’d care to count.” He sounded as breathless as she felt. His lips traversed a gentle path across her cheek, then he kissed her temple. “I can’t wait to join with you. To complete our bond and banish this aching emptiness.” He nuzzled her ear as he shifted over her. “Next time will be slow, I promise.”

She felt his hot, rigid penis slide across her thighs, then press against her opening.

This was it! In a moment, all barriers between them would be gone.

Despite the intensity of the pleasure he invoked in her, she tensed.

“Nyte, wait, I--”

She felt his muscles tense.

“Wait?” He dipped down to her breast and trailed his tongue over her nipple. Need sizzled through her. “Do you really want me to stop?”

No, oh God, no.

But she had to tell him of her inexperience. Being a passionate fan of romance novels, she knew that a man usually got upset if he didn’t know about his lover’s virginal status until after the fact. And if he did know, he became very protective and tender--which Nyte already was--but she wanted her initiation into the world of experienced women to be slow and gentle, and the fire blazing between them threatened that prospect. The major flaw in her plan was that she’d seen more than one hero back off at this point.

She hoped this one didn’t.

She clung to him. “I absolutely do not want you to stop. I just... .”

The tension in his shoulders flowed away and he smiled his cocky grin, which did little to fuel her confidence in what she had to say. He was so sure of himself. She felt way out of her depth in every way with him.

His grin ebbed and he slid his hands to her face, grasping it between his warm fingers and gazing deeply into her eyes.

“What is it, little one? What are you trying to tell me?”

“I... uh... well, you see I’ve never... .”

His expression was intent. She trailed her hands over his and guided them away from her face, needing a little distance. His fingers twined with hers and he waited patiently for her explanation.

“I know this may be hard to believe but... this will be the first time I’ve ever made love.”

“The first time?” He smiled broadly. “I had guessed as much.”

“Is that a crack?” she demanded, uncertainty skittering through her.

He cradled her face in his hands again, staring at her through eyes lit with an inner glow, then he kissed her gently. “Not at all.”

She shifted a bit, stretching out one leg. “Good, because... well, I don’t take intimacy lightly.”

His arms scooped around her and pulled her close to him again, his lips grazing her cheek. “I know. And I’ve been insensitive.” He planted a long, quivering trail of kisses down her cheek and along her neck. Her nipples tightened painfully. “I want to make this very special for you.”

“It will be,” she responded huskily, slipping her arms around his neck, anxious to continue.

He disengaged himself gently from her embrace.

“No, I mean really special.”

He swept one arm through the air. Lucinda watched his hand as it moved and saw the room change, as though his hand washed the room in a white light. All the bright, jewel tones faded and around her now was a sparkling white room. The bedclothes were white silk, the comforter boasting an intricate white on white pattern screaming of femininity. A canopy of soft, gauzy cloth swept over the bed and billowed down the corner posts.

The wall opposite the bed was almost completely glass, overlooking a breathtaking ocean view, the surf rolling in over the white, sandy beach. The sun, fat and orange, hung over the horizon as though suspended, flirting with the waves below. The sky blended from periwinkle blue to dark indigo, while oranges and pinks and yellows laced the cotton clouds along the way. The white room reflected the crystalline colors and Lucinda felt awash in the beauty of the sunset.

“It’s lovely.” Lucinda sighed. As she leaned forward to see more of the vista outside, she felt the pull of fabric on her arms and realized her gown had changed. She rose and examined the white, diaphanous outfit she now wore. The sleeves were long and loose, as was the body, and it flowed fluidly to the floor. It was white, but certainly not virginal. It covered her from neck to toe, but the fabric was so sheer, she might as well have been naked. As Nyte’s gaze traveled the length of her body, she felt a tightening inside that whispered urgent need.

“So are you,” he whispered. “Come here.”

He stood and opened his arms. She went to him willingly, accepting him as the day accepts the night.

He wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her in pure bliss. She had never felt so cherished. As her lips found his, her need for him became almost painful.

He scooped her into his arms, then laid her on the bed. As he sat beside her, his dark eyes glimmering in the light of the setting sun, a profound feeling of rightness swept through her.

He smiled and parted the front of her gown. Then his smile transformed to a look of wonder as his gaze caressed her body, from neck to toe, then back again.

“You are so beautiful.” The awe in his voice made her quiver with pleasure.

She reached up and touched his cheek, needing to feel him. He cupped his hand around hers, pressing her fingers against his whisker roughened skin. When he shifted his mouth to her palm, she sucked in a breath then sighed at the exquisite tingle of his lips on her flesh.

His hair swept across her chest like the whisper of black silk and she tangled her fingers through it and drew him toward her. Her lips parted as his neared. When they touched, she circled her arms around him, and arched her body to his. The feel of his hard, warm chest pressed against her sensitized breasts made her gasp. He flicked his tongue into her mouth and she met it eagerly. Moist flesh entwined with moist flesh, sending her pulse escalating to the stars.

More. She needed so much more.

As though hearing her silent plea, he shifted his mouth to nuzzle the base of her throat and his hands captured her breasts. Then he moved lower and his mouth claimed one peak. She moaned, aroused by the enchanting thrill of it. He teased her nipple with his tongue then drew it deep into his mouth. The tip throbbed with pleasure.

He moved to the other, his fingers keeping the first entertained. Soon she lost coherent hold on time, caught up in the pleasurable rhythm of his welcome onslaught. His mouth moved downward, his breath and the delicate feel of his lips caressing her ribs, followed by the whisper touch of his long, silky hair, sent tingles prancing across her skin. He dabbed his tongue into her navel, then continued in a southward progression. As his mouth moved over her private curls, part of her felt a blushing need to pull him back up, away from her most intimate place, but the rest of her took a quick vote and overrode what was clearly a minority suggestion.

At the last minute, he detoured sideways, then down her thigh, to her knee, sending delicious sensations curling through her lower body. As he moved upward along her inner thigh, her legs eased open, allowing him easy access. He kissed and licked the sensitive flesh at the top of her thigh, then moved down her other thigh to her knee, then back up again. Her insides screamed for him to get to it. She wanted attention front and center right now. As he neared her moist opening, she arched her lower body in anticipation. He licked her and she cried out. His devastating tongue slipped inside her briefly--too briefly--then slid the length of her inner labia, first one side, then the other. He lapped at the moist folds of flesh, then drew them into his mouth and she moaned her pleasure. His hands caressed her hips, then he slid one hand to her moistness. As his tongue slipped in and out of her, his finger found her clitoris and brushed against the sensitive, intensely pleasurable spot, working powerful magic on her senses.

“Oh, Nyte. Yes.”

He smiled up at her, then shifted his tongue to her clit while slipping two fingers inside her. He swirled and pulsed against her nub, alternately licking, sucking and tapping with the tip of his devilish tongue until the sensations built to the point where she knew she’d explode. She grasped his head, tangling her fingers in his flowing hair, an upsurge of pleasure pulsing through her. Her every sense focused on the fluttery, thrumming delight radiating from his touch. He thrust against her clit again, catapulting her to ecstasy.

The long trailing moan that erupted from her throat fueled her ride to heaven.

Once her breathing slowed a little, she became aware of the warmth of Nyte’s body stretched out beside her. She felt something twined around her legs and realized she still wore the white gown. She shimmied out of it and tossed it onto the floor, then shifted onto her back again, smiling up at Nyte.

“Now what?” she asked, stretching her body in as enticing a manner as she could.

He kissed her, then prowled over her.

“Now I think we’re ready for this.”

She felt his long, hot erection fall across her stomach.

“Wait a second,” she murmured. “I want to touch you.”

She’d never handled a real penis and it fascinated her. She reached down between them and wrapped her fingers around it. It was bigger around than her wrist and as long as Merlin’s tail. She ran her fingertip around the underside of the mushroom-shaped head.

“Oh, baby, I love that,” he rumbled.

She stroked the length of him, pumping his flesh up and down, mesmerized by how the skin moved over the steel-hard muscle beneath.

He grabbed her wrist.

“Sweetheart, I can’t take any more of that. I’d love you to satisfy your curiosity--anytime, but now.”

She drew her hand away and kissed along his jawline, then smiled.

“Alright, as long as you have some other way to entertain me.”

His eyes sparked with devilish intent.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage.”

He pressed the tip of his enormous rod against her slick opening, then slowly sank into her a couple of inches, then paused. The feeling of being stretched by the hot, bulbous head of his massive penis intoxicated her. He kissed her.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Mmm. Wonderful.”

She felt no pain and she was certain Nyte and his magic had something to do with that.

He pushed forward again, slowly, allowing her body to adapt, until they were fully joined, his shaft totally immersed in her depths. He watched her face, his midnight eyes intent, filled with strong, sobering emotion, drawing her gaze like a magnet. Slowly, he drew back, his penis caressing her vagina with exquisite pleasure. As he pushed forward again, she raised her pelvis to meet him. He made several more slow strokes, then increased his rhythm. His compelling gaze remained locked with hers as his smooth strokes transformed to deep thrusts. She wrapped her legs around him, opening wider to allow him deeper access.

Her desire escalated to a raging urgency that demanded satisfaction.

Despite the waves of passion pounding through her body, she was awed by the ethereal quality of the experience. It was as though she lived it on several planes of reality at once.

As his penis plunged into the depths of her body, she clung to him, crying out his name on a ribbon of sound. His soul entwined with hers as pleasure swept her away. Her senses expanded into infinite, timeless bliss.

As they mounted the peak of ecstasy, Nyte called out to her, “Lucinda, my love, never leave me.”

The powerful need in his voice stunned her, but then she slipped over the edge to paradise, and felt the long, sweet free fall of release.

Afterward, he cradled her close, holding her against the side of his long, lean body. Nyte had loved her as though she were a celestial being he only had one chance to capture with his gentle persuasion, but he had no need to worry. Lucinda knew she had been changed forever by this man. She would never stop needing him.

She sighed in contentment and surrendered to sleep, secure in the warmth of his embrace.

Chapter 13

Lucinda woke up to the feel of Nyte’s strong, warm body pressed against her back, his arms snugly around her waist. Erotic images of their night of passion bounded through her brain. Lingering sensations flitted across her nerve endings like a firefly across a meadow. His palm pressed flat against her belly, his fingertips grazing her ribs.

Her body began to tingle everywhere his body contacted hers, starting at his fingertips, trembling across her stomach, around her hips, then the length of her body, until she was a mass of quivering need. Her breasts swelled, her nipples pushing erect, hungering for his touch.

She wanted to turn around and press against him, to seduce him into another bout of passionate lovemaking.

At least, her body wanted to do that, but the logical, almost-thinking side of her wanted to consider what had happened. To figure out exactly what it meant.

She had formed a Love Bond with Nyte, and that thought absolutely terrified her.

She had to get a little distance from him so she could think. She eased forward, trying to slip out of his arms, but he tightened them.

“Where are you going, little one?” His words, deep and husky, rumbled from his chest.

“I... uh, think it’s time to get up.”

He nuzzled the back of her neck with his lips and she felt tingles dance the length of her spine. Despite urging to the contrary, her muscles relaxed. His fingers slid up her rib cage to the bottom of her breast. As he cupped her, her nipple puckered in delightful readiness.

“Why?” he asked.

She couldn’t think of a single reason. Good or bad.

He shifted, easing her onto her back. Propped on his side, he gazed down at her, his eyes burnished ebony. She exhaled and couldn’t quite capture another breath as the sight of him filtered through her raw senses. Sunlight touched his face with warmth, like a brush of gold across his strong features. The crinkles around his eyes reflected the radiance of his smile.

It was as though a light had turned on inside his heart and glowed through every part of him.

This man had touched her in many ways last night, physical being the least important, if not the most spectacular. She felt a longing for him deep in her soul. She wanted to know his presence beside her always. She wanted to bear his children, a concept she had never even considered before.

He stroked the tip of her chin. “Do you know you are absolutely glowing?”

“Am I?” If her glow matched his, she must be luminous.

He kissed the sensitive flesh below her ear. His long hair flowed like a black river of silk, the ends swirling across her chest. She ran her fingers through it, drawing it back over his shoulder. He touched her cheek with his fingertips and smiled. The warmth and openness radiating from him took her breath away.

How had she endured all this time without knowing him? Without having him near? And if something were to happen to him--

The thought struck a chord of fear within her, vibrating to the depths of her soul. He might be a wizard who wouldn’t die, but she sensed he had the power to travel further than she could ever imagine. If he ever wanted to leave her, he could go where she could never follow.

The memory of yesterday, when Nyte had disappeared jolted through her like a lightning bolt of sheer agony.

She had suffered the loss of so many people over the years. The memory of Jerrick, her youngest and dearest sibling, weak and old on his deathbed, shriveled her heart. When he’d died, she had never felt so alone.

She’d lost something of herself that day. If anything ever happened to Nyte... if he ever left her... How would she ever survive it?

“Lucinda, what is it?” He stroked her cheek with gentle fingers.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she slid her arms around his neck and drew him close. She clung to him, the only thought in her head that he could fill the aching emptiness within her.

She pressed her lips to his neck and murmured, “Nyte, I need you.” His arms tightened around her. “Make love to me.”

He eased her back and stared into her tear-soaked eyes. “Of course, little one.” He kissed the tears from her eyes but his tender touch only triggered more. “But why are you crying?”

“Because I need you so much.” And that thought frightened her more than she could ever explain.

Nyte smiled. She needed him. Pleasure soared within him. She had finally come to accept the Bond and at the joy of it she had swelled into tears.

He took her lips in fevered joy. Her body responded to his immediately, her nipples hardening against his chest, pressing into him like hard little pebbles. Urgency surged through him, blood rushing to his groin. His penis swelled in need. He shifted his lips to her breast, drawing the peak deep into his mouth. She gasped. His erection pulsed, already at full mast. He stroked his hand down her belly to her center, but her hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Please, don’t let her want to stop. He didn’t think he would survive stopping now.

He glanced at her face. The glazed, needy look in her eyes told him that wouldn’t happen. She planted her hand on his shoulder and pushed until he lay flat on his back. She prowled over him and sat on his hips, cradling his cock in warmth. It swelled harder, knowing her waiting moistness sat only inches away.

She leaned forward and he felt her hair pool across his chest in cool waves, then her warm mouth surrounded his left nipple. She lapped it with her tongue, then sucked. His mouth went dry. Her fingers toyed with his other nipple while she drove him crazy with her teeth and tongue.

He stroked his hands through her hair, the silken strands tangling around his fingers as he gathered it up so he could see her lovely face.

Oh, God, he wanted her. He needed to feel her warmth surrounding him, drawing him deep into the center of her being. He stroked his hands across her bare shoulders.

Her hand slid down his belly and wrapped around his erection. At the tantalizing feel of her soft hands on him, the pounding of his pulse quadrupled and all his blood seemed to bolt toward her touch, until he thought he’d burst.

She leaned forward and licked the edges of his lips, then kissed him, moving her mouth enthusiastically on his. Her tongue curled around his then and she sucked it into her mouth. He groaned, then swirled inside her, tasting her sweetness.

She drew back and gave him a wicked smile, then she slid down his legs and kissed his navel, then placed butterfly kisses down his belly to the left of his cock. It bolted upward, then fluttered in need. She continued down his thighs, then kissed inward and up, stopping below his balls, driving him insane. She kissed and licked, then continued across the other thigh, then up to his navel again, never touching his erratically twitching penis. Oh, God, he wanted to feel her mouth on him.

He almost jolted through the ceiling when he felt the first delicate touch of her lips on the tip of him. Her tongue lapped over the small opening, as though tasting him. She pushed herself up on her hands, cradling a clear droplet on the tip of her outstretched tongue, and leaned forward to kiss him. Her tongue swirled into his mouth sharing with him the salty taste.

“Sit on the bed,” she murmured as she stood up. He followed her instructions and she kneeled in front of him.

She grinned and slid her hands down his chest, leaving one to tease his nipple as the other continued downward to his steely-hard erection. She lifted it and licked his shaft, from base to tip, then swirled around the head. Cupping his balls and lifting their weight in her hands, she admired them as she licked downward again. With her lips, she nibbled his testicles lightly.

He moaned as she drew one inside, cradling it in the hot interior of her mouth. Slowly, she drew in the other, then pulsed her tongue, gently squeezing his balls against the roof of her mouth.

“Oh, God,” he groaned.

Her hands wrapped around his penis and she stroked, sliding skin over hard muscle. She released him, lapped the length of his cock, then swallowed the head. She moved down, taking in as much of him as she could. Damp warmth on the top half, cool air on the bottom, until her hands wrapped around him and sealed him in heat. Her head bobbed up and down, her hands moving in pace. Her tongue swirled around the head, dabbing and cajoling, creating an intense ring of pleasure. One of her hands cupped his balls again. His groin contracted. He stroked his hand through her hair curling his fingers behind her head. The tightening intensified and he knew he would erupt in seconds.

“Lucinda, I’m going to--”

She nodded vigorously, clearly encouraging him. He relaxed into it, feeling the burning liquid stream through him, exploding into her waiting warmth, on his long, guttural groan.

It pulsed and pulsed, helped by the feel of her hands curled around his balls and her mouth squeezing his cock. Finally, his load emptied, he fell back on the bed. Lucinda followed suit and curled up beside him, a very satisfied grin on her face.

“Did you like that?”

“Absolutely.” He hugged her to his side.

She sighed deeply.

“I guess I should let you rest now.”

“Why do you say that?”

Her fingers curled around his limp member and she lifted it sadly, stroking it like a sick puppy.

“It looks a bit tired.”

He shifted his body so he lay fully on the bed, then he lifted her onto him, sitting her across his thighs.

“It won’t take much encouragement from you.”

He willed energy through his body, magnifying the effect of her hands stroking his cock. It rose before her eyes, reaching full height within seconds. He caressed her soft breasts, watching the nipples pucker. Sliding his hands down her sides, over the curve of her hips, then over her thighs, he reveled in the silkiness of her skin. He slipped his hand under her body and dipped into her moist opening.

“Mmm.” She shifted forward, allowing him to flick across her clit. She moaned.

She lifted her hips and he positioned his rod under her, then she lowered herself onto it, her hot moistness surrounding him with intense pleasure. How had he survived so long without her? Their physical joining had finally completed the link between them and he had never known such euphoria.

Love. He’d only known a shadow of the emotion before. The completeness of it filled his being with all the colors of the rainbow.

She leaned forward, offering her breast. He lapped the tip with his tongue, the pebble hardness exciting him to the straining point. She smiled and moved her hips in a circle, squeezing his cock inside her. She plucked at his nipples and turbulent spirals of need built in him. She lifted up, then eased down slowly and moaned softly. The sound of her pleasure nearly shot him to the edge. She lifted and lowered again, contracting tightly around him, causing magnificent friction along his ultra sensitive shaft. Her rhythm steadily increased until she pounded down on him in quick thrusts. He knew he wouldn’t survive a moment longer. At the next thrust, he exploded, erupting into her, the sweet agony of release augmented by the sound of his name on her lips in a long moan of pleasure as she joined him in orgasm.

Afterward, he held her against him, stroking her hair. His heart swelled with overwhelming emotion. Nothing had ever felt as sweet as holding this woman in his arms.

“Lucinda, I don’t know how I ever lived without you.”

Lucinda stiffened slightly, confusion swirling through her. His words, so closely echoing her own sentiments, disturbed her.

She had actually formed a Love Bond with Nyte, but he was not her mentor. A bond between them should not be possible.

Unless he was right about him being her mentor, not Rand.

It could be possible. He’d already shown himself to have superior powers to her. That thought, however, curled through her belly and tightened around her gut. She didn’t want him to be more powerful than her. She didn’t want him to be able to control her. Especially if they were bonded.

And what about Clarissa, the woman Rand told her Nyte had already bonded with?

The confusion of thoughts rebounding through her head like a ping-pong ball was starting to give her a headache. She pulled herself to a sitting position, materialized a robe around herself, then stood up.

It was time to get some answers.

“Nyte, since you have your memory back, I’d like you to explain a few things.”

His smile waned. “What do you want to know?”

She clasped her hands together and paced across the room.

“For one thing, I’d like to know about Clarissa.”

He pushed himself up against the pillows, his expression wary. “Clarissa? What did Rand tell you about her?”

“He told me you two were lovers.”

He folded his arms over the blanket. “I see. What else did he tell you?”

She averted her gaze from his. She couldn’t ask him about Rand’s accusation that he’d killed Clarissa.

She shrugged. “Not much.”

He pushed the covers aside and stood up. As he approached her, she felt her body stiffen. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Lucinda, don’t be jealous of my relationship with Clarissa. That was a long time ago. It’s over between us.”

His searching gaze threatened her composure.

She pushed his hands aside. “How can it be over? If she’s a wizard, she lives forever.”

Unless he’d killed her. Rand said he was powerful enough to kill other wizards, but she didn’t want to believe he would kill anyone, let alone someone he loved.

Trembling inside, she drew in a deep breath and shot out the question she knew she had to ask. “Where is she now?”

Pain clouded his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that. You’ll just have to believe me when I tell you she will never be a part of my life again.”

Numbness crept through her. His disturbing words made her wonder if Rand was right after all. Had Nyte killed Clarissa?

If so, she knew something must have happened to push Nyte over the edge, such that he hadn’t been in control of his actions. Something that would make him strike out in blind rage.

Like finding out Rand had been having an affair with her.

“Nyte,” she started, but her throat--clenched too tightly--barely released the word. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Nyte, tell me what happened between you and Rand. Why do you hate him so?”

He stared at her for a long moment. She barely breathed as she sensed a dark conflict playing out within him.

He sighed, then stepped to the window as though seeking a retreat. As he slid open the glass, the salty tang of the ocean seeped in with the breeze. As Nyte stared outside, the curtains fluttered lightly and sunshine billowed into the room. Lucinda could hear the gentle ocean waves breaking onto the beach below.

The air around her felt lighter, as though he had beckoned the ocean breeze to clear out the stagnant energy from the past and allow it to flow and change.

“I never said I hated him.”

“You didn’t have to. Every time you two are in the same room I expect a major explosion--literally. I’m surprised you haven’t thrown a fireball at him.”

His long fingers curled around the white gauze curtains.

“Don’t do this, Lucinda. You’re dredging up memories I’d rather leave dormant.”

She clenched her fists in frustration. “But I need to know.” She stepped closer. “Rand has always been the most important person in my life.”

His back stiffened. Of course, he didn’t like hearing that. She placed her hand on his forearm, resisting the temptation to stroke the taut muscles to relieve his tension.

“Until now.”

He turned to face her, his gleaming, dark eyes focused on her. The intensity of his stare burned through her.

“I need to understand why the two men in my life are so at odds,” she insisted.

His continuing silence and the way he stared at her with that unreadable expression made her uncomfortable. Her stomach churned and she slowly withdrew her hand.

He caught it and drew it into the warmth of his own. “You might not like what I have to tell you.”

A crimp formed in her heart.

“I’ve held off telling you because... .” He seemed to carefully consider what he was about to say as he traced paths across the back of her hand with his fingertip.

“Because what?” she prompted.

He released her hand and scowled. The fierceness of it startled her. “Because, believe it or not, I didn’t want to destroy your image of him. You obviously have him on some kind of pedestal. To you, he’s the great, the wonderful, Randalph.”

He paced a few steps, then turned back to face her.

“When I see the admiration in your eyes, directed at him... .” His voice softened to a rough whisper. “I should have been your mentor. If it hadn’t been for... .” He clamped his eyes closed. “Damn!”

He spun away, turning his broad back toward her. As he walked to the window again with his long-legged stride, Lucinda couldn’t help noticing how much alike he and Rand were. The same stature, the same quality of movement, the same explosive arrogance. It must be something about the era that had shaped their youth. The two men had so many similarities. How could they possibly have wound up hating each other?

Dragging back the curtains, he stared at the horizon. Dark blue and hazy in the distance, it looked a million miles away. Lucinda could hear the gulls outside, like wounded creatures screeching in pain.

“Rand and I were very close once, did you know that? As close as you and he are now.”

She stepped to his side, sensing he needed her closeness.

“In fact, we shared a trust that surpassed the mentor-student relationship.” He gripped the curtain so tightly, she feared he would pull it down. “Or so I thought.”

“What happened, Nyte?” she asked softly. She couldn’t imagine anything that would destroy a trust as powerful as that.

Nyte turned to look at the little, blonde angel watching him. Her appearance, so much like a fairy tale creature, took a concerted effort to ignore. It would be so easy to misjudge her, to underestimate her fierce independence and keen intelligence.

Looking at her now, seeing her wide-eyed impatience to hear his tale, he wondered how he could possibly go on. No matter how much he would like to draw her from Randalph’s influence, he could not bear to break her heart. And hearing of Randalph’s capacity for treachery would do just that.

He strode away from the window. “No, it’s better that you don’t know.”

He felt her fingers dig into his arm as she grabbed him. “Oh, no, you don’t. I want to know exactly what happened.”

He turned on her then, his voice harsh. “Do you?”

Her eyes flared wide in surprise.

“Are you very sure about that?” He walked toward her at a steady pace and she backed away. “Do you really think you can handle it?”

Suddenly, she flattened her hands on his chest, stopping his forward motion. Determination lined her features. “Yes, I do.”

Damn. His cutting words had been directed more at Fate than her, but now he’d challenged her strength, the last thing he’d intended. He had been so worried about hurting her that he had almost done just that.

She held her ground, glaring at him, like a kitten facing a snarling wolf. A surge of admiration spiked through him. She certainly was a small package of fireworks, his Lucinda.

In this world, his power was unsurpassed. He had never faced a challenge he could not conquer. If he ever did, would he handle it with anywhere near the same courage as this woman?

“All right. I’ll tell you.” He settled down on the edge of the bed and sighed. The telling would not be easy. He closed his eyes and willed the winds of time to reverse and whisk his thoughts back thirteen centuries hence--yet less than a fortnight to his time-strewn brain. In the image that flared inside his head, Randalph’s eyes blazed brilliant blue. The same image emerged every time Nyte closed his eyes. Agony crept around him, scouring the edges of his consciousness, as his mind drew back into the past.

Randalph appeared behind him. Nyte spun around and saw the hellish anger on his face. At that moment, Nyte knew what Randalph intended, if not why. But no matter how his inner sense insisted, he could not believe it. Their gazes met and Randalph hesitated an instant.

The feel of Lucinda’s delicate fingers grazing his arm tore him from the memory. He opened his eyes and met her insistent gaze. She gripped his wrist tightly.

“Nyte, please. Tell me what happened.”

What happened? If Nyte had chosen to strike out at that moment of hesitation, things would have been different. But doing so without thought would have meant killing Randalph. Nyte could not have done that, even knowing how Randalph had turned on him.

He touched her cheek and felt the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He didn’t want to shatter her image of Randalph, but her need to know shimmered in the depths of her eyes. He drew on the memory to give him strength.

Suddenly, he felt himself engulfed in flames. His body melted and his mind fragmented. His thoughts and memories sizzled from the broken shell and quivered, then exploded, ricocheting through time and space.

“Nyte, what’s wrong?”

A woman’s insistent words and the feel of gentle hands clutching his shoulders gave him an anchor in the here and now. He opened his eyelids and leaned against the cold metal bedpost for support. Moisture beaded his forehead and clung to his chest. It took a moment to realize where he was, and with whom.

“My God, you look so pale.” Lucinda stroked his cheek. The feel of her soft fingers revived him a little.

He’d come so close to experiencing the same trauma, to losing himself again. He focused on Lucinda’s features, drawn tight in concern, and drew in a deep breath.

“Lucinda, Randalph murdered me.”

Chapter 14

“Rand? Killed you?”

The words seemed to sit on the outer edges of Lucinda’s brain, refusing to soak in. She stood staring at Nyte, her eyes wide.

First, Rand had told her Nyte killed Clarissa. Now, Nyte told her Rand killed him. Yet she couldn’t believe either of the two men she cared for so much would kill anyone.

“He threw a fireball at me, intent on destroying my body,” Nyte explained. “I call that murder.”

Nyte stood before her, alive and well now, but if Rand had done what Nyte claimed, before they knew wizards were immortal, his intent would have been murder.

She couldn’t imagine Rand, her mentor--the man who had taught her the strong ethical code by which she ran her life--taking any human life, let alone that of a friend.

“No, he couldn’t have.”

He took her hand and drew her close. “Lucinda, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

With him seated on the bed and her standing facing him, she looked down at his clear, onyx gaze. She couldn’t deny what she saw there.

Nyte would not lie to her.

The conclusion skittered across her nerve endings, sending her stomach into anxious flutters. Rand must have tried to kill Nyte. She sank onto the bed beside him.

“Why would he do such a thing?” Her words came out a hoarse whisper.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that many times since my memory returned.”

She stared at him, certain she hadn’t heard him right.

“You don’t know?” She pushed herself to her feet and paced. “You mean, he just showed up one day and killed you?”

“That’s right. I have no idea what triggered his attack.”

He had no idea? She couldn’t imagine Rand striking out at Nyte without making him painfully aware of the reason. Rand had always been very forthcoming. Rand must have assumed Nyte did know.

And Clarissa must have been the reason.

She turned toward him. “Could it have... something to do with... Clarissa?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask that?”

“Well, Rand told me... .” She hesitated. How could she possibly tell Nyte about Rand’s awful accusation?

He stood up and approached her. “He told you what, Lucinda?”

At her hesitation, he clasped his hands on her shoulders in a gentle but firm hold. “I really need to know.”

She nodded, then exhaled deeply. “He told me you killed Clarissa.”

His eyebrows arched upward. “What? That’s crazy.”

Lucinda’s comment stunned Nyte. Why would Randalph think such a thing? He knew how close Nyte and Clarissa had been.

Or had Randalph lied to Lucinda in a further attempt to turn her against him? He had certainly been doing his best to do so ever since Nyte had arrived. His fists clenched at his sides. But why? Why did Randalph hate him so?

A driving need to find Randalph tore through him. He needed answers to the disturbing questions pummeling his insides.

“Lucinda, I must go.” He strode toward the door and yanked it open.

She scurried after him. “Are you going to confront Rand?”

“I’m going to talk to him.”

He took the stairs two at a time and she did her best to keep up with him. In the living room, he conjured himself into some clothes--a black outfit with high boots and a long cape. He then zapped a fire in the fireplace and materialized a tray with a full breakfast of bacon and eggs plus all the trimmings on the round, glass coffee table.

She noticed the strips of bacon were crisp, but not black like the first breakfast she had cooked him. She raised her eyebrows. I guess he didn’t really believe I like it that way.

He took her elbow and guided her to the couch but she crossed her arms and refused to sit down.

“You’ll be comfortable here until I get back.”

He spun away, the long black cape he wore swirling around his legs, and strode toward the open space in front of the window.

“I’m going with you,” she said in a tight voice.

He turned back to face her. “No, you’re not.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to leave you and Rand together alone. I’m coming.”

His gaze turned dark and uncompromising. “And I said you’re not.”

He swirled his arm and disappeared. She raced upstairs and dragged on her clothes, then concentrated on Rand’s living room. She summoned her energy and pushed through space.

Or, at least, tried to. But nothing happened.

A sinking feeling washed through her, but she tried again.

Nothing happened.

Her chest tightened painfully as the realization set in.

Nyte still held her prisoner.

* * * *

Rand held the soapstone sculpture of a seal Lucinda had given him several years ago as a Christmas present. The cold, smooth stone sliding against his palm helped soothe his chaotic mood. She had told him the more he held it, the shinier it would become, because of the oil from his skin.

Luce liked that kind of thing. Stones. Crystals. Natural things. Handmade things.

She liked comfort. In her surroundings and in her clothes. She also liked things that weren’t good for her.

Like chocolate.

Like Nyte.

Smooth. Seductive. Dangerous to her health.

A surge of frustration jolted through him and he plunked the sculpture onto the mantel. Where in blazes was she?

He’d been trying to contact her for two days. Ever since she’d been dragged from his arms. He’d tried to pull her back immediately but had failed. Of course, he knew exactly who had interfered.

A bell rang.

It was not the hearty sound of his doorbell, but a vibrant bong inside his head. The sound dragged him back more than a millennium into the past. It was the sound wizards had used long ago to announce their presence at another wizard’s dwelling.

He tugged open the door and glared at the imposing figure standing on the other side.

Nyte.

Dressed exactly as he had been the last time Rand had seen him, before his advance into the present. When Rand had flung a fireball at him and ceased his existence. Temporarily as it turned out.

Long black cape. Black leather armor over black breeches. High black boots. A sword slung at his hip.

“Randalph, I have my memory back,” Nyte said.

Rand nodded. “I know.”

“We have things to discuss. May I come in?”

Rand’s chest compressed painfully and he felt as though a massive hand clutched his throat and tightened mercilessly, choking any words he might utter. He stared at the man he both hated and loved.

He didn’t want to let him in. He represented too much pain. Too much guilt. He wanted to shut Nyte out forever. Because facing Nyte meant facing his own worst nightmare.

The temptation to slam the door in Nyte’s face rushed through him, but he knew it would only be putting off the inevitable. Eventually, he would have to face him.

He sighed deeply and pushed the door open, then turned away and strode toward the fireplace on the other side of the room.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Nyte.

Rand heard the door close, then a moment later, felt Nyte’s presence behind him. Strong. Overwhelming in his sense of authority.

Well, he would not cower. He swung around to face Nyte.

“What do you want?”

Nyte stood tall, hands on hips, staring at him with coal black eyes, his expression the one that had shattered Rand’s composure many times in the past.

But not today.

“I want to know why you killed me.” Nyte stated it flatly. No inflection. No accusation. Merely a request for information.

Violent anger boiled up in Rand. How dare he come in here and ask that question as if he had no idea why?

“You can ask that? After what you did?”

The patience of Nyte’s expression waned. Not obviously so, but Rand noticed the slight tensing of his jaw, the small tightening of the line of his mouth. Rand had had much practice learning how to recognize the signs.

“What exactly did I do?” Nyte demanded.

Rand’s fists clenched and he strode across the room and back again, then slammed his fist on the fireplace mantel. The memory of Clarissa’s angelic face, her loving smile glowing warmly, fluttered through his mind, quickly replaced by the charred remains of the room in which he had last seen her.

Another vivid image exploded into Rand’s brain, of Nyte sending a current of raw power straight at Clarissa. After she’d disintegrated, Nyte had thrust a huge fireball straight at the location she’d been standing, obliterating half the room.

Without even thinking, Rand had summoned his own power--fired by the adrenaline rush of seeing a woman he loved so dearly murdered right before his eyes--and flung the same weapon at Nyte. Nyte had turned toward Rand just before he had let go of the ball of molten energy.

Nyte could have shielded himself, he’d seen what Rand intended in time, but the look of total disbelief on his face showed that he had not protected himself because he could not believe Rand would do such a thing.

Rand had been lucky to catch him off guard as he had. There was no way he would have won a fight against Nyte in any other circumstances. But later, as he’d stood staring at the charred remains of the familiar dwelling--the place he had once called home--he had been hit with overwhelming grief at having lost the two most important people in his life.

The look on Nyte’s face--the riveting pain at Rand’s betrayal--had haunted the darkness behind his eyes ever since that day.

Nyte had suffered the pain for less than a week of his time. Rand had endured it for almost thirteen centuries.

He stared at his own reflection in one of the shiny silver tankards on the mantel. His features had grown old again. It seemed he couldn’t maintain his youth under the weight of his pain.

Beside his face Rand saw Nyte’s as he quietly awaited an answer. But the cold look in his eyes sent familiar tremors through Rand.

Could it be that Nyte did not know he had seen him kill Clarissa? Anger blazed through him and his hands clenched around the oak edge of the mantel.

He should tell him. He must tell him.

It would do him good to finally purge the violent emotions. To finally confront Clarissa’s murderer.

To finally ask why Nyte had done it.

But a blinding wave of panic washed through him at the thought.

“Randalph, I need you to tell me--”

The feel of Nyte’s hand brushing his shoulder acted like a live wire, jolting Rand a few steps sideways.

His hand brushed against the soapstone sculpture and concern arced within him for another person who sparked deep feelings in his soul. Would Nyte steal her, too?

He swung around to face his nemesis.

“Where is Lucinda?”

“That has nothing to do with our discussion.”

“I have been trying to contact her for two days,” Rand roared. “I know very well you stole her away. What have you done with her?” He summoned his most authoritative presence and strode toward Nyte. “If you’ve hurt her--”

Nyte raised a hand. “Your protectiveness is admirable, but she is safe.”

“Then where is she?” He flung his hands out at his sides. “I can’t sense her at all.”

Nyte folded his arms across his chest. “I have protected her from you and your prying.”

Protected? An alarming thought sliced through him. “You know, Lucinda isn’t like the women you’re used to dealing with. She’s very independent. And determined. If you’ve done anything foolish like--”

“Foolish!” Nyte’s voice boomed through the room. His arms fell to his sides, fists clenched tightly.

“--locked her away somewhere, she won’t stand for it.”

The tight balls of his fists loosened fractionally. “I felt it necessary to confine her, otherwise she would have followed me here and we would not have been able to discuss these matters freely.”

“You’ve locked her up somewhere? Don’t you realize she’ll do whatever it takes to get loose?” He paused, letting the effect of his words sink in. “Even if escape is impossible.”

Nyte stared at Randalph, the words nudging him in the gut. His little one was determined, he knew that, but surely if she felt it necessary to escape, she would make a few attempts, then give up and wait for him to return. She was sensible. Surely she would realize that continuous attempts to fight the protective shield would drain her energy. When she’d tried the first night, she’d tired and gone to sleep.

Of course, now she’d had a full night’s sleep. And she had a large stake in what happened between him and Randalph.

Memories of her fierce determination to escape last night blazed through him. Did he actually believe she’d sit in a docile fashion awaiting his return?

He remembered the fire in her eyes when he’d left to come here.

He turned his inner senses to the house on the ocean, where he had held Lucinda in his arms and lost himself in her love. What he felt set his stomach churning. Apprehension gnawed at his gut.

* * * *

Lucinda had tried every method of escape she could think of. Every doorway, window, and any other passage that led outdoors. Doing a reverse Santa Claus up the chimney left her sooty and frustrated. Doing an imitation of a genie by turning into smoke to escape through the dryer air exchange vent didn’t work. Nor did changing into an ant and trying to squeeze through a crack in the outer wall.

She tapped her foot as she glanced around the living room searching for some new idea. Outside the large picture window, the spectacular view of the ocean glittering beyond an expanse of white sand captured her attention. Such a beautiful prison, but a prison all the same.

Tears threatened. It frightened her that anyone had so much power over her, let alone Nyte, who loved her, yet refused to respect her right to free will.

She could not stand being helpless.

Helpless? Wake up, girl. You’re only as helpless as you allow yourself to be.

Stiffening her back, she stood up straighter. She was not helpless. Nyte might be strong, but she was a powerful wizard in her own right. All she needed to do was believe in herself enough. Over the past half hour she had allowed her self-confidence to falter. She had allowed herself to doubt her abilities. That’s why she was having problems. All she had to do was believe she could escape. Believe it with her very being.

He might have a very effective barrier spell surrounding this dwelling, but she had determination and a wealth of magical skill at her disposal. Her gaze settled on a purple sphere sitting on a stand in a light oak bookshelf across the room. She strode toward it.

An amethyst crystal ball about the size of her fist.

She ran her hands across the surface. Cold. Smooth. Emanating power.

This would help boost her magic so she could escape this place. Using this crystal to augment her power, she would use brute force to break through the bonds of energy Nyte had erected around the house.

She grasped the ball in her hands and lifted it from the stand.

* * * *

Nyte transported to the living room of his house and his heart beat frantically as he saw Lucinda drop to her knees. He could feel energy surge from her in a torrent of ineffective waves, sucked into the energy barrier like lightning to the ground.

And with it, her life force.

She should have collapsed in exhaustion by now, but she held his power sphere in her hands. With that crystal, she would be able to withstand the drain for longer than would be good for her. She could seriously injure herself, maybe even lose enough energy so she could no longer maintain her physical shape. If that happened, she would disappear from the physical realm, rolling on the waves of time like a cork on the ocean, bounced to who-knew-where. Eventually, her body would regenerate--unless her mind became too fragmented. It was not technically death, but it might as well be.

“Lucinda, stop this at once. You’ll do yourself harm.”

She glanced at him, her eyes glazed. Barely a spark of fire burned in their depths.

“I... will not... be... held... against my... will.”

She closed her eyes and her eyelids crinkled. He knew she was pouring a last valiant effort of will into her escape attempt. She continued to sink to the ground, until she lay curled on the white carpet, her hands clutching the crystal ball.

His heart compressed at the sight of her throwing everything she had into escaping him. No, not him. His overpowering hold on her.

“Lucinda, stop.” He knelt beside her and slid his arm under her, drawing her across his lap. “Please.”

Her fingers still hooked around the crystal sphere, but he gently, and easily, drew it from her fingers. She had little physical strength left, and once the crystal left her hands, her magical energy waned until it was barely a trickle. It would take her a long time convalescing to recharge and regain her full strength.

Her eyes opened. The brilliant blue of her irises had faded alarmingly, but in the depths of those eyes he could see an iron strength of will. Admiration welled up in him.

“How could you do this to me?” Her voice was barely audible. “How can you truly care for me and take away my power of choice?”

“But, I do, Lucinda. I love you with all my heart. You cannot doubt that after--”

She shook her head and started speaking again. He had to strain to hear the words.

“If you love someone you help expand their choices, not diminish them.” She drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, as if the effort of talking had become too much for her. “And you respect them enough to let them make their own choices, even if they don’t match your own.”

His chest tightened around his aching heart. He drew her into his arms. “You’re right, my love. I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He stroked back a tangle of hair that lay across her forehead. “I will remove the protective spell. You will be free to go anywhere you wish.” Of course, she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere in her current state, at least, not under her own power, so he added in a softened voice, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“You’ll free me?”

His heart toppled sideways at her words. She asked to be freed from the prison of his spell, but he could see in her eyes that if she thought it possible, she would ask to be freed from their Love Bond, too.

“I will remove the spell.”

“And you’ll promise never to overpower me again?”

He took her hand in his and gazed tenderly into her eyes.

“Yes. I promise.”

He felt her muscles relax and she tucked her head onto his chest. He cherished the feel of her body pressed trustingly against his.

He concentrated and the barrier of energy around them melted away.

“You are free now, Lucinda. Free to make your own choices. Free to go wherever you’d like.”

The dimness of her eyes brightened a little and the shadow of a smile formed on her lips.

Then she disappeared.

Chapter 15

Nyte’s heart wrenched at the emptiness in his arms. Lucinda was gone. Despite his sincere promise, she had left.

But that didn’t make any sense. She’d been too weak to teleport on her own.

That meant Randalph must be behind this. Anger flared inside him. Randalph had tricked Nyte into lowering the protective barrier, then stolen her away.

Nyte bolted to his feet and flung himself through space. Randalph’s living room appeared around him. He saw Randalph standing by the window staring out at the woods beyond.

“Where the hell is she?” Nyte demanded.

Randalph swung around. His eyes narrowed and his bushy eyebrows slanted downward. “Lucinda? Why are you asking me? You’re the one who spirited her away.”

Nyte folded his arms across his chest and glared at Randalph. “As soon as I canceled the spell, she disappeared.”

“So why do you blame me? Obviously, she wanted to get away from you.”

The words struck like an arrow straight through his heart. He turned and paced across the room. “She couldn’t have gone on her own. She was too weak.” The image of her pale face and lackluster eyes tore at his insides. “She fought the restraints with no regard to her own safety.” He scowled in Randalph’s direction. “Didn’t you teach her caution and restraint while you were training her as a wizard?”

Randalph bristled. “Like you taught me? No, I taught her to extend herself. To push herself to the limit. I taught her to allow no obstacle to block her way to success. That’s why she’s as strong as she is.”

Randalph’s words stirred something in him. Had Randalph resented Nyte’s demanding method of instruction? His tough counseling?

He pushed aside the stirrings of emotion that thought triggered and flared at Randalph. “And that’s why she’s in trouble now.”

Randalph’s forehead furrowed, concern etching his features. “If she disappeared, and she was unable to go on her own, that means someone must have taken advantage of her weakened state.”

Nyte glared at him. Did the man think him stupid? “Yes. You. Now where is she?”

Randalph shook his head. “No, not me. Damn it, she’s in danger.”

Nyte scowled. “Do you expect me to believe she’s not here?”

Randalph flung his arm in a gesture indicating the room around him. “Do you feel her presence in this house?”

Nyte concentrated on Lucinda and couldn’t feel her presence nearby. He focused on the bond between them and, where he should feel the connection to his love, instead he felt an open channel draining to nowhere. The feeling of emptiness, the cold pouring through him, chilled his frantically beating heart.

Wherever she was, she’d been cut off from him completely. No one on Earth had enough power to form such a barrier between two people connected by a Love Bond.

No one on Earth.

Alarm buzzed through him as he realized just how much danger she might be in.

“Randalph, I need your help.”

Randalph’s fists clenched tightly at his side. “Why would I even consider helping you?”

“Because you care deeply for Lucinda. I know you will put our differences aside long enough to find her.”

Randalph jabbed his finger toward Nyte. “Why do you, the greatest of all wizards, need my help?”

“Because we are not facing an ordinary wizard. The one who has kidnapped Lucinda has power that at least rivals, or even surpasses, my own.”

Randalph stared for a long moment, stroking the grey bristle on his jaw, then nodded. “All right. On one condition.”

Nyte folded his arms across his chest. “You demand conditions when Lucinda’s safety is at stake?”

“I ask that after this is over, you explain two things to me. One, what happened between you and Clarissa, and... .”

“What else?”

“I want to know your secret. Where you came from. And why you are so much more powerful than the rest of us.”

Nyte nodded solemnly. It was a secret too long kept. He would enlighten Randalph, as he should have done--would have done if he had not been killed--long ago.

“Agreed.”

He swung toward the door. “Now let us go. We must find Lucinda.”

* * * *

Lucinda’s head throbbed with a dull ache. Her eyelids fluttered open but she immediately closed them to block out the illumination that started an explosion of pain in her skull, like a shaken can of cola when the tab is snapped off.

She pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed.

The last thing she remembered was Nyte’s arms around her. The man she had formed a Love Bond with, yet the one she most feared loving because not only was he more powerful than her, and knew it, but he had proven he wouldn’t hesitate to use that power to bend her to his will.

Except that her foggy brain told her he’d promised he wouldn’t do so again.

And he hadn’t forced her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

Like make love to him.

He had wanted to from the first moment he’d met her, or so it seemed to her. And, if she’d let herself admit it, she’d wanted to as well.

He had made his intent clear, but he hadn’t pressured her in any other way. As long as she didn’t count his being incredibly sexy and throwing her whole hormone system into an imbalance every time he came near. In fact, he’d stopped her when she’d thrown herself into his arms and started to carry them both towards paradise.

If only she could accept her feelings for him. Overwhelming feelings. Feelings that could bring her to her knees, or long for Nyte to go to his--to propose.

Super feelings. Faster than her frantically beating heart could race. More powerful than an intense craving for chocolate. Able to leap emotional barriers with a single touch.

A single touch. Oh, how she longed for his touch now. She longed for his arms around her and his lips caressing hers. She longed for his body stretched the length of hers, the two of them locked in an intimate embrace.

Damn, she loved Nyte and there was nothing she could do about it.

Nyte. His name slid through her brain like a strip of thick, black velvet, caressing her with soothing sweetness. Was it so bad to be in love with Nyte? He had promised he would never overpower her again. If she could depend on that promise and believe that he would respect her needs and wants, did it matter that he could overpower her? It all seemed to boil down to trust.

A noise jerked her from the hazy blackness she’d been using as a canvas for her thoughts. Slowly, she opened her eyes. This time her head didn’t protest too much and she allowed the dim light to burn away the fog around the edges of her vision. Someone stood several meters away, his back to her, his long black hair hanging loose to his waist.

Nyte?

Instead of his usual black, he now wore blue jeans and an emerald green, cable-knit sweater. But of course it would be Nyte.

She must have blacked out and he laid her down on this--what was she lying on? She glanced around and realized she was no longer in Nyte’s house by the ocean. Nor was she at her own house. She was lying on a soft, black velvet couch under a fluffy blanket. Grey with black cats around the border.

She stretched, wishing Nyte would come join her under the soft cover.

“Nyte?” She spoke his name softly, with just a hint of seduction.

He turned around and Lucinda’s breath caught in her throat. The man was a complete stranger.

He smiled. The smile of the devil himself. “Afraid not.”

Her heart began a staccato beat as she pushed herself to a sitting position. “Who are you?”

He bowed slightly at the waist. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Remlin.”

As in gremlin? The way he stared at her with eyes the color of peridot that glittered with a roguish quality--and a knowing gleam that set her insides churning--made her wonder.

Something about those eyes seemed disturbingly familiar. And as for the rest of him... tall. Muscular build. Rugged features. If his eyes had been dark grey instead of intense green, he would have looked disturbingly like Nyte.

“Remlin who?”

He shrugged. “I don’t bother with a last name.”

“I see.”

She tightened her fingers around the edge of the blanket, trying to cling to her composure. She had to find out more about this Remlin. She had never seen him before, but she could sense a powerful aura of magic around him.

He must be the one who had blocked her and Rand from the past. The one drawing energy from the Oracle.

“I assume you’re a wizard and you brought me here.” She glanced around. “Wherever here is.”

He grabbed a log from a large, brass bin. “Be careful what assumptions you make.”

She angled her eyebrows in a questioning slant. “You didn’t bring me here?”

He tossed the log on the fire and it sparked and flared for a moment. “I didn’t say that.”

“You aren’t a wizard?”

He brushed his hands against each other as he strolled away from the fireplace toward a large bookshelf. “I didn’t say that, either.”

Great. Just what she needed. A mysterious wizard giving her words of wisdom with no apparent meaning.

She dragged her hand across her forehead. This conversation was making her head ache again. If she had to be kidnapped by some stranger, why couldn’t he simply speak in a straightforward manner so she didn’t have to think so hard.

Kidnap. The word rattled around her brain triggering an uneasiness she wasn’t prepared to cope with right now.

“If you’re a wizard, why haven’t I met you before?”

“You have.”

She had never seen this man before in her life, of that she was quite certain. Why, then, couldn’t she convince herself he was lying?

She tipped her head in a questioning tilt. “Where exactly did we meet?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the bookshelf behind him. “About three years ago, in a rainstorm. You invited me into your home to dry off.” He grinned, a devilish twinkle in his eye. “You were really quite friendly, too. I’d never been held in someone’s arms with quite so much enthusiasm before.”

Lucinda felt her cheeks flush warmly.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I think I would have remembered that.”

His smile broadened. “I would think so, too.”

He turned around and reached for a book on the top shelf and she glared at his back.

No matter what her senses told her, he must be lying, probably to throw her off balance. Unless... .

She linked her fingers together and stared at them. There was that time the day after her birthday a couple of years back, she had decided to try a little of the exotic liqueur Rand had given her as a present. She had sat down with a good book and wound up finishing half the bottle without even realizing it. It had been smooth. She’d woken up the next morning sprawled on the couch with Merlin lapping at her face.

Hadn’t it been raining that evening? Could this Remlin have come to the door and she’d... .

No. She was certain she would remember inviting a strange man into her house and... and... holding him. Whatever exactly he meant by that.

Wouldn’t she?

The inside of her head felt like a top spinning out of control.

Damn, he was playing games with her.

And she was getting exceedingly tired of this one. She tossed the blanket aside and pushed herself to her feet.

“Look, whoever you are--”

Her knees buckled and she groaned as she crumpled onto the couch. Damn, she couldn’t even stand on her own two feet and now her head throbbed worse than ever.

Remlin turned and strode toward her, his devil-may-care expression fading to one of concern. For her as a person, or for fear of losing a valuable pawn, she wasn’t sure. He planted his large hands on her shoulders and steered her into a reclining position, then tucked the blanket around her.

“Lucinda, stay put. You spent all your strength trying to break free of Nyte’s force field and now you’re drained. You have to rest. Stop trying to gallivant around like you usually do.”

Like she usually did? How well did this guy know her? Or think he did?

She didn’t like the fact he knew her name, what she’d been doing, and that she was in a weakened state.

He loomed over her like a giant shadow, staring at her face intently. Making her nervous. Why didn’t he just go away?

“Let me do something about that headache of yours.” He opened his hand and a small vial sat on his palm. He offered it to her. “If I give you a potion, will you take it?”

A potion? Was he nuts? She had no idea what it would do to her.

“I didn’t think so.” He flicked his hand in a circle and the vial disappeared.

He dragged an ottoman from a nearby chair and sat in front of her. She held herself rigid as he placed his hands on her forehead. A few seconds after the initial contact, however, she found herself relaxing. Warm, soothing energy flowed through her, sweeping her headache away.

He withdrew his hands. “Feel better?”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Good. Now just relax and maybe it won’t come back.”

Relax? Sure, while she was being held prisoner by some unknown wizard. That wasn’t likely to happen.

He pushed the ottoman back to its original position and stood up.

“You know, you really aren’t in any danger from me. It’s too bad you don’t believe that.”

Darned right she didn’t. Anyone who would steal her away and lock her up somewhere couldn’t be trusted.

Like Nyte had?

She pushed that thought aside, knowing she’d have to deal with it later.

She had to find some way to get out of here. She had to come up with some kind of plan. It would help to know where on Earth they were.

She glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the view outside. One of Remlin’s dark, finely cultivated eyebrows arched up.

“Looking for something?”

“I was just wondering where we are.”

He sat down in a large armchair by the fire as he gestured behind her. “This is my little winter place.”

She turned to see a spectacular view of a flat, snow-covered landscape through a large picture window. Jagged rocks of ice glittered in bright sunshine, and the expanse of white ground and blue sky stretched away to the horizon. She could see no sign of a tree, plant, or any living thing.

Wisps of powdery snow raced across the ground on a sudden puff of wind. Chills coursed through her at the thought of the sub-zero temperature held outside by the thin barrier of glass. She tugged the blanket more firmly around herself.

Well, she sure wouldn’t be attempting to walk home.

“Why have you brought me here?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Because, Lucinda, you are part of my well-laid plan.”

“Plan to do what?”

“Now if I were to tell you that, it would ruin the suspense, wouldn’t it?”

She crossed her arms, her lips compressing in a sullen frown. “I think the entertainment value of suspense is highly overrated.”

Chapter 16

Nyte breathed in the fresh spring air as he concentrated, trying to sense some trace of Lucinda. Randalph stood behind him in a small clearing in the woods outside Randalph’s home. The scent of pine and cedar hung heavy in the air, blending with the pungent smell of damp earth and new growing things.

As Nyte extended himself into the ether, reaching as far as he could, trying to grasp any hint of Lucinda’s whereabouts, a deep emptiness pounded through him.

“I can’t feel her presence anywhere.” He gripped his hands into tight fists at his sides.

The pain of losing the connection he’d so recently formed with her during their lovemaking--the joining of their psychic energies as well as physical bodies--ached like a hole torn through the center of his heart. The feelings he’d had toward her before the actual bond had formed had been significant, but nothing had prepared him for the intensity of emotions he felt now.

The desperation to protect her from danger. The urgency to find her and feel her energy mingle with his. The longing to hold her securely in the circle of his arms. The frustration at not being able to do any of these things.

He leaned against a large maple tree and allowed its peaceful energy to seep into him. The delicate babble of a nearby brook helped calm his nerves.

A blue jay glided from one of the trees to perch on the edge of a stone well which stood across the clearing. Stone seats circled the wall of the well and a wooden bench stood nearby. It would be a tranquil place to sit and think.

Randalph stepped toward him and his jagged gaze tore across Nyte’s face. “While you had Lucinda locked away, did you... His jaw twitched slightly and he seemed to search for words. “Did you seduce her?”

Irritation sliced through him. “No, I didn’t.”

The twist of Randalph’s mouth showed his skepticism. “Really?”

“I made love with her, thus realizing our bond, but I did not seduce her. It was her decision.”

Randalph scowled.

“Come now, Randalph. The kiss you shared with Lucinda must have convinced you that Lucinda is meant to be my partner, not yours.”

Randalph’s eyebrows arched upwards. “You know about that?”

“Of course, and I don’t appreciate you going after my woman.”

“She deserves better than you.”

“That may be true, but she’s stuck with me. And I plan to make the best of it.” By making her as happy as he could.

Randalph’s fists clenched and he stared at Nyte as though he’d like to throttle him.

“Maybe Lucinda and I are meant to be no more than friends, but we are very close friends.” He glared at Nyte. “If you ever hurt her--”

With so many combustible emotions swirling within him, Nyte’s anger flared. “You’ll do what? Kill me again?”

The color drained from Rand’s face and his eyes faded to an almost translucent blue. His reaction doused Nyte’s anger like water thrown on a flame and he instantly regretted the comment.

He held out his hand, palm upward. “Randalph... .”

He didn’t know what words to say, but it didn’t matter. Randalph turned away and started pacing.

“Since you have completed the bond with her, it should be impossible for anyone to block the connection and hide Lucinda from you.”

“That’s true with the limited magic you know, but there are greater forces in the universe than you have experienced.”

Randalph’s sharp gaze met Nyte’s. “Damn it, why won’t you tell me what and whom we are dealing with here?”

He didn’t have time to explain everything to Randalph, but he had to give him an idea of the force working against them. “You know my power is greater than any other wizard on Earth.”

“Yes.” Rand nodded absently, the look of melancholy on his face leaving his features drawn and tired-looking. He slumped onto the wide trunk of a fallen oak. “I had thought I, too, would approach your abilities, in time. That you would teach me. But once you were gone... .”

Nyte stepped to his side and placed a hand on Randalph’s shoulder, the first real physical contact they had shared in centuries. He wanted to offer assurances, to point out that Randalph had not failed the other wizards of Earth, but until Nyte understood what had driven Randalph to do what he had done, the words would be empty.

But Nyte couldn’t bear seeing the agony in his eyes.

He squeezed Randalph’s shoulder, shocked at the fragility of the flesh and bones within his grip, forgetting what he’d been about to say. Not wanting to invade Randalph’s privacy, but drawn by the hint of a maelstrom of misaligned energy, he prodded a little to sense Randalph’s life force, and found a wound that burrowed deep into his soul.

Anger. Fear. Pain. Each emotion welled up like dark, poisonous bubbles from a rift in the ocean floor, but Nyte knew they only hinted at the intense feelings hidden in the greater depths.

Nyte wanted to reach out, to delve deep into Randalph’s psyche and help him heal the damage, but Randalph surged to his feet, at the same time, shuttering his expression with a scowl.

“We have no time for this meditative nonsense. Lucinda is lost and we must find her. You of all people should keep that your highest priority.”

A moment ago, Nyte would have snapped that it had been Randalph who had wandered down that path, but the view of Randalph’s turmoil helped him divert the sharp response to thoughts of the more pressing problem of finding Lucinda.

“I believe she has been abducted by another wizard whose powers match my own. Unfortunately, he has a long history of misusing his power.”

A look of worry crossed Randalph’s face. “Do you believe Lucinda is in serious danger?”

Would Remlin hurt Lucinda? Nyte wasn’t certain. The Remlin he’d grown up with had been known for finding trouble and performing mischievous pranks, but nothing that would hurt anyone. As he’d grown to adulthood, however, and found himself passed over for responsible positions in the hierarchy, his rebellious nature had taken on an edge of anger. That anger had led to the destruction of Nyte’s family.

“I think it’s possible.”

“Then we must find her quickly.”

“Agreed, but I don’t even know where to start looking. He has masked Lucinda’s presence and his own.”

“You must have some idea.”

The searching hope in Randalph’s eyes triggered a poignant memory of the younger Randalph, during one of their deep discussions of the nature of magic and the universe. He used to watch Nyte with such intense interest, a look bordering on adoration. Nyte had always cherished the respect and admiration given him by Randalph. A deep longing stirred in him to recapture that closeness.

How had they wound up with so many barriers between them?

“The only way I can think of is to attempt to find what is not there. He is shielding himself from magical sensing, but like a rock in a moving river, when the magic hits him, it must flow around him, causing an eddy in the current.”

“But you said you have no idea where he might be. Are you going to fling energy in all directions and hope for the best?” Randalph asked.

“Do you have a better idea?”

Randalph sat on a fallen tree and rested his chin on his palm. Nyte leaned against an old, oak tree, the bark rough against his hand. He liked trees. Solid. Strong. Full of pure, uncomplicated energy.

“I don’t know if this is related,” Randalph said, “but I have been monitoring an increase of energy at the Oracle. Could that have something to do with this other wizard?”

Nyte turned to him with interest. “Delphi? He must be drawing energy from there. That will make him much more difficult to defeat.”

Randalph’s white, bushy eyebrow tilted upward. “We should go to Delphi then?”

“No. He wouldn’t need to be near the Oracle to boost his power from it. He could be anywhere.”

“Can you trace where the energy is going?”

Nyte reached out with his magical senses and touched the Oracle. He felt for any threads of energy flowing from it. He detected several, but as he traced them away from the source, they faded into obscurity before he could perceive more than a general direction. And they all went in different directions. All part of Remlin’s plan to elude them, Nyte was certain.

“He has masked the energy trail,” Nyte told Randalph.

Randalph thumped his fist on the tree truck. “There must be something we can do.”

“Until we think of something better, we’ll have to work with what we have. If the two of us work together, sending out waves of energy to see what disturbances we can detect, we might just be able to track them down.”

Not likely, but it was the only chance they had.

* * * *

Lucinda’s captor picked up a crystal ball from the bookshelf and set it on the table in front of the couch where she could see into it.

She sat with the blanket wrapped around her. Despite the fact that a fire blazed less than two meters away and she wore a warm, turtleneck sweater, the thought of the frigid weather outside made her shiver constantly. Or could it be because she had so little energy?

She stared at the pattern of internal flecks in the clear quartz sphere and realized they looked suspiciously like the ones inside her own crystal ball, the one that should be sitting on the pewter stand in her den.

“I thought we might watch this drama unfold together.” Remlin sat down in an ornately carved wooden chair at the end of the rectangular table and waved his hands over the crystal sphere. The inside of the ball clouded, then the mists swirled into recognizable images.

First, Rand sitting on a fallen tree. Next, she could see a tall, dark shape a few meters away. The shape clarified and she saw it was Nyte.

She wanted to reach out and touch the image of his face, to feel a little closer to him, but all she would feel would be smooth, cold crystal. A deep longing ached through her for Nyte and his wonderful, loving touch.

“Good, I see they’re together,” Remlin observed.

She glanced at Remlin. The intensity with which he stared into the ball disturbed her. Her heart started to race. Why did Remlin want to watch Rand and Nyte? And why did he care if they were together? Did he mean to harm them?

She shifted her focus back to the images of Nyte and Rand. They stood in what appeared to be--from the glimpse of an ancient stone well in the background--the small woods behind Rand’s house.

Remlin’s keen gaze shifted to hers. “They have decided to pair up to look for you, Lucinda.”

At least some good would come of this. If they could work together, they might be able to sort out their differences.

The two of them. Together. Not at each others’ throats. The thought warmed her heart.

In fact, as she watched, Nyte moved to Rand’s side and placed his hand on Rand’s shoulder. At the sight, she felt a little misty. The two men cared enough about her to put aside their differences and work together to rescue her.

“This looks good.” Remlin leaned closer to the ball.

The close moment Nyte and Rand seemed to be sharing was shattered when Rand lurched to his feet, a thunderous glare in his eyes. A moment later, his expression turned to one of concern.

She wished she could understand what they were saying. She switched her attention to Remlin, who watched the two figures in the mist with great interest.

What plan had he concocted and what did it have to do with Nyte and Rand?

Remlin chuckled. “He thinks his powers rival mine.”

Was he reading their lips? Or maybe, if he was as powerful as she feared, he could hear as well as see through the crystal.

He drummed his fingers on the table top. “I may have to set him straight on that.”

The words, said so casually, sent a shiver the length of her spine. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

Who thought he rivaled Remlin? Of course, it must be Nyte. Both Nyte and Remlin were mysterious wizards she had never heard of before. Rand had told her Nyte was far more powerful than any wizard they’d ever known. That fact alone meant that, unless Remlin’s magic were on par with Nyte’s, Nyte would have no problem finding them. Yet if Nyte knew where she was, she was sure he’d be here right now. He had expressed his excessive desire to protect her on many occasions.

A tremor traveled the length of her spine. Remlin meant to harm Nyte. The certainty drove through her like a power drill.

They continued to watch Nyte and Rand talk. She couldn’t quite decide if they were cooperating or fighting--or both. She wished she could understand what they were saying, then she’d have some idea what was going on.

She leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, fatigue insisting she lay down and have a nap. She insisted right back that it was a very bad idea.

“Tired?”

She opened her eyes to see Remlin’s green ones staring back at her.

“I’m all right.” Except for being quite frustrated at once again being trapped somewhere she didn’t want to be, and scared to death for Nyte and Rand.

“You really should rest. This may take a while.”

She glanced at the crystal ball and saw Nyte and Rand standing back to back, their arms outstretched. What were they doing?

Remlin’s gaze shifted from her face to the image in the ball. “They’re searching for you. Sending out energy hoping to find turbulence in the flow. The odds of them finding you with that method are astronomically low, especially since I’ve streamlined the shape of this dwelling so the energy will slip around the barrier with a minimum of disruption.”

He drummed his fingertips on his knee.

“It may take a while for them to come up with another plan, but somehow I don’t think their fragile partnership will survive this futile method.”

He sat back, his gaze returning to her, and smiled.

“I think I need to offer them another challenge.”

Chapter 17

Nyte felt Rand’s back shift against his own.

“This is getting us nowhere.” Randalph’s voice sounded frustrated, and tired.

They’d been standing back to back, sending out energy in a circle for about an hour. So far they’d found nothing. The strain of expending so much energy would be a severe drain on Randalph, especially in his current aged form.

Nyte gestured toward the fallen tree. “Let’s take a break.” He sat down and watched Randalph slump down beside him, looking extremely weary.

He himself would prefer to stand and move around, but he knew Randalph’s pride would not allow him to sit unless Nyte did, too.

Seeing Randalph--whom Nyte had always known as young and vital--as a white-haired elder disconcerted him. Randalph was far too young to look old and decrepit.

A yearning to help him exorcise the inner demons that drained his youthful vigor gnawed at his gut. If only he could get past Randalph’s barriers. There were so many things he and Randalph had to discuss, so many things they had to put right.

But now was not the time. First, they had to find Lucinda.

For Lucinda’s sake. For his own.

And for Randalph’s.

Nyte knew his own heart would be shredded beyond repair if anything happened to Lucinda, but he also recognized Randalph’s condition would worsen exponentially. He had already lost one important woman in his life. Nyte knew that Lucinda had taken Clarissa’s place in Randalph’s heart, at least as confidant and friend, and losing her would deepen his internal scars.

Damn Clarissa! He still couldn’t understand how she had allowed herself to walk away from Randalph so callously. Her selfish act was all the more despicable because, in the end, it had left Randalph completely alone.

“Have you thought of another way we might search for Lucinda?” Randalph asked.

“Not yet.”

Frustration tormented him as a grey mist swirled through his brain where ideas should bloom.

Sifting through ancient memories, he’d reviewed the places Remlin liked to go and focused on those locations as he sent out his energy sweep, but it hadn’t helped. Remlin liked mountains, and water. And trees.

He glanced around at the trees surrounding the clearing. Huge oaks, willowy birch, red maple. Birds twittered from the hidden depths of the foliage and a light breeze murmured through the leaves, ruffling them in a playful pattern of brilliant sunshine and shadows.

Remlin would like it here.

Nyte’s gaze drifted to the old stone well which stood at the edge of the clearing, near the heavily worn path. The well was an inconvenient distance from the house and Nyte suspected that Randalph did not use it for his daily supply. He would have no need, with the more convenient methods today’s world had to offer. Randalph probably came to this place to clear his energy. To find tranquility. To think.

Memories of walking through the woods with Randalph, deep in discussion, shimmered through his mind. They had talked about science, philosophy, the cosmos. They had always ended up at a little church with a well just like Randalph’s where they would rest for a bit before they journeyed back.

His heart compressed as he remembered that Clarissa used to walk with Randalph to that place, also. Damn her for hurting Randalph.

He imagined Randalph sitting alone on the wooden bench by the well, remembering those same times. Perhaps Lucinda had filled some of Randalph’s lonely hours sitting with him by the well. He could imagine her smiling at Randalph with affection lighting her eyes and jealousy warred with relief at the thought Randalph had found someone to help him through his pain.

“Nyte.”

He glanced around and noticed Randalph sat with his back rigid.

“What is it?”

Randalph shifted his weight, the fingers of one hand tightening around a small branch angling upward from the trunk they sat upon. Nyte knew he had something to say but for some reason he hesitated.

“If you have an idea that might help Lucinda--”

“A few moments ago I... had a thought.”

At his pause, Nyte prompted, “Go on.”

Randalph stared levelly at Nyte. “It wasn’t my thought.”

Not his thought?

“You think someone projected it into your head?”

Randalph nodded. The stiffness of his posture and the strained expression on his face told Nyte that Randalph was extremely uncomfortable with the invasion.

“Randalph,” he said in a reassuring tone, “Tell me what it was.”

Randalph drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“The exact words were: To find Lucinda, Nyte must touch your heart, then follow the compass of your soul.”

* * * *

Lucinda’s heart thumped at an uneven pace. She leaned forward. “What kind of challenge?”

Remlin waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Nothing too dramatic. I’ll just give them a clue as to where we are.”

Remlin wouldn’t help Nyte and Rand find this place unless he was confident they could not overpower him. But even if he was as powerful--or more--than Nyte, with Nyte and Rand’s combined power they should be able to defeat him.

What kind of trap was Remlin setting for Nyte and Rand?

“Don’t worry, Lucinda. I won’t actually let them in when they get here. I have a protection spell around this dwelling to repel intruders and it’s reinforced by some very powerful magic.”

The Oracle, no doubt.

“And what will you do once they’re here?” she asked.

“I’ll let them know you’re here, then I’ll make sure they know the chances of rescuing you are absolutely impossible.”

“Why?”

“To see how they react.”

“Why?”

He sighed and leaned against the back of his chair. “Lucinda, you ask too many questions. Why don’t you take a nap?”

He was treating her like an annoying child and she didn’t like it. She wanted to demand he answer, but knew she’d get nowhere with that tactic.

She didn’t understand this cat and mouse game he was playing, but one thing was clear. If he didn’t have her as his prisoner, he wouldn’t have the bait he needed to lure Nyte and Rand here, and to keep them under his control. He was using her to manipulate them and she couldn’t allow that.

She had to escape. But how?

Remlin knew she was in a weakened state, so maybe he believed she wouldn’t try to escape by herself. If he believed that, maybe he would decide to channel the extra energy he spoke of into keeping Nyte and Rand out rather than keeping her in.

It was a thought worth pursuing.

Maybe the best way to escape would be to make him believe she was as weak, or more than he believed. She ignored the little voice in her head that insisted she was only fooling herself if she didn’t believe it, too.

He kept recommending she sleep. Maybe if she pretended she was asleep, she might be able to catch him off guard.

Unfortunately, the danger was that if she pretended to sleep she actually would fall asleep, then she’d be of no use to anyone.

Caffeine would be a good idea right now. It would help her fight this feeling of exhaustion.

“Remlin, could I have a cup of coffee?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you prefer a diet Coke?”

How the heck did he know her preference in beverages?

“Sure. A Coke would be great.”

After he’d left the room, she slumped back on the couch.

She had to focus on the fact that she had to get out of here. To protect Nyte. And Rand.

* * * *

“Touch your heart?”

Nyte wondered who had projected the thought into Randalph’s head, and what the cryptic message meant.

Randalph pushed himself to his feet and stalked across the clearing.

“Foolishness, that’s what it is. Something to confuse us.” Randalph shook his clenched fist at Nyte. “We need to find another approach.” He paced a few times, hands clasped behind his back. “You say you know this wizard. Where would he take Lucinda?”

“If I knew that, we would be there now.”

He watched Randalph march back and forth, nervous energy spinning from him in all directions. Randalph hadn’t liked having someone invade his mind, but more than that, Nyte was sure he was worried about the content of the message. He was probably afraid he might have to lower some of his well-erected barriers and open up to Nyte in order to understand it.

“There must be other things we can try,” Randalph insisted.

“Name one.”

Randalph stared at him for several long moments.

Nyte returned his stare with a quiet authority. “Randalph, like it or not, this is the only clue we have. Without it, we could be searching for energy disparities for days and still be no closer to finding Lucinda.”

Finally, a look of acceptance settled on Randalph’s face.

“All right. Where do you suggest we start?” Randalph gestured toward the path leading to his house. “Should we fetch some books of poetry from my library, or do you think we could find a Hallmark card that could do the trick?” A cool edge of sarcasm edged his words.

“I doubt that’s the way to touch your heart,” Nyte responded. “You’ve never been the sentimental type.”

Randalph’s expression hardened and Nyte silently cursed his use of words. He might have learned sentiment over the centuries, especially after losing the two people closest to him.

“Remlin certainly isn’t the sentimental type. I’m sure he had a more direct approach in mind.”

“You mean, he actually wants you to touch my heart?”

“Something like that.”

Nyte approached him and Randalph watched warily. Nyte stopped about two feet away and pointed at his chest.

“He probably means the energy around your heart.”

Randalph’s features relaxed as understanding dawned. “Sensing the heart chakra.”

“Exactly.” He gestured for Randalph to sit down on the fallen tree and, after he’d done so, Nyte held his flattened palm about two inches from Randalph’s chest. “May I?”

Randalph stared into his eyes. “You truly believe this is the only way to find Lucinda?”

“I do.”

He hesitated, but finally nodded agreement.

Nyte stepped closer and rested his palm over Randalph’s heart. He remembered when Lucinda had done the same with him, before he’d recovered his memory. She’d felt his energy and sensed the pain within. The pain he now knew stemmed from Randalph’s betrayal. He shoved that thought aside. Right now they had to work together. They had to find Lucinda. He couldn’t let anything, even something that had caused scars that deep, distract him.

He focused on Randalph, on the place where his hand met Randalph’s body. A pool of energy quivered beneath his palm, drawing him into its depths. Ripples marred the surface of the pool. Chaotic. Disruptive. And cold.

As he followed the energy deeper, he felt cold against his palm. Currents of other energy clouded the way, all related to painful experiences, but Nyte followed the cold. Deeper. Colder. More intense.

Ice cold like the bitter winds of the Arctic.

Where had that thought come from? It didn’t quite feel like his own. Had it been planted by Remlin? Another hint?

“You have a deep emotional pain that goes back a long time.”

“What a surprise.” Sarcasm frosted Randalph’s words.

“It’s buried beneath a lot of other issues.”

His bushy white eyebrows arched upward. “Do you think that means he’s hiding her underground somewhere?”

“No, I think it has something to do with somewhere cold. Arctic cold.”

“To find Lucinda, Nyte must touch your heart, then follow the compass of your soul.” Rand repeated the words, excitement edging his features. “Compass. Don’t you see? A compass always points north. He must be keeping her at the north pole.”

Nyte smiled. “Or, more likely, magnetic north. It would be easier to draw power from the Oracle to another natural source of energy.”

He turned toward the path to Randalph’s house. “Come on. We’d better dress warmly.”

* * * *

Remlin returned with a nice, tall diet Coke, ice cubes tinkling against the side of the glass, bubbles dancing across the dark surface. He handed it to her and she wrapped her hands around it. The cold reminded her of the bitter temperatures outside and she shivered. Maybe she should have stuck with her request for coffee. Or hot chocolate.

She sipped her drink, the fizz tickling her nose.

“I think we’re making progress,” Remlin said.

Her attention diverted to the crystal ball and she saw Nyte and Rand entering the back door of Rand’s house.

Had Remlin already given them whatever clue he had in mind?

He glanced from the ball to her. “The entertainment will be arriving very soon.”

Which meant she had to make her move very soon. Now, if only she could figure out what that move should be.

The scene around Nyte and Rand, now dressed in warm-looking parkas, changed from Rand’s living room to a barren, snowy plain.

* * * *

The bitter cold wind blasted in Nyte’s face as he and Rand trudged across the frozen ground searching for something other than ice and snow. The thick treads on his boots helped him keep his footing and the heavy parka and thick layers of clothing he wore kept him warm, but made walking cumbersome.

Nyte sent out a sweep of energy and immediately felt the turbulence as it flowed around an obstruction. That must be Remlin’s hiding place. Distance, or lack thereof, had made all the difference in finding it. Being thousands of miles away, when they weren’t even certain of the direction, had made it nearly impossible to sense this disturbance.

Elation swept through him like a tropical breeze at the thought he had found Lucinda. Or, at least, where Remlin had taken her. Now, he had to find a way to free her from Remlin’s hold, which would not be an easy matter.

“It’s about thirty miles that way,” Nyte said, pointing to the northwest.

“Yes, I feel it.” Randalph’s heavily mittened hand pulled the hood of his parka closer to his face. Ice crystals had formed on his bushy eyebrows and the shadow of whiskers on his face.

Together they teleported across the icy landscape to their new destination, appearing in front of what appeared to be a large mound of snow. Nyte sent energy at it, and sure enough, the energy swept around its contours rather than through it. Upon closer inspection, Nyte could see that the sheer edges of ice were not ice at all, but cleverly concealed windows.

“Shouldn’t we try to hide our presence?” Randalph asked.

“I’m sure Remlin has been monitoring our activities all along, so there’s really no point.”

Nyte trudged closer to the building, then leaned forward and pressed his face close to the largest window. He knew Lucinda was inside and he hoped to catch sight of her. He needed to reassure himself she was okay. Unfortunately, the glass was glazed and the only thing he saw was his own worried face peering back at him preventing him from seeing the interior.

* * * *

“And here they are.”

Remlin stared over her shoulder as he smiled broadly and waved. She twisted around and saw two figures standing outside the window.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see inside.”

Nyte stepped close to the window and leaned forward to peer inside. The sight of his face, so close yet outside her reach, sent tremors through her. Love swelled in her heart and she knew she would do anything to protect him from Remlin.

“What do you intend to do now?” she asked.

“Wait until they figure out how to get inside.”

“And then?”

“Then I have some very special plans for them.”

She shivered and tucked the blanket snugly across her lap. She had no time left. She had to take action. But she had no idea what. She took another sip of her Coke, then placed it on the table.

She pushed herself to her feet with a vague plan of getting out of Remlin’s sight, hoping once she was alone some brilliant idea would come to her.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

His gaze shifted to her. “Do you need help?”

Her back went rigid. “I’m sure I can manage on my own.”

She took a step forward--and faltered. The room around her seemed unsteady, swaying slightly from side to side, and the floor seemed to bob up and down a little. She felt a firm grip on her arm and realized Remlin had moved to her side to support her. He led her down a short hallway to a door.

“The light switch is on the left. I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you need me.”

She nodded and slowly stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. The sun must have set because everything was rapidly turning shadowy. She switched on the light and her eyes widened in awe at the luxurious bathroom surrounding her.

A huge, black marble tub, set in the corner, took up half of both mirrored walls. It was oval and looked as though it would fit at least two people. A pedestal sink, also black marble, made an elegant silhouette against the dove grey, speckle-patterned wallpaper. Jade towels and flowering plants added bright splashes of color around the room.

She walked to the tub, keeping her hand on the wall for support, then sat down on the step.

This is terrible. I can hardly walk, let alone teleport anywhere.

She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, concentrating on drawing energy from the cosmos. Tentatively, she tried to push her way past the boundaries of the house, testing if she could teleport beyond the protective shell Remlin had erected. It was possible he had set it up to stop magical energy one way only. By keeping the energy focused outward, he could set up a stronger barrier against Nyte and Rand.

She pushed aside the thought that, if she succeeded, she’d be totally exposed to the elements in a very inhospitable environment. She shivered at the thought of the sub-zero temperatures freezing her into a lump of ice.

Hopefully, she would find Nyte before that happened.

Her first try, like pushing on a marshmallow, didn’t get her very far. She let more energy flood through her and she shoved hard, but still she got nowhere.

She leaned against the wall and opened her eyes, breathing deeply. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her.

Rats, how would she ever get out of here? She didn’t want to just sit and wait for Nyte and Rand to fall into Remlin’s trap.

She shoved herself to her feet and stepped to the sink. She leaned against it as she splashed cool water on her cheeks. The face staring back at her from the mirror looked pale and drawn. Drops of water trailed down her chin as she reached for a towel from the rack beside the sink. As she patted her face dry, the reflection of the wall behind her gave her an idea.

Escape might be easier than she’d thought.

Chapter 18

Nyte was certain Remlin watched them from inside the house, probably smirking at his superior position in this game he had initiated, and for which he had set all the rules.

Once he got his hands on Remlin, that smirk would shrivel quickly enough.

At least if Lucinda could see him through the glass, the sight of him should reassure her, knowing he’d come to rescue her.

Not rescue, he corrected himself. Help her escape. Lucinda would never accept that she needed rescuing. She was too independent for that. She must feel frustrated at being trapped against her will. Again.

He longed to hold her in his arms, to calm her frazzled energy, to stroke away her stress. As he imagined her soft body pressed close to his in a comforting embrace, images of what that closeness could lead to heated his body despite the frigid temperature around him.

“What now?” Randalph asked, staring at the house. “I can sense a strong barrier spell around the place, so we won’t be able to teleport in.”

“We’ll have to pool our energy and try to break through.”

Randalph’s expression turned skeptical. “You really think we can fight it, given the resources he’s got?”

“We could just go and knock on the door, if you prefer, but I doubt he would answer.” Nyte pointed to large window. “It will probably be easiest to break through the glass. It will be weakest at the center point.”

Nyte shifted his feet to face the window squarely, then concentrated on centering himself. “On the count of three, send a bolt of energy right at it. Don’t use any kind of light energy, like lighting, because it will reflect back at us.”

Randalph scowled deeply. “I’m quite aware of that fact. I’m no apprentice, you know.”

True, but Nyte had to constantly remind himself of that fact, since he had known Randalph for a good many years as an apprentice.

“One.”

Nyte stretched his arm toward their target.

“Two.”

Randalph grunted, but followed suit.

“Three.”

Heat quivered from Nyte’s fingertips, pulsing against the surface of the glass. He could sense similar energy pouring from Randalph. It seemed as though they were seeing the window through ripples in a pond, as their energy combined and battered against the glass.

After several minutes of continuous effort, with no visible effect, Nyte gestured for Randalph to cease. This had been too obvious a target. There had to be somewhere else they could try.

“I’m going to scout around the perimeter of the dwelling to see if I can find any weak spots,” Nyte said.

He trudged through the snow in a large circle around the building. Randalph plodded in the other direction until he’d moved to a position out of sight of the window, then he sat on a large, icy rock to await Nyte’s return.

As Nyte moved around the house, he sensed a continuous field of energy. Powerful. Definitely boosted by some means, such as the Oracle. Remlin may have called on superior magical technology to help him, but Nyte was determined to win this game and retrieve Lucinda from his clutches.

The thought of Lucinda, probably frightened and feeling helpless, scraped at his heart. He knew she was a strong woman, but she was in a weakened state and that would make it all the worse for her.

He longed to hold her in his arms, to hear her lovely voice say his name.

Nyte.

He spun around. Had his longing been so strong that he’d imagined he actually heard her calling his name? It had been so faint.

Nyte.

It sounded even fainter this time. Like the whisper of a soft wind. Or a child lost in the night. A lonely, forlorn sound.

He glanced around, but saw nothing except the snowy terrain.

Then one more time, he heard the cry. Fainter still. The only reason he had heard it at all was because he’d been listening so intently.

He continued to stride around the house, determined to find the source. As he curved around the side of the building, he caught a glimpse of red in the snow. Blood thundered through his temples as he rushed toward it and saw a small, prone figure lying on the ground, her blonde hair cascading in waves against the stark white snow, the golden strands glittering with crystals of ice.

“Lucinda.”

The red was the turtleneck sweater she wore, not blood as he’d feared. Thankfully, he saw no sign of injury.

This close to her, he could feel the connection between them. It had been overrun by the power of the force field bombarding his senses, and the weakness of Lucinda’s energy.

Behind her he saw a trail carved through the snow. She must have crawled, or dragged herself, along the ground. About ten meters back, it had been a dotted line of footprints. She must have stumbled and, in her weakened state, not been able to rise again.

He knelt down and swept her into his arms. She wore no coat or gloves, or any other kind of protection from the Arctic weather. Only the red sweater and blue jeans she’d been wearing the last time he’d seen her.

Her skin was very pale and her lips were turning blue, but they were trembling and a cloud of breath fluttered from her nostrils.

“Lucinda, are you all right?”

She opened her eyelids part way, the glaze on her pupils worrying him.

“Nyte?” The whisper of a word barely formed a cloud of breath.

“I’m here, sweetheart. Everything will be fine now.”

Her shivering fingers clutched at his parka, trying to grasp the fabric. “Got to get away. Don’t let him hurt you.”

He didn’t know how she’d escaped from Remlin’s hold, but he should know better than to be surprised by anything Lucinda did. Now that he’d found her, the dominant thought in his head was to keep her out of Remlin’s hands. He didn’t know what game Remlin was playing, but Nyte knew once he started to play, he played to win.

As soon as Remlin discovered she was gone, he would drag her away again. Nyte had to get Lucinda somewhere he could protect her. Somewhere Remlin couldn’t steal her away from.

His house by the ocean.

Remlin hadn’t kidnapped her until after Nyte had dropped the barrier he’d used to keep Lucinda there. Remlin would not be able to penetrate that barrier. The energy he drew from the Oracle would help him boost protective spells, but not offensive spells.

As he teleported her to safety, he realized he’d forgotten all about Randalph.

* * * *

The dreadful cold seemed to cling like damp snow to woolen mittens, but Lucinda could feel warmth slowly penetrating the edges of her consciousness.

She heard her name, spoken in a deep voice. Masculine. Familiar.

Warmth enveloped her hand and she tightened her stiff fingers around it.

“Lucinda. Wake up, sweetheart.”

Nyte’s voice. Close. Beckoning.

Slowly, and with great effort, she tried to push open her eyelids.

The hazy image of a face drifted into view, then slowly cleared to show Nyte’s strong, rugged features, his midnight eyes filled with concern. The warm, flickering glow of a fire cast dancing shadows across his face as he knelt beside her. She was lying on the four poster bed in the bedroom of his house by the ocean, a soft, fluffy blanket tucked snugly around her. A roaring fire blazed in the white marble fireplace across the room.

Memory slowly emerged in her foggy brain. She’d escaped Remlin’s hold by slipping out the bathroom window. Her theory had been right that he’d only used the energy barrier to stop others from getting in, not to stop anyone from getting out. Of course, he had assumed she’d been too weak to escape on her own. He’d underestimated her.

But he’d almost been right.

The bitter cold had slapped her a violent blow as she’d searched for Nyte for what seemed like an endless distance, but was probably no more than a few meters. The knowledge that Nyte was in danger had kept her moving, until her feet, heavy with exhaustion, had tripped over a jagged edge of ice and she’d fallen. She remembered pushing herself to go on, her hands burning cold as she dragged herself forward. The wind had assaulted her wet, stinging face. The snow seemed to draw her into its depths. Dreadfully cold, viciously numbing snow. Somehow the white stuff had sapped her will, and her body had shut down.

She hadn’t found Nyte, but he must have found her.

She reached out and touched his cheek to convince herself he was really there. She stroked his whisker-roughened jaw with her fingertip, the coarseness stimulating her nerve endings. She rested her palm on his cheek.

A feeling of euphoria welled around her. She felt immersed in Nyte’s essence.

“Nyte. You’re safe.”

“Me?” He covered her hand and shifted her palm to his lips. The warm moistness melted another degree of frigid cold from her being. “It was you who was kidnapped. You I was worried about.”

Kidnapped. Thoughts crashed into her brain like chunks of crusty snow collapsing from a roof after an ice storm. Remlin. Nyte was still in danger from him.

She jerked forward, grasping both Nyte’s hands. “Nyte, there’s a strange wizard. He was using me to lure you and Rand. It was a trap of some sort, and--”

“I know, Lucinda.”

He gripped her shoulders and eased her back against the pillow. The fluffy down cushioned her back, but not the fear gripping her heart.

He was too calm. Maybe he thought her words were just feverish jabbering. She had to make him understand.

“His name is Remlin and--”

“I thought it was him.”

She blinked in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“Yes, I do.” He stroked the hair from her cheek, his touch gentle and intimate. And very welcome. “Did he tell you what he wanted?”

“Not exactly.” She reached for his hand and held it tightly, needing the comfort of his touch as the fear for his safety welled within her again. “But he watched you and Rand the whole time you were searching for me. I’m sure he wants to hurt you.”

He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay now. We’re safe here. I brought you back to my house and I’ve erected the protective spell again.” He stroked her cheek, his fingers lingering on her skin, and his eyes grew intent. “But I want you to understand, I didn’t do it to keep you confined. Only to protect you. I want you to stay here, but if you insist you want to leave--”

She intertwined her fingers with his, unable to get enough of touching him. “I’ll stay here as long as you do. It’s you he’s after. I’m sure of it.”

He smiled warmly. “Don’t worry. I plan on staying right here. I have to look after you.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “And in case you decide to get all defensive about that statement, you’re suffering from exposure and you’re weak from exertion, so I intend to nurse you back to health.” He picked up one of her blond curls lying across the blanket and twirled it around his finger. “You’d do the same for me.”

It hadn’t even occurred to her to protest. The thought of him taking care of her felt very right. More than right. She longed for his tender care.

He curled his fingers around hers. “And I want to reassure you,” he continued, “that I meant it when I promised I wouldn’t overpower you again.”

She remembered the elation she’d felt when he’d made that promise. Before they’d had time to discuss it, he’d removed the barrier spell and Remlin had snatched her away.

He drew their joined hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, the light brush of his lips sending tingling fireworks dancing across her nerve endings.

“I want you to trust me,” he murmured. In his eyes, she could see much more than his words expressed. His desire for her trust was a need that burrowed into his soul.

Did she trust him?

She knew she loved him and didn’t want him to get hurt, but trust?

The realization slid into place within her like a hand into a well-worn glove. Yes. She did.

As she stared into his dark, granite eyes, she became aware of an intense longing. To be with him. To hold him. Never to let him go.

Joy fluttered through her at the thought that she had finally formed a true Love Bond. A Love Bond she would cherish.

“As for taking care of you... .” He stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt. At the sight of hard muscle stretched taut over his broad, naked chest, the pattern of her thoughts scattered, then flitted from her mind.

“You’re suffering from hypothermia... so... .” He pushed off his shirt and tossed it over the armchair. Her heart fluttered like a nervous hummingbird. “The best way to warm you up is with body heat.”

He shoved off his pants and left them in a lump on the floor as he lifted the covers.

She barely felt the cold draft as her body flared to life at the thought of his sexy, muscular body pressing against hers. He lay down beside her and the heat emanating from him took her breath away.

“Nyte, I--”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He grinned as he shifted closer to her. “All I’m going to do is hold you. I don’t want to drain what little strength you have. You need it to recuperate.”

He folded her in his arms and drew her against him. She almost gasped at the feel of his flesh on her bare skin.

Bare skin? Somewhere along the way he’d peeled away her clothes.

“I intend to share a lot of heat with you now.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then smiled broadly. “And an explosive amount later.”

She shivered, partly because of the cold still gripping her, and partly because of the thrill of feeling him next to her.

Several sensations demanded her attention at once. The rough hair on his legs prickled against hers. Her breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples growing rigid--and not from the cold. His belly pressed against hers and a bulge growing between their lower bodies. His swollen flesh told her clearly he wanted her.

And she wanted him. Not later. Now.

Her fingers itched to slide down and stroke him. She remembered the wild sense of abandon she’d shared in his arms when they’d made love and the urge--in fact, an overwhelming desire--to do it again, jolted through her like a strike of lightning.

She suddenly felt a surge of strength. Her hand drifted down his chest--and farther. His erection moved slightly against her belly as she neared its tip. She dragged her finger over the cotton of his black briefs and he groaned. His hand grasped hers and flattened it against his thigh.

“Lucinda, stop that.”

She snuggled closer, pressing her breasts more firmly against him, deciding to use her natural assets to break down his resistance and convince him to give her what she wanted. Him.

“But I want to be warmer.” The words came out sexy and low. She pressed her lips to his throat and nuzzled.

“Lucinda.”

She couldn’t tell if his tone was warning or taxingly restrained. Or both.

She dragged her tongue along his collarbone, the salty-male taste of him eliciting an overwhelming desire to taste other, more interesting parts of him. His arms stiffened around her as she started to move down his chest.

“Mmm. I told you, I want--”

Her eyes widened as he shifted suddenly, rolling her under him, and pinned her hands beside her head.

“I want, too, but I’m holding myself back,” he said through gritted teeth. “You aren’t helping.”

She smiled. “I’m not trying to help.” She nipped his chin with her teeth. “Because I can’t help myself.” She kissed his bottom lip, then drew it into her mouth. “I want you.” Her voice had never sounded so husky.

His determined expression faltered.

“Great stars, Lucinda, it wouldn’t be right for me to make love to you in your weakened state.”

“Why not?” She leaned forward and captured his left nipple in her mouth. The feel of it beading tightly between her tongue and teeth delighted her.

“I could just lie back and let you do all the work.” She teased his other nipple with the tip of her tongue. He closed his eyes tightly. “And think how warm I’d be afterward.”

At his preoccupation with her playful teasing, his grip on her loosened, giving her the opportunity to wiggle her hands free. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him down until his chest touched her body, then she pressed her breasts into him. “That is why you got in here with me, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he forced out through gritted teeth.

She nudged him onto his side, then stroked her hands down his chest and across his stomach. His swollen erection stood tall and proud, obviously in need of her attention. When she wrapped her hands around it, it pulsed. She loved the feel of it. Like kid leather stretched taut over hard muscle. With one finger, she traced its length from tip to base.

Nyte growled, then buried his face in the hair at her neck. The feel of his lips caressing the flesh of her neck sent sparks tingling through her. His lips danced down her shoulder and across her chest, until he captured her nipple in his mouth. She gasped with exquisite pleasure. Delicious, overpowering urges lurched within her. She arched to him. An incredible warmth swept through her.

“Oh, Nyte, I’m feeling hotter already.”

He lapped his tongue across her other nipple, then drew it firmly, and deeply, into his mouth. She thought she’d faint at the extreme sensations raging through her. She stroked his erection with both hands.

“Lucinda, I want you so badly.” The words sounded rigid. “If I don’t make love to you now--”

The absolute need in his voice thrilled her.

She tightened her arms around him and pulled him against her. “Now, Nyte. I need you now, too.”

She arched her body to his, using one hand to guide his erection to her, then wrapped her thighs around him. He slid inside in one smooth, even thrust. She felt weak from the intense pleasure of his deep penetration and her body stretching around his enormous rod. She tightened her legs and drew him deeper still, moaning his name as he stroked inside her.

Exquisite. Overwhelming. Sensation.

He drew out then slid in again. She gasped for air as she compressed internal muscles and felt him slide tightly within her, magnifying the intense sensations.

“Lucinda, my love.” He planted a line of unsteady kisses along her throat. “Please tell me you’re ready. Because I certainly am.”

She nipped his earlobe. “I’m long past ready,” she murmured. She dragged her tongue around the edge of his ear, loving the sound of his groan, knowing she’d caused it.

He thrust forward. Once. Twice. Three times. Like a countdown to detonation.

On the last stroke, she exploded with sensation, blasting straight to a mind-numbing climax. His arms tightened around her as she cried out his name.

Chapter 19

Where had Nyte disappeared? Rand wondered as he glanced around the barren, arctic landscape. He’d been gone more than fifteen minutes and it was too damned cold to stand here doing nothing.

The wind whistled past his hooded head and he felt an answering echo through the caverns of his soul. His life felt so empty. This inactivity gave him too much time to think. He should be doing something to find Lucinda, to bring her back into his life, but that thought only augmented the hollowness inside. Once she was back, she’d go to Nyte. She was bonded to him now.

Somehow, Rand had known all along that he wasn’t meant to be Lucinda’s lifelong mate, but he had thought they’d always be friends. That would be impossible now. She loved Nyte and his and Nyte’s animosity would cause her too much heartache. Better to withdraw. Bit by bit he’d dismantle the friendship they’d built over centuries. Distance would be best for them both.

No matter where their friendship went in the future, however, right now he had to find her and assure himself of her safety. Standing here shivering wasn’t going to accomplish that goal.

He rubbed his hands together and stomped his feet in an effort to get the blood moving to his rapidly freezing extremities. He’d been trying to conserve his magical energy to break Lucinda free, but soon he would have to cast a spell to keep warm.

In the meantime, he’d search for Nyte. The walk would help.

He strode around the house following Nyte’s footprints. When he’d gone most of the way around the dwelling, he still saw no sign of him. He went another few feet and saw that Nyte’s footprints ended. From the opposite direction leading to the end of his trail, Rand saw a wide track carved through the snow.

Had Nyte fallen into some kind of trap?

Rand noticed a small object glittering in the snow. He knelt down and picked it up. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he saw it was a small, silver dragon holding a rectangular gem in its claws. A stone that was part yellow and part purple. He clamped his fingers around it. His fingernails dug into the heel of his hand. His heart pounded.

He’d given this necklace to Lucinda last Christmas.

The wide trail through the snow must be Lucinda’s, and from the look of it, she’d been crawling.

Somehow she must have escaped from the house and made it this far. He glanced at the house, his lips clamped tightly together. Had she been taken prisoner again? Had Nyte been taken captive, too? Or had Nyte whisked her away?

If the latter, would Nyte have left without a thought for Rand’s safety?

He didn’t have to search very deep for the answer to that question.

“It looks like you’ve been abandoned.”

Rand lurched to his feet and spun around. He found himself facing a tall man with long, black hair and similar features to Nyte. Except he had brilliant, green eyes rather than Nyte’s charcoal ones.

Rand shifted his feet apart and held his arms free and ready at his side--in case he needed to act quickly--and kept a keen gaze on the stranger. He could sense the powerful aura of magic around this man.

So this was the wizard Nyte had warned him about.

From the similarity in appearance and build, clearly, he and Nyte were related. And that made him dangerous.

“Where is Lucinda?” Rand demanded.

He shrugged. “I don’t know--exactly. It seems she’s escaped.”

Rand didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

The man strolled toward him, heedless of Rand’s stiffening stance. Unlike Nyte’s purposeful manner, this man seemed very laid back. Rand wanted to keep his distance, but he refused to retreat from the other’s advance. He would show no sign of weakness, yet neither would he strike out without provocation.

“Rand, believe me, Lucinda has been safe all along. I never meant her any harm.”

An uncomfortable feeling stole through him at the fact the other man knew his name.

“Then why did you kidnap her?” Rand growled.

“That requires a lot of explanation.” He smiled and gestured toward the house. “Come, let’s go inside where it’s warm and talk.”

Rand hesitated. The pendant digging into his palm reminded him that Lucinda had been outside the house, but that didn’t necessarily mean she had escaped. This was probably the only way he would ever get past the impenetrable barrier and get inside the house where this stranger might still be holding Lucinda prisoner. On the other hand, if she had escaped, this could be a trick to capture Rand and use him to lure Lucinda back.

“This is no trap, Rand. Come inside and listen to what I have to say. You won’t be sorry.”

Rand stared at the green-eyed stranger, amazed at the aura of sincerity emanating from him.

“An interesting choice of words,” Rand said. Sorry is what he would be if he found himself imprisoned. “Why do you say that?”

A blast of wind prickled his face with tiny crystals of snow and he shivered.

“Because I know the questions that have been haunting you for centuries. And I have the answers.”

* * * *

Lucinda was definitely warm now. In fact, she was in danger of becoming overheated, pressed intimately close to Nyte’s long, sexy body, his arms wrapped snugly around her. If she didn’t do something soon, her hormones would ignite again, and she didn’t have the energy for another round of lovemaking. It wouldn’t even help to suggest Nyte do all the work, because making love with Nyte demanded full participation.

Getting a little fresh air would be a good idea. She could go for a walk on the beach. Or maybe she’d just flake on the couch and watch the ocean waves dance in the sunlight as she enjoyed a tall, cold drink.

To do any of those things, however, she had to find the energy to get up.

Nyte’s arms tightened fractionally in an affectionate hug.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

She could feel his male member swell against her buttocks and she realized if she didn’t escape soon, she’d be held prisoner by her own desires.

She shifted onto her back and started to sit up, until the blanket slid down her breasts, and she remembered she was totally naked. She snatched the cover back up before it revealed anything too embarrassing. Not that she should be embarrassed, but it was difficult to put aside three centuries of inhibited behavior.

Although, a couple of hours ago she’d been pretty uninhibited. The memory of seducing Nyte crept through her, sending her body into a whirlwind of echoed responses. It had been exciting breaking down his resistance bit by bit. She would love to do it again, but somehow she doubted she’d find another opportunity where he would fight his desire for her as effectively.

When she found herself thinking about suggesting it to him anyway, she realized it was definitely time to get up. Otherwise, just as he’d warned her earlier, she’d drain her strength. But before she could get up, she needed clothes. Even though he had touched every part of her in a very intimate exploration last night, she wasn’t quite ready to parade across the room nude.

“Nyte, where are my clothes?”

“They’re hanging by the fire to dry.” He stroked his hand across her stomach, stirring the desire already simmering within her. “Why are you interested in clothes?” His hand continued upward until he cupped her breast. “They’ll only get in the way.”

Her nipple swelled in reaction to his touch. As wonderful as it felt, the heat of passion, combined with the heaviness of her fatigue and the warmth emanating from the fire, made her feel woozy. She covered his hand with hers and shifted it downwards.

“I’m too hot.”

He leaned on his elbow and grinned at her. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

He pressed his mouth to the base of her throat and started a journey downwards, the delicate brush of his lips acting like a powerful aphrodisiac. She sucked in a breath and captured his head between her hands before it reached her breast--and the point of no return.

“I want to get up and stretch my legs. Maybe have a cold drink.”

He shifted his mouth to hers, kissing her with excruciating tenderness. The tip of his tongue teased the inside of her lips, and when he drew away, she nearly groaned with need.

Smiling, he rolled back onto the pillows, folding his arms behind his head. “If you insist.”

Damnable man. He could be so persuasive--but she had to get up. She glanced toward the fireplace and saw her clothes draped along the hearth. Her red sweater, blue jeans, and her periwinkle blue bra and panties.

But something was missing. Something important. Her hand fluttered to her neck. The silver dragon Rand had given her.

“Where is my necklace?” She glanced across the surface of the dresser, but didn’t see it. She hoped Nyte had put it somewhere safe.

“Necklace? You weren’t wearing one when I found you.”

She felt the blood drain from her face and she flattened her hand on the base of her throat, right where the pendant used to nestle.

“Oh, no. It must have fallen off.”

He brushed some hair from her face and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Lucinda, I’ll get you another one.”

She shifted her wide-eyed gaze to his. “No, you don’t understand. I need that one. It was a gift.”

And it meant a great deal to her. Just as Rand did.

A fluttery feeling started in the base of her stomach. Rand had been with Nyte when he’d come searching for her. And she was certain Rand was in as much danger from Remlin as Nyte was.

“Nyte, where is Rand?”

Nyte drew away. Only a fraction, but enough to cause her a mild case of panic.

“I don’t know.”

At his tight expression, she suddenly felt very cold. She drew the covers tighter around herself.

“But he was with you when you came to find me. I saw you both outside Remlin’s house. Where did he go?”

He linked his hand with hers.

“Lucinda, when I found you, I had to act quickly. If I had taken one second too long, Remlin would have dragged you away again.”

Her stomach clenched and she drew her hand away as the meaning of his words sank in.

“You left Rand behind? To face Remlin alone?” Apprehension angled through her at the thought of what might happen to Rand.

“Remlin won’t hurt Randalph,” Nyte said in a confident tone.

She shook her head. “You can’t know that.”

“He has no reason to.”

Her fingers clutched tightly around the blanket. “What about revenge for ruining his plan? You and I both disappeared. Maybe he’ll decide to take out his anger on Rand?”

“Lucinda, Remlin will not hurt Randalph.” He leaned forward and took her hands. “Remlin is his uncle.”

Her eyes widened. “His uncle?”

Rand had an uncle who was a mysterious wizard with superior magical ability?

But if Remlin were related to anyone, it would more likely be Nyte. The two men looked strikingly similar.

She remembered that Nyte had told her he and Rand had always been close, before the incident that had cost Nyte his memory. Could it be that Rand and Nyte were related? Then Remlin would be related to both of them.

Could Remlin be Rand’s uncle and Nyte’s father?

But, that didn’t make sense. If he were Nyte’s father, he wouldn’t have set out to hurt him.

“If Remlin is Rand’s uncle, why hasn’t Rand ever mentioned him to me?”

“He doesn’t know him.”

Rand had a phantom uncle he’d never met?

“But you know him? Why is that?”

He sat forward and stared at her with an intense expression. “It’s a very complicated story, but maybe I should finally tell you about it.”

Apprehension quivered through her. Whatever he told her, she knew it would shake up her world in a big way.

Fate seemed determined to inundate her with mysteries. As she felt the thrill of piqued curiosity encompass her, to her total surprise, she realized that might not be a bad thing after all.

She squeezed his hands, anxious to hear what he had to say, but before he could speak, a gong sounded.

“What was that?” she asked.

His face turned grim and he nudged his head toward the foot of the bed. “Take a look.”

She swiveled her head and relief bolted through her as she saw Rand standing in the center of the room.

“Rand!”

Thank heavens he was safe. She almost leaped from the bed to throw her arms around him before she remembered she was totally naked under the covers. She pulled the blanket to her neck.

Her face flushed, despite the covering. Her embarrassment shifted to annoyance.

As relieved as she was to see Rand was all right, she didn’t like his new habit of dropping in on her when she was in bed with Nyte.

Nyte curled his fingers around hers. “Lucinda, it’s only an image. He’s not really here, and he can’t see us.”

She squinted at Rand and noticed that he was fuzzy around the edges.

“Nyte, I must speak with you,” Rand--or rather the image of Rand--said. “Let me in.”

A haunting sadness had cast shadows beneath Rand’s eyes, and his cheeks were as pale as the snow white hair that billowed around his shoulders. Alarm skittered through her. She grasped Nyte’s arm. “He must be in danger. Let him in.”

He shook his head. “First, if I lift the barrier, even for a second, Remlin could kidnap you again. Second, Randalph does not have enough power on his own to project that image past my barrier. That means Remlin is helping him.”

She couldn’t shift her gaze from Rand. Why did he look so empty and bereft? What had happened to him?

“Or it could mean that Remlin has captured Rand and this is his ransom note,” she suggested.

Nyte flicked his fingers toward the image of Rand and it disappeared.

“I told you--”

“I know. He’s his uncle. But haven’t you ever heard of dissension within a family?”

He sighed. “If you only knew.”

Lucinda ignored the comment for now. “And if Rand and his uncle have never met before, Remlin may not feel any family loyalty to him at all. We’ve got to find out if Rand is okay.”

He drew his arm around her. “We? I’m not going to let you--”

Lucinda glared at him, amazed at how quickly he could forget his promise not to control her.

He raked his hand through his hair. “Let me rephrase that. It’s dangerous for you to leave here. I don’t know what Remlin wants, but until I do, I don’t want to give him the chance to kidnap you again.”

“But you won’t find out what he wants locked away here.”

Nyte tossed aside the covers. “Fine, I’ll go and find out.”

Fear for Nyte’s safety bolted through her and she grabbed his arm. “Wait, you can’t do that. Remlin wants to hurt you.”

He sat on the side of the bed and smiled at her. “Lucinda, you can’t have it both ways. Do you want me to find out what’s happened to Randalph or not?”

She hesitated. “I think we should both go.”

“Not a good idea.” He drew her hand into his and continued in a very persuasive tone. “Lucinda, I would do anything to protect you. Remlin knows that. Do you really want to give him that much power over me?”

As his gaze held hers, she felt awash in his love. He would do anything to protect her. She knew that. It was the reason she had been so determined to escape Remlin in the first place. If Remlin captured the two of them, he could force Nyte to do whatever he wanted by threatening to hurt Lucinda if Nyte didn’t comply.

She had to think of something else.

“I guess it won’t work for me to go alone?” she asked.

“Definitely not.” He kissed her. “So, are we agreed? I’ll go and you’ll stay here?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t like it.”

He smiled. “I know. You’ve made that very clear.”

Her hand tightened around his. “I don’t want to be locked in this house again.”

“You won’t be. No one can get in unless I allow it, but you can get out any time you want.” He tipped up her chin. “But you won’t leave. Right?”

She hated the thought of sitting back and waiting while her man went to battle, so to speak. But what he said made sense.

She sighed in resignation. “All right, I’ll stay here and wait.”

He stood up and conjured himself into some clothes then, with a glimmer in his eyes, he tugged the covers from Lucinda and dragged her into his arms. The textured pattern of his black wool sweater prickled against her bare breasts as his hand stroked the length of her spine. He tangled his fingers in her hair and brought her lips to his in a firm, passionate kiss, leaving her breathless.

“When I get back,” he murmured, “we’ll carry on from here.”

His lips turned up in a smile that would melt any woman’s resistance. Which was totally unnecessary, because Lucinda no longer had any resistance to Nyte’s brand of magic.

The magic of love.

* * * *

Nyte teleported to Remlin’s house in the Arctic, this time clothing himself in a layer of warm air rather than a parka. The extra energy it cost would be worth the advantage in maneuverability. Not that he really believed Remlin meant him any harm, but he believed in being prepared. When he arrived, he sensed that the protective barrier around the dwelling had been dropped.

An invitation to come in?

A trap?

Warily, he shifted himself into the house, appearing on the inside of the large front window.

Remlin lounged on a plush recliner, his feet stretched out in front of him, a fine crystal flute filled with white wine in his hand. He placed the glass on the table beside him and his mouth turned up in a half smile. A smile Nyte had learned never to trust.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive,” Remlin said.

At the sight of Remlin, old memories bubbled to the surface of Nyte’s mind. Good and bad.

An image of a younger Remlin, a self-satisfied expression on his face after transporting the two of them to the rim of an active volcano, reminded him that most times with Remlin were both exhilarating and dangerous. They’d been grounded for a week after that incident, but Nyte had always enjoyed the rush of excitement Remlin provided. Remlin had a penchant for trouble, but he had been the cause of some of the best times of Nyte’s life.

Nyte might long for the good times with Remlin, but at the same time, he couldn’t ignore the bad. Those negative incidents, which had impacted Nyte’s life so severely, threw a shadow over everything Remlin had ever shared with him. His gut tightened at the thought Remlin had nearly destroyed three people’s lives.

“Why have you come back, Remlin? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

Remlin pushed himself to his feet and strolled toward Nyte. “That’s why I’m here.” He held his hands out at his sides in an open gesture. “I know you may find this hard to believe, but I want to apologize.”

“Apologize?” The word burst forth like a minor explosion. “After destroying everything I held dear?” Nyte slammed his fist on the wall. “You tore Clarissa from us.”

Remlin’s back stiffened slightly. “It was her decision to leave.”

“But she wouldn’t have if you hadn’t seduced her with visions of all the wonders you could show her, the places you could take her. She became dissatisfied with her life. We couldn’t compete with that and you knew it.”

His fist clenched so tightly he thought his fingers might break. “I could have survived her leaving, but you had to know it would break Randalph’s heart.

Remlin’s shoulders slumped and he stared out the window at the frozen vista beyond. “I understand that now.” He turned his gaze back to Nyte. “But I didn’t back then.”

Nyte grunted and turned away, a knot forming in his stomach at the thought of the pain they had all endured because of Remlin.

“Nyte, I’m not here to justify my actions. I never meant for it to end the way it did. I meant to annoy you, and have a little fun--”

Nyte pivoted toward him, his face twisted in a snarl. “Yes, Remlin the merrymaker. Having fun at everyone else’s expense.” He glared at him. “This time you went way too far.”

“I told you, I’m not trying to excuse what I did. I’m trying to make amends.” He stepped forward and placed his hand firmly on Nyte’s shoulder. “Nyte, let me right the wrong I caused so long ago.”

Right the wrong? Obviously, empty words to ease his conscience.

“Can you bring back Clarissa?” Nyte growled.

Remlin’s green eyes, uncharacteristically serious, stared into his. “Would you really want me to?”

The quiet question crushed the air from Nyte’s lungs. Just what would he do if Clarissa returned to him now?

He shoved Remlin’s hand from his shoulder and stepped toward the fireplace. “Then what do you have in mind?”

“The real damage that was done--”

“That you did,” Nyte corrected.

Remlin nodded. “Yes, that I did--was to destroy the relationship between you and Randalph. I’m here to help you and him patch things up.”

Nyte’s eyebrows shot up. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“At this point, by encouraging you to talk to him.”

Nyte thumped his fist on the mantel. “I’ve tried that but he refuses to talk about it. He’s totally closed me out.”

Remlin leaned against the side of the couch. “Do you know he believes you killed Clarissa?”

His heart compressed painfully at the reminder. “That’s what Lucinda told me.”

“But you don’t believe it, do you?”

“No.”

After Lucinda had revealed what Randalph had told her, he had pretty much decided Randalph had made it up to convince Lucinda to turn away from him.

Remlin’s green gaze bored into him. “Nyte, think about what happened right before Randalph showed up that night.”

Nyte didn’t have to think hard. The argument with Clarissa had been etched into his brain. Argument? Hell, it was a fight explosive enough to light up the night sky. And afterward, in his rage... .

An image of the fireball he’d hurled in anger whizzed through his brain. He’d stared at the ruined remains of the room for long moments, the pain of Clarissa’s rejection burning through him. He didn’t know how long he’d stood there, but he remembered turning around and seeing Randalph standing behind him. But Randalph hadn’t known about the argument. He’d arrived much later.

Hadn’t he?

Tendrils of doubt coiled through his mind. How long had Randalph been there?

“He saw enough to believe you killed her,” Remlin said.

The words acted like a fist in the gut, knocking the wind from him. He slumped onto a chair, his legs suddenly rubbery.

He shook his head. “How could Randalph think I would hurt her? He knew me better than that.”

Remlin’s eyebrows arched up. “Did he?”

His gaze shot to Remlin’s. “What do you mean by that?”

Remlin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Don’t you realize how hard you were on him? How demanding?”

He curled his fingers over his knees. “That was only because I knew what a fine wizard he would be someday. I had to push him. It was for his own good.”

“But it had its price.”

Nyte sat up straight, his back rigid. “And that was?”

“He never got close to you.”

He locked gazes with Remlin. “Are you saying I failed him?”

Remlin waved the comment away. “No, of course not. But I think you will if you don’t reach out to him now.”

Nyte slammed his hands flat on his thighs in disbelief, then pushed himself to his feet. “Reach out to him? Have you forgotten he tried to kill me?” He stepped to the fireplace, then leaned against the mantel and stared into the hot, orange flames. Like the fireball Randalph had hurled at him. He could almost feel the heat consuming his body.

“Rand was young, his emotions turbulent.” Remlin stepped beside Nyte. “He reacted. Don’t condemn him for that.” His hand settled on Nyte’s shoulder. “Believe me, he’s suffered because of it. It’s time to put an end to the pain.”

Suffered? Nyte remembered the bitter cold he’d felt surrounding Randalph’s heart and knew it to be true. Remlin had done well with that. He’d forced Nyte to come face to face with Randalph’s pain.

Remlin’s fingers curled around his shoulder. “As for him closing you out, think about it. The whole situation was very traumatic for him, but everything that happened, except for one thing, was beyond his control.” Remlin held up one finger in emphasis. “Only one thing was his fault.”

Nyte shifted his gaze to Remlin’s. “Striking out at me.”

“Exactly. And he’s had to live with that. Centuries of fending off the terrible guilt. The only thing justifying it in his mind was the fact you had murdered Clarissa. Imagine what it would do to him if he gave you the chance to explain, and you actually have a good reason for what you did.” Remlin shook his head. “There’s no way he could risk opening up to you.”

Remlin’s words drew a vision of Randalph, blocked behind a self-imposed barrier. If Nyte broke it down, he risked Randalph’s sanity. Yet, he couldn’t leave Randalph alone behind an impenetrable wall of glass.

“What do you suggest?”

Remlin squeezed Nyte’s shoulder. “He has to know you forgive him.”

“And how do I convince him of that?”

Remlin shrugged. “Tell him.”

It sounded so simple, Nyte wasn’t sure it would work. And yet, he knew it was the only thing that could.

At least it was an approach. It would be better than stumbling around the problem as he’d been doing so far.

Nyte stared into Remlin’s green eyes for a long moment. He couldn’t believe Remlin was the one standing here giving him advice. His heart warmed at the thought Remlin had turned himself around. He’d matured a lot since the last time Nyte had seen him. He had finally taken responsibility for his actions, and he’d put a lot of thought and effort into bringing Rand and Nyte together again.

Nyte did something he never thought he’d do again. He offered his hand to Remlin.

“Thank you.”

Remlin clasped Nyte’s hand firmly, a smile spreading across his face.

“Before I forgive Randalph, maybe I should get in a little practice,” Nyte said. “Earlier, you said you came to apologize.” Nyte squeezed Remlin’s hand. “I accept your apology, Remlin... and I forgive you.”

Remlin’s smile broke into a wide grin, showing a row of even white teeth. He threw his arms around Nyte and slapped his back. Poignant emotions surged through Nyte as he enjoyed the first expression of warmth he had shared with Remlin since late adolescence.

It felt good.

When they separated, Nyte returned Remlin’s warm smile.

“Do you know where Randalph is?”

“Yes, you’ll find him at home.”

Nyte nodded. “Fine. I’ll let you know the outcome.”

He raised his arms, ready to transport.

“Before you go, Nyte, how is Lucinda?”

Nyte remembered how she had exercised her uniquely feminine abilities last night to get exactly what she wanted--to his total delight.

“She’s recovering nicely. A bit more bed rest and she’ll be fine.”

Remlin chuckled. “If you actually let her rest. You know, you’ve been paired with an extraordinary woman.”

Nyte nodded. “I know that. Very stubborn, but well worth the frustration.”

Remlin leaned against the arm of the chair. “She was pretty weak. Do you think you should have left her alone?”

His eyebrows arched up. “You aren’t offering to go sit with her, are you? I’d have a lot of explaining to do if I sent you there.”

A gleam appeared in Remlin’s eyes. “There is another alternative.”

Chapter 20

Nyte approached the clearing of trees quietly, watching the silhouette of a figure sitting by the wishing well. Randalph. His powder white hair cascaded past his shoulders, which seemed to sag as he leaned forward, his chin resting on his fist in the classic thinker’s pose.

A hush hung over the glade, as if nature’s creatures didn’t want to disturb Randalph while he struggled with his thoughts. Not total silence, but soft cushioned sounds: a gentle breeze wafting through the trees, the trickling of water though a nearby stream, and the occasional warbling of a dove.

Nyte stood silent for a moment, loath to disturb the serenity of the scene. As he opened himself to the tranquility, Randalph’s heightened energy battered against him--a distressing mix of anguish and guilt. Clearly, Randalph’s mood was anything but peaceful.

Nyte picked up a leaf from the ground and twirled the stem between his fingers.

“Randalph. It’s time we talked.”

Randalph turned toward him, his blue eyes hollow, his cheeks drawn.

“Why did you leave me alone?” His voice trembled with emotions long suppressed.

A haunting ache started within him at the knowledge Randalph had been alone for thirteen centuries. Whether the question referred to that, or his leaving Randalph alone at Remlin’s, Nyte didn’t know.

“I had to protect Lucinda. And I knew you could take care of yourself.”

“Like I have all these centuries.” The quiet words joined with the rustling of the leaves and echoed through the trees, surrounding Nyte with a sense of Rand’s loneliness. A pain that burrowed deep like the roots of the trees, and like those roots, affected the foundation of his whole life.

He stepped closer. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

Randalph pushed himself to his feet and strolled across the clearing to a path that led deeper into the woods.

“I spoke with Remlin and he told me a great many things.”

“Like what?” Nyte followed him. Trees arched over them, blocking the sunlight, surrounding them in a gentle, shadowed world filled with the quiet whispers of nature.

“Wild things. Unbelievable things.”

Randalph pushed aside a low hanging branch. He continued wandering deeper into the forest, as though searching for something. A grounding of some sort perhaps. Nyte could well imagine the things Remlin had told him, things that would skew Randalph’s whole view of reality. He would need something to cling to. Something to remind him of the solidity of his existence.

“Did you believe them?”

He slowed his pace a fraction. “I don’t know.” Confusion churned through his quiet words.

More than ever Randalph needed someone to talk to. Someone to provide guidance. Nyte felt an aching need to be that person.

And he should be. It was the way it was meant to be.

But for now he had to focus on his purpose.

“What did he tell you about Clarissa?”

Randalph stopped walking. “He told me he and Clarissa... That they... His eyes fell closed and he leaned against a tree. “How could she do that? To me?” He opened his eyes and quickly blinked away a glaze of moisture. “To us?”

He wanted to reach out to Randalph, to touch him in a fatherly way, with love and reassurance, but Randalph wasn’t ready for that. His fingers slid around Nyte’s wrist and clamped tight like an iron manacle.

“It’s not true, is it?” Randalph’s gaze bored into Nyte, pleading with him to deny the fact that Clarissa had had an affair with Remlin.

How could Nyte hurt him more by confirming her betrayal? And yet lying would only make matters worse.

He gave in to the impulse to rest his hand on Randalph’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Randalph, I—”

Randalph’s eyes blazed with anger and he flung Nyte’s hand away. “No! I don’t believe you.” He spun around and strode further down the path. Into darker shadows.

“I’m sure you want me to believe she chose to leave, too,” Randalph declared. “To go to some other world.” He spun back to face Nyte. “But I know that isn’t true. You killed her.”

Nyte steadied himself against the inner turmoil Randalph’s words evoked. Now that he finally stood accused, they could face the matter, and get past it.

Nyte shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

Burning emotions raged through him as he remembered trying desperately to talk Clarissa out of leaving, but she wouldn’t listen. She had walked away without a thought as to the pain she would inflict on the men who loved her.

Randalph turned to him with shimmering eyes. “I saw you kill her.”

The anger and hatred in Randalph’s eyes burned through Nyte’s soul. Remlin had done well to explain what had happened before Nyte arrived, to allow the facts to simmer in Randalph’s brain, but Nyte knew, no matter what explanation Randalph had been given, he would not easily give up the belief he’d clung to for so long.

Nyte had to focus Randalph on the important point, the reason he’d come here today.

“This isn’t about whether I killed Clarissa or not. I can prove I didn’t.”

He paused a moment to let his words sink in. Randalph raised his head and gaped at Nyte with a startled look of disbelief.

“This is about what you did,” Nyte continued. “You killed me.”

Anguish streaked across Randalph’s face. “I... couldn’t help it. You killed her and I... .”

Randalph slammed his hand against a tree. The haunting, dismal look in his eyes gave Nyte a brief glimpse into the dark recesses of his soul.

“Damn it. What did you expect?” Randalph’s fingers clenched into tight fists. “You killed my mother.”

Nyte stepped toward him. “Randalph, you killed me, and I forgive you.”

A flicker of confusion sparked in Randalph’s eyes before he shuttered them behind a glare. “I don’t want your forgiveness.”

Nyte continued forward, determined to get through to Randalph. “I forgive you.”

Randalph’s back stiffened and his gaze clashed with Nyte’s. “You have no right.”

Clearly, Nyte’s steady progress closer unnerved Randalph. His bravado started to crumble and he backed away.

“I forgive you.” Nyte’s words, steady and confident, filled the void between them.

Randalph shook his head and backed against a tree, his eyes glazing. Agitation radiated from him. He was like an animal backed into a corner.

“I forgive you.” Warmth shimmered through his words. He had resolved to make Randalph come to terms with his guilt. And conquer it.

As Nyte moved within an arm’s length of him, Randalph’s eyes blazed with violent emotions.

“No, you--” He shook his head and spoke in barely audible words, “You can’t.” His voice broke.

“I forgive you.” Nyte clasped his arms around Randalph. He remained stiff in Nyte’s embrace, but Nyte hugged him tighter, willing him to lower his barriers. “I forgive you, son,” he murmured, “because I love you.”

Rand shuddered, then collapsed against Nyte, his whole body shaking.

Conflicting emotions skewered Nyte’s heart as he held his son in his arms for the first time in over a millennium. The most intense was joy at finally breaking through to him.

“And now,” Nyte said, his voice barely a whisper, “you need to forgive yourself.”

* * * *

Lucinda padded into the kitchen and tugged open the fridge. Orange juice was all she could find to drink.

Well, it wasn’t diet Coke but it would have to do.

She pulled out the pitcher and poured herself a glass. After a thorough exploration, she settled on the granola she found in one of the cupboards. As she sat at the table and poured the cereal into a bowl, the tinkling noise reminded her of the sound of Merlin’s hard food when she poured it into his dish.

Merlin! He hadn’t been fed in days.

She couldn’t just leave the little critter to starve to death. On the other hand, she’d promised Nyte she wouldn’t leave the house.

With any luck, Nyte wouldn’t be too long.

She consoled herself with the thought that Merlin had lots of water available and he could probably last a week without food. She ignored the thought that he’d probably go hunting for something to eat long before then.

Heaven help the sparrows.

If Nyte returned in the next couple of hours, her feathered friends might be spared.

She hoped Nyte would return long before that. She’d spent the last hour worrying, finally coming into the kitchen to do something about the empty rumblings in her own stomach.

If Nyte didn’t return soon, she’d go crazy with apprehension. If anything happened to him, especially now that she’d experienced the joy of his love, she didn’t know how she’d cope. Making love with Nyte had opened up a part of her she’d kept hidden for a long time--a vulnerable part that allowed her to let someone into her heart.

How would she survive living an eternity without him?

She heard a scratching at the door and glanced up in time to see a black, triangular face topped by two pointed ears appear through a small flap in the back door.

“Mrreow.”

“Merlin!” Pleasure zipped through her at the sight of the little critter.

He pushed through the flap and sauntered across the room. He glanced around, as though looking for his dish, then sat in the middle of the floor, a tall, proud statue, staring at her.

Nyte must have sent Merlin to her. What a sweet gesture. He must have known she’d be lonely, and that she’d be worried about her cat.

Relief trickled through her. If he was able to send Merlin, he must still be safe.

She leaped to her feet and grabbed the feline, then hugged him to her chest. “I’m so sorry, fella. You must be hungry.”

Totally unlike Merlin, he put up with her hugging for a minute or more before he murred, then wriggled in search of freedom. She loosened her hold and he leaped to the floor.

“I know you don’t like displays of affection, but I missed you. I can’t help it.”

He rubbed against her legs and purred loudly. She smiled broadly.

“You missed me, too, didn’t you?”

She walked to the cupboard and searched for something to feed him. Tuna would do nicely, she thought, as she pulled out a stubby can. She opened it and dumped the contents onto a dinner plate, liquid and all.

She placed it in front of him, then filled a bowl with fresh water.

Surprisingly, he sniffed at the tuna, but ate very little.

She crouched down and petted him. She’d forgotten how silky his shiny black coat felt. Ever since Nyte came into her life, she’d shamelessly ignored Merlin. Well, not ignored exactly. In fact, it was more like Merlin had ignored her. He had spent every minute he could with Nyte.

But she wouldn’t dwell on that now. She was glad Merlin liked him. After all, Nyte would be a part of her life for a very long time.

Assuming, of course, that he did return.

She sat back down in her chair.

“You know, Mer, Nyte’s gone off to save Rand from some wretched wizard named Remlin.”

Merlin glanced up from his bowl and stared at her, his tail straight as a flagpole.

“I’m really worried about him.”

Merlin leaped onto her lap and nuzzled her hand. She petted him and he purred contentedly. At the feel of his warm fur rippling under her hand and the slight vibration rumbling through him, some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Did cats know how soothing their presence was?

“I don’t know what Remlin has in mind, but I think he’s dangerous.” She wrapped her hands around Merlin and lifted him to face her. “Merlin, I might never see Nyte again.”

As she stared into his eyes, a storm of emotion chilled through her.

Merlin stared back. Big, green eyes. The color of peridot. Glittering. Roguish. With a knowing gleam.

Just like Remlin’s.

Suddenly, the similarity in names struck her. Remlin. Merlin.

Her insides started to churn.

Her head shook back and forth of its own accord.

“No. You can’t be.”

The cat seemed to smile.

She plunked him on the floor and backed away.

“You can’t.” Her voice held an edge of panic.

The small, black body began to transform, expanding, stretching longer, then pushing to an upright position.

“Remlin!” She gasped his name in horror.

Unbelievable. Her cat was actually an evil wizard.

One thought bolted through the haze of shock surrounding her. Nyte would never forgive himself when he realized he’d sent their enemy right to her.

“Have you been... ? I mean, the past three years... ?”

He nodded, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

Anger sliced through her. She planted her hands on her hips. “The whole time I’ve been feeding you and taking care of you, you’ve been a... a... .”

“Wizard.”

She scowled. “A rat, you mean.”

He grinned. “Lucinda, your annunciation is atrocious. You spell cat with a “c,” not an “r.”

“I took care of you. I... “ Loved you. She bit back the words, the very thought making her ill.

His smile turned warm and he reached out and took her hand. “I know you did, and believe me the affection is mutual.”

She didn’t like the warmth in his voice. She didn’t like how it chipped away at her indignation. And she didn’t like the way her hand felt so natural clasped in his, like it used to with her brother Jerrick. She snatched her hand away, reminding herself this man was dangerous.

“Why did you come?” she demanded.

“To keep you company.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t want your company.”

He shrugged and strolled across the room. “Fine. I won’t impose myself on you. When I see Nyte, I’ll tell him how worried you are.”

He grinned and nodded toward the bowl of tuna on the floor. “So long, and thanks for all the fish.”

She grimaced at the quote from one of her favorite books.

He slashed his arms up then down and disappeared.

She drew in a deep breath and expelled it. She couldn’t believe he’d gone away so easily. It didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t he taken her prisoner again and used her as bait?

When I see Nyte, I’ll tell him how worried you are.

Alarm spiked through her. He intended to convince Nyte he’d broken through the barrier and kidnapped her again.

Damn. Remlin--alias her pet Merlin--was playing a vicious game of cat and mouse with them all, and she didn’t like it one bit.

If Nyte thought Remlin had her... .

Nyte’s words crept through her mind. Lucinda, I would do anything to protect you. Remlin knows that. Do you really want to give him that much power over me?

She couldn’t let Nyte think she was Remlin’s prisoner.

She had to warn him.

* * * *

Inside the confines of Nyte’s house and his protective spell, Lucinda could not sense where Nyte was. The bond between them had not been cut off, as it had been when she’d been in Remlin’s clutches, but she couldn’t fully sense Nyte’s essence.

She shifted her body outside, just beyond the boundaries of the spell. The connection between her and Nyte swelled with his cherished presence, like a flood of warm, fragrant light washing over her.

She shifted again, following the thread of his essence through space until she felt herself materialize.

Her first impression was of hard, level ground under her feet. Smooth. Probably a floor, rather than the softer, less even terrain of an outdoor location. A room came into focus around her. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with row upon row of books. Some very new, some as old as a book could be.

Rand’s library.

Had Nyte tracked Rand here? If so, and Rand was safe, why had Nyte been gone so long? Had their antagonism gotten the better of them, making them forget the danger from Remlin? If so, she could have a fight on her hands.

An odd crackling noise vibrated through the air. She knew Nyte must be near--his presence felt very strong--but one of the bookshelves that carved the room into sections blocked her view of the main area.

She stepped around it and felt her heartbeat accelerate like a formula one racing car at the wave of a checkered flag. It took a second for the scene before her to clarify to reality.

Nyte stood about five meters from Rand and from his fingers spiked sharp, jagged lines of energy. Violet. Directed straight at Rand.

Rand stood tall and proud, not even trying to fight back. An eerie violet glow radiated around him, growing brighter as Nyte continued to feed it energy.

One driving urge burst through her. She had to save Rand. It burned away every thought in her mind, except the fact that if she didn’t take action, the strong emotions boiling through her would leave her a weeping heap of jell-o on the floor.

She lurched toward Rand, with a rough idea of shoving him out of the way. It wasn’t well thought out, but her legs started running and her brain simply tried to keep up.

“Lucinda, no!”

Nyte saw Lucinda racing toward Randalph and knew he could not allow her to get caught in the energy well of the powerful spell he directed at Randalph. This extraordinary spell required enough energy that it could, if misdirected, flatten a large city block.

Lucinda would not survive.

He searched deep inside himself for some emergency reserve of energy, and willed it at Lucinda, while keeping the primary flow of energy directed at Randalph.

About two meters from Rand, Lucinda felt something slam into her, flinging her toward one of the large bookshelves dividing the room. The shelf toppled over and crashed to the floor, books spewing in all directions.

When the pain she expected to feel at smashing into the heavy oak shelf didn’t emerge, she realized a bubble had formed around her and had cushioned the blow. She flung her gaze to Rand. Nyte still targeted him with his jagged power bolts. She jabbed at the translucent film around her. The stuff gave a little, then bounced back.

The glow around Rand began to shimmer and the vivid color deepened. The crackling sound increased in volume, tearing across the edges of her nerve endings. She pointed her shoulder toward him and threw her whole body weight at the bubble, hoping to break free--or at least to shift it closer to him and become an obstacle between Nyte and Rand--but it didn’t budge.

As she tried again and again, she saw the purple outline around Rand flicker, then rapidly contract to the size of a baseball, taking Rand with it. It winked out like a light bulb.

She gasped, then flattened her hands against the bubble and gaped in horror at the place Rand had been just seconds before.

Gone. Rand was gone.

Her heart turned to a solid rock inside her chest. Hard and cold.

Nyte had killed Rand.

She slid to her knees, the weight of her despair dragging her down. Her head fell against the barrier that had kept her from Rand’s side in his last moments. It felt cold and sickly soft. Her vision blurred as tears welled up, then flooded from her eyes.

Rand was gone. She couldn’t believe it.

Nyte watched the tears stream from Lucinda’s eyes and his gut clenched painfully. He’d had to do what he’d done. It was the only way to settle things between him and Rand. But how would he ever explain it to Lucinda? How could he make her understand?

He longed to let her out of the bubble, to take her in his arms and hold her. She looked so fragile sitting there, desolation marring her lovely features. But if he released her, he knew she would teleport as far away from him as she could. He wouldn’t even have a chance to explain.

Slowly, she turned her gaze on him, and the sheer hatred he saw in her face told him no amount of explaining would make things right between them. Only hard evidence would convince her.

And for that he had to wait.

Chapter 21

As Lucinda stared at Nyte, her throat tightened so severely she thought she might choke. How could Fate pair her with a man who would hurt someone so dear to her? Bitterness peppered her heart as she pressed her hand against the wall of the bubble. How could she truly love someone who would control her like Nyte did?

She stared at him with loathing.

The look of deep concern on his face, the entreaty in his eyes--as though he wanted to plead his innocence--shook her. Even though he had just killed her best friend, he still touched something deep in her heart. A part of her wanted to reach out and hold him. And be held by him.

Nausea churned in her stomach and she turned away. The view of her betrayer tore too deeply at her heart. And triggered too many turbulent emotions. Did he intend to leave her imprisoned here until she bent to his will?

A crackling sound snatched her attention from inside the bubble, and her own pain, to outside. A flicker of purple appeared where Rand had last stood. Her heart skipped a double-Dutch beat as she saw a baseball-sized sphere appear, then expand rapidly.

To Rand’s full height.

A tall figure stood in the purple mist. Rand! Her breathing seemed too shallow to support her lungs as she watched him step forward. Safe. Very much alive. And wearing the most brilliant smile she’d ever seen.

Relief rushed through her and she surged to her feet. Rand was alive! And with the young, vital body he’d worn a few days ago.

Nyte had not killed him after all.

Then she noticed Rand was not alone. A delicate feminine arm curved around his. As Lucinda followed the arm upwards, past the shoulders to the radiant, smiling face, her heart felt as though it had been flattened like a bug. She’d seen this lovely woman once before, in the depths of a crystal ball.

Clarissa!

* * * *

“Nyte, darling.” Clarissa strolled toward Nyte.

Her auburn hair cascaded in lustrous waves to her waist, shimmering over the moss green velvet of her gown. The cut of the dress caressed her body like a lover’s touch, enveloping every feminine curve in the rich, sensuous fabric. The hem skimmed the floor but, with every step, a long slit up the front revealed a slender, white thigh. Everything about her cried out for the touch of a man.

She cupped her hands around Nyte’s face and stared into his eyes with a look that would melt the snow from Alaska’s Mount McKinley in five seconds flat.

“It has been so very long, my love.” Her deep, throaty voice carried the words on a musical lilt.

Clarissa lifted her lips to Nyte’s and, when they met, Lucinda expected live sparks to flare from the passion of their kiss.

Lucinda’s heart clenched painfully in her chest and tears burned her eyes.

Clarissa obviously wanted Nyte back.

Lucinda sucked in a deep breath and willed her overactive heart to beat at a steadier pace, confusion spiraling through her.

Clarissa couldn’t share a Love Bond with Nyte because Lucinda had bonded with him. Unless this was another of Fate’s tricks. The Call Lucinda had received for Nyte hadn’t been real, despite its overwhelming intensity. Could it be that the Love Bond wasn’t real either?

Rand stood in the background, watching Nyte and Clarissa in their ardent embrace. She couldn’t understand how he could just stand there watching the woman he loved being kissed by another man. Maybe he just hid his feelings much better than she did. The sight probably cut through him as badly as it did her.

Lucinda stepped forward, intent on moving to Rand’s side, and rammed straight into the near invisible shell around her. She slammed her fist against it in frustration.

Nyte drew back from Clarissa. Was it Lucinda’s imagination that he seemed anxious to be free of her hold?

Clarissa smiled and turned toward Lucinda. “This must be the young woman Randalph has told me so much about.” Her lapis blue eyes traveled the length of Lucinda in a thorough examination, as though sizing up the competition.

Her eyes narrowed and she stepped toward Lucinda. When she stood a foot away, she poked her finger forward, coming into contact with the bubble. Her lips puckered.

“Nyte, is this any way to treat a lady? Locking her up like a thief?”

Nyte stretched his arm toward Lucinda and she felt herself pulled toward him. The bubble drifted across the floor and stopped about two meters from Clarissa and Rand. Nyte turned to face her, placing his back to the others, and flattened his hand on the surface of the bubble.

She shivered being this close to him. A part of her longed for him with an intensity that blocked out common sense.

“Lucinda, I’m going to set you free. Will you stay and listen to what Randalph has to say?” His dark eyes pleaded with her. “Will you let me explain?”

If she said no, he would probably keep her here indefinitely. She nodded her agreement, wondering if she would be able to keep that implied promise. The urge to fling herself to the far reaches of the galaxy--to get as far away from Nyte as possible--might overwhelm her.

She felt energy gather around him, then he pressed the tips of his fingers against the surface of the bubble and it shimmered, then disappeared. She wobbled a little as her feet conformed to the flat floor. His strong hand grasped her elbow to steady her. His firm touch triggered too many feelings in her. Feelings she couldn’t endure for long. She snatched her arm away.

“Lucinda.” Rand stepped toward her, excitement glowing in his eyes. “I was wrong about Nyte. As you can see, he didn’t kill Clarissa after all.”

The warmth in his eyes as he glanced at Clarissa tore at Lucinda’s heart. He obviously loved her and yet he seemed to accept that she was Nyte’s woman. Could she be as accepting about losing Nyte?

She traced Rand’s features with her gaze, taking in his familiar, and well-loved, face. Though she didn’t understand how it could be, Rand clearly understood what it meant to experience the depths of love. It shone in his eyes every time he gazed at Clarissa. As he did now.

Anger shot through her at how Clarissa seemed to use, and abuse, men. In fact, she really didn’t deserve Rand or Nyte.

Rand turned back to face Lucinda. “Nyte and I have patched up our differences, with the help of Remlin.”

“Remlin?” The thought of him reminded her they were all in danger.

“He’s Nyte’s brother. They come from a different planet--one of powerful wizards who guide newly spawned wizards on other worlds to reach their full potential.”

“A different planet?” She stared at Rand in disbelief.

“That’s where Clarissa has been all this time.”

Clarissa stepped toward Lucinda, then took both her hands and drew her forward. “You are as lovely as Randalph described.” She sent a sidelong glance at Nyte and her lips turned up in a smile. “I can’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy.”

“You have no reason to feel jealous.” Nyte’s words, strung as tight as a guitar string, vibrated through Lucinda, shaking loose any thought she might have of fighting for Nyte.

Clarissa placed her hand on his arm. “Of course, darling. I know that.”

Nyte stepped toward Lucinda and reached for her hand. His fingers encircled hers and, as much as she knew she should pull away, she couldn’t. “Lucinda, I’m sorry I had to confine you in that protective sphere, but I was afraid you would get hurt.”

Her throat constricted and she was unable to force any words out, even if she’d known what to say. She nodded and drew her hand from his, forcing herself not to jerk it away from his bittersweet touch.

She moved to Rand’s side, then wrapped her fingers around his arm, needing his support more than she ever had before. She averted her gaze from Nyte’s, unable to endure the sharp look of pain in the black depths of his eyes. Clearly, even though he’d been reunited with Clarissa, he was jealous of her closeness with Rand.

Thank heavens Rand was safe and sound. He glanced at her, smiling. She’d hoped for some look of commiseration in his keen blue eyes, a recognition of their shared loss, but he seemed too caught up in joy at having found Clarissa again.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she told him.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m fine.” He glanced at Clarissa again. “Everything is fine now.” He slid his arm around Lucinda’s waist and drew her forward.

“Lucinda, I’d like to do this properly,” Rand said. He gestured toward Clarissa. “I want to introduce you to Clarissa.”

Lucinda offered her hand to the other woman, then nearly choked at Rand’s next words.

“My mother.”

Lucinda’s eyes widened. “Your mother?”

She turned to stare at Nyte. Clarissa was his lover. That must mean... .

“Nyte is your father?” She was beginning to feel a little dizzy.

“That’s right,” Rand responded.

Her head began to spin and she swayed.

“Are you all right?” Rand asked as he caught her elbow.

She shook her head. Or maybe she nodded. She wasn’t sure. Rand led her to a nearby chair. As she sank into it, she realized Nyte stood by her other side. He offered her a glass of water.

“You’re still weak, Lucinda.” Nyte held the glass steady in her trembling hands and helped her tip it so she could take a sip. “You’ve been through a lot, and teleporting here used up your reserve of energy. Just relax now.”

Relax? When her whole world had been shaken, not stirred? He had to be kidding.

Nyte was Rand’s father. Merlin, her cat, who was really Remlin, was Rand’s uncle, and Nyte’s brother.

Could things get any crazier?

Nyte started to draw the glass from her hands, but she clung to it and took another sip, cursing herself inwardly because she only did it to keep his fingers around hers. For some inexplicable reason, his lingering touch gave her the strength to cope with this confusing situation.

She glanced up, looking at him directly for the first time since Clarissa and Rand had returned. Her heart sagged at the sight of him. Still as devastatingly attractive as always, it was hard to think of him as an alien being.

“You’re from another planet?”

“Yes.” He crouched down in front of her, so they faced each other eye-to-eye. “But I’m not as alien as you seem to fear. My world is very much like this one. The difference is, everyone has magical powers, and we have for countless millennia.” He stroked her hair back from her face, his gentle touch sending quivers through her. “We watch for other worlds where magical ability is in the initial stages and send one of our people to act as a guardian to help those new worlds through the teething stages. It’s always hardest for the first wizards.”

Nyte was from another planet. And so were Remlin and Clarissa. Her heart sank. Of course, she couldn’t have formed a Love Bond with someone from another world. An alien.

Maybe his people didn’t even have Love Bonds. Maybe he’d cast a spell on her, one that would emulate the effect of a Love Bond.

But now that Clarissa wanted him again, he wouldn’t need Lucinda anymore. Clarissa was one of his own kind. Obviously, he would choose her.

Now, he simply had to remove the spell from Lucinda and all would be well again. Nyte and his family would be reunited.

And Lucinda would forever carry the scar of a romance that was never meant to be.

She placed her hand on Nyte’s. “I’m glad everything has worked out for the best. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I need some time alone.”

She summoned the last ounce of strength hidden in the furthest caverns of her soul, and used it to fling herself through space, and time.

* * * *

Nyte stared at the empty chair where Lucinda had been sitting. She’d caught him totally unaware. He wouldn’t have believed she’d have the strength to teleport anywhere.

“I don’t think she understands the situation at all,” Clarissa said.

He glared at her. “And that’s largely your fault.”

She shrugged. “Don’t blame me. I only just arrived and that girl looked like she was confused long before I got here.”

Nyte reached out through the ether to sense where Lucinda had gone. The dark curtain of space cloaked her location far too effectively.

Clarissa rested her hand on his arm. “I really do think you should go after her.”

“I would if I knew where she was,” he growled in frustration.

Her finely arched eyebrows curved upward. “But you’re bonded to her. You must be able to find her.”

“That would be true, if she still existed, which she doesn’t seem to at this moment in time.”

Chapter 22

Lucinda propelled herself away from Nyte, with no clear idea where she was going. When she rematerialized, she found herself staring at the Eiffel Tower, a glowing, triangular spike in the night sky.

Paris. City of love. City of dreams.

The place she’d first met Nyte. Could it be only a week ago?

She had intentionally shifted in time as well as space. Several months into the past, before she’d received the call to tutor Nyte. This way, Nyte wouldn’t sense her until she shifted back again.

She stood in front of the same patisserie. A light, misty rain clung to her skin. She pressed her face against the wet glass, peering into the dark interior. No delicious treats were visible inside.

She pushed away from the window and started to walk along the dark, damp street. A couple hurried past her, laughing and clinging to each other under a black umbrella. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Her low-heeled shoes splashed through puddles, and soon her face was glazed with moisture. It chilled her skin, but she didn’t care. It merely added numbness of body to her numbness of soul.

She walked endlessly, aimlessly. She had no idea if hours passed, or only moments. If she walked kilometers or only meters.

Streetlights glowed within hazy halos, their light reflecting on the wet, black pavement. She turned a corner and found herself on the Champs Elysée, people bustling past her. She found a small café on a corner and sat at a table under a canopy. She ordered a café au lait and watched the world pass her by.

Finally, she dragged herself to her feet and walked again. As the moon rose to a fat, glowing ball of orange in the sky, she walked toward the banks of the Seine. She sank onto a damp, wooden bench, and stared across the water, watching the lights of the Pont au Change ripple across its surface.

A flash of lightning lit the entire sky, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Large droplets splashed down around her at an accelerating rate, covering the surface of the river with rippling circles. Gusts of wind sent sheets of rain shimmering past her.

Further down the walkway, she caught sight of a lone figure stepping out of the mist. She watched as he strolled closer. He wore a long, black overcoat and his water-soaked hair laid flat against his head, swept back from his face.

He stopped a few feet from her. Droplets of rain traced lines across his face and plastered his dark lashes into a spiky fringe.

Nyte.

She pushed a stone along the wet pavement with her toe. “How did you find me?” she asked.

“I’m getting to know how your mind works.”

She nodded. She knew the comment should bother her, but it didn’t. She didn’t have to worry about Nyte knowing her too well, or trying to control her anymore. He was Clarissa’s problem now.

“I didn’t feel you coming,” she said quietly, her words dissipating in the mists of the night. She pushed her dripping wet hair back from her face.

“I masked my presence. I didn’t want you to run away again.”

Her eyebrows arched upward. “Are you going to stop me if I try?”

“No.” He leaned against a lamppost, looking like a lost soul searching for the light. “But I will ask that you stay. Or, rather, come somewhere with me.”

He offered his hand. “Somewhere warm. You look cold.”

For the first time, she became aware of the shivers rippling through her. She was cold, but a warm place wouldn’t change that.

She stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment before she finally sighed and laid her hand in his.

She had to talk to him, one more time. To allow closure, so they could put this whole thing behind them. And allow him to return to Clarissa with a clear conscience.

He deserved that. So many years had been stolen from him.

He helped her to her feet. “Where would you like to go?”

She shrugged. “My place, I guess.”

She couldn’t stand the thought of returning to his house by the ocean. The memory of their ardent, soul-fulfilling lovemaking was still too fresh in her mind. It would only bring back memories too poignant to endure.

Nyte swept his arms wide and teleported them. She barely noticed the pull of space and time on her body. Once they materialized in her living room, he swung his arm toward the fireplace and a second later a bright, cheery fire blazed warmly. He wrapped a blanket snugly around her and she realized somewhere along the way he’d dried her clothes and hair.

The shivers coursed through her constantly now and her teeth chattered. He slid his arm around her waist and guided her to the couch. She sat down and soaked in the warmth of the fire. Her gaze slid to the hearth and she realized she had expected to see Merlin curled up in front of the blaze.

But, of course, he wasn’t. And he never would be again.

A spark of pain ignited in the pit of her stomach, and blazed through her like a flash fire. She might not have had a close relationship with Merlin, but he’d always been there for her. He’d kept her company through many long, lonely nights.

It was too much. Tears, which had been prickling her eyes for hours, finally broke free and streamed down her face. She tipped her head forward with the weight of her loneliness.

“Lucinda?”

She felt Nyte’s arms encircle her and, as he drew her against his strong, solid chest, she curled her arms around him and clung, like a lost child seeking solace. Deep, soulful sobs quivered through her.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged.

“I miss... .” She snuffled several times then drew in a deep breath. “I miss my cat,” she wailed.

He drew back to stare at her in amazement. “What? Your cat?”

She nodded. “I-I miss Merlin.” She rested her head against him. “But he never really was my cat. He wasn’t a cat at all. And Rand never really was my mentor.” She gazed at him and more tears welled up. “And you... .” Her voice broke on a sob.

His mouth flattened into a grim line. “Wait a minute.” Gently, he grasped her upper arms and eased her back. His midnight eyes stared into her. “If you’re saying you and I aren’t really bonded, you’re wrong.”

He tipped up her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. The first light brush of his lips sent her heart quivering. His hands cupped her cheeks as he nibbled her lower lip, then he mated his mouth firmly with hers. The tip of his tongue trailed the inside of her mouth, sending ripples of pleasure lapping through her. He slid his arms around her and drew her tight against his body.

She could barely think, but she knew she had to keep control, to fight this irresistible attraction. She stiffened and flattened her hands on his chest. He drew away an inch, no more, and locked gazes with her. The intensity of his coal black eyes staring into hers kept her blood circulating like water in a hot tub. And just as steamy.

“I don’t know how you can deny our love.” He tightened his embrace. “We are meant to be together.”

“Oh, Nyte.” She cradled his cheeks in her hands and lost herself in the darkness of his eyes. “I wish we were meant to be together. I really do.” She ran her hands across his shoulders, cherishing the feel of him. He was the first man she’d ever loved.

And he would be the last, too. She knew deep in her heart she would never love another.

She eased away from him, knowing she had no right to be in his arms.

“But you and I are too different. You and Clarissa are a much better match.”

“Clarissa? Is that what this is about?”

“She’s one of your own kind. I’m not.”

“My own kind?” His eyebrows lowered in a look of puzzlement.

“You and she are from the same place, so I assume her powers match yours,” Lucinda clarified.

Understanding crossed his face. “Lucinda, it doesn’t matter that you and I are from different worlds.” He stroked her hair behind her ear, the tender touch quivering through her. “We are very compatible,” he murmured. He stared into her eyes for several moments, his intense gaze tunneling through her and undermining her resolve.

“And as for Clarissa, she is not from my home world. She was the first wizard born on Earth. She and I became mates, and produced a child, but we both knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

He slid his hands to her shoulders, and gripped them firmly. “Because, as I told you before, Clarissa and I are not bonded. We both knew we would eventually find our soul mates.”

He tipped up her chin. “And I did. I found you.” He brought his lips to hers in a delicate whisper of a kiss that left her wanting more. Oh, so much more. “It is you I love.”

The sincerity of his words enfolded her in warmth, and the heat cascaded through her in gentle waves of need.

Could it be true? Did she and Nyte share a bond of love that would last forever?

But as strong as her feelings for him were, how could she love a man who would overpower her?

She shoved her hair back from her face. The heat from his eyes made it difficult to think.

“Lucinda, tell me what’s still bothering you.”

She stared at his chest and toyed with one of the twists in the cable pattern of his sweater. “You’re so much more powerful than I am.”

His hands slid across her shoulders. “That doesn’t matter, Lucinda.” His words were gentle and coaxing. “In human relationships, the man is usually physically stronger than the woman, but she has other strengths that more than compensate. It would be no different with us.”

He took her hands in his. “Sweetheart, I promised I would never overpower you.”

She drew away from him. “And you’ve already proven you can’t keep that promise.”

He sighed and raked his hand through his hair, sending black waves tumbling over his shoulder. “I know you’re angry about the fact I confined you in the bubble, but I did it to protect you.”

Protect. The word sliced through her. She slumped against the back of the couch. “Why do you insist I need protecting?”

“In this case, you did. The spell to send Randalph to my home world--several hundred light years away--required a significant amount of energy. If you had gotten in the way of it... .”

He trailed off, leaving it to her imagination. And she could well imagine. The energy for such a spell would probably disintegrate her, body and soul, leaving behind nothing but a few sparks of light and a memory.

Her cheeks flushed and she averted her gaze. She certainly wouldn’t argue the point that she’d needed protecting in this case, but she didn’t know how to accept the fact.

She had learned long ago to stand alone. Needing protection meant weakness.

“Sweetheart, protect isn’t a bad word. Would it be wrong to pull someone out of the way of an approaching train? Would it mean you don’t respect him, or believe he is a capable, independent person?”

He stroked her cheek. “Lucinda, if I hadn’t stopped you, you would have been killed. You know I couldn’t have let that happen.”

She met his gaze for the first time. Was it wrong that he wanted to protect her? Did it make her weaker in his eyes?

“But how can I trust you if you break promises--”

“Lucinda, what about your promise?”

“What promise?” She hadn’t fled when he’d released her from the bubble. At least, not right away.

“When I left you at my house to search for Randalph, you promised you’d stay there.”

“Yes, but Remlin showed up. I thought he’d make you believe he’d taken me prisoner again. I couldn’t let you believe that. I knew you’d be vulnerable if you did.”

“In other words, you did it to protect me.”

“I--”

She paused, letting the truth sink in. The urge to save him from Remlin had been so strong she hadn’t even thought about her promise. And even if she had, it wouldn’t have stopped her. She would have hoped Nyte would understand she couldn’t let Remlin have power over him. She’d had to do what she could to save Nyte.

To protect him.

“I might have been angry that you’d left, Lucinda, but I understood. I knew it was because you love me.”

He slid his hands to her shoulders and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Please, do the same for me. Don’t let this stand in the way of our love.”

She stared into his eyes and felt her resolve melting away. Of course, he was right. He had saved her. Because he loved her.

He cupped her face in his hands. “And besides, you must realize by now that, although I may be stronger in physical and magical power, it is you who wields the ultimate power over me. Because I love you.”

He loved her.

And she loved him. It burned through her like a fire ball. She couldn’t deny it any longer.

She loved him.

She took his hands in hers and, for the first time, really opened herself to his energy. It mingled with hers in a gentle wave of warmth, cascading through every part of her.

“You really do love me, don’t you?” she said, slightly in awe.

He cradled her face in his hands, his eyes glittering, and he kissed her with a poignant tenderness. As their lips parted, he murmured, “How could you ever have doubted it?”

Happiness bolted through her, but the impish side of her suppressed the smile pressing at her lips.

She decided she’d test his theory about her wielding the ultimate power over him. If she was going to admit she loved him, she wanted total commitment.

“Well, if that’s true I want you to prove it.”

He smiled and slid his arms around her. His lips approached hers again as he drew her closer, but she could tell he intended something far more passionate than the kiss they’d just shared. Her insides quivered at the thought, but she gave him a quick peck then ducked out of his arms.

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

His expression turned serious again. “What is it, Lucinda? I’ll do whatever it takes to prove my love.”

She gave in to the smile. “What does any man do when he loves a woman?”

His mouth turned up on one side in a sexy half-grin and he tangled his fingers in her hair. “I just tried that, but you turned me down.”

“Nyte,” she said through gritted teeth. “When a man loves a woman, he wants to prove he’ll be by her side forever.”

He sat back and rubbed his chin. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

She sighed. Was it such a huge leap to understand what she wanted? Why did men always shy away from the ‘M’ word?

“Do you really not understand what I want?” She slumped back on the couch. “It’s not very hard, you know.”

He gazed into her eyes, clearly trying to decipher what outrageous plan she must have in store for him.

Men! They always had to make everything so complicated.

He smiled. “I tell you what. Let me ask you a question first, then I’ll continue the guessing game.”

She folded her arms across her chest, trying hard not to pout. “Fine. What is it?”

“Just this.” He stood up and drew his hand in a semi-circle around them. Flowers appeared all over the room.

Long stemmed red roses. Huge white orchids. Dramatic sprays of gladiolas. Aromatic gardenias. And more.

Also, the light dimmed, replaced by the illumination of dozens of tall, tapered candles around the room, and soft music filled the air.

Shivers flickered down her spine as he knelt down in front of her and took her hand. Her heart started spinning like a top.

“Lucinda.” He kissed the back of her hand, the feel of his lips like velvet. “My love.” He stared deep into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”

Her heart toppled over. Tears welled again, and she felt her cheeks blooming with a pink flush of happiness.

“You’re asking me to marry you?”

“I think if we’re going to spend eternity together marriage is a good idea, don’t you?”

He’d been teasing her the whole time, but she didn’t care.

Love. The happily-ever-after kind. It was finally within reach.

So she reached out.

And flung her arms around his neck, her lips finding his in a blaze of passion. His hands stroked up her back, pulling her close against him. Her body blossomed with heat as his breath tickled the fine hairs on the side of her neck and his hand stroked up under her hair and cupped the back of her head. She pressed tighter against him, her breasts pressing into him and he eased back and captured her gaze with quiet intensity, then he brought his lips to hers in a sweet, gentle seduction.

She melted against him.

“Nyte, I want you to prove it the other way now.”

His brilliant smile dazzled her. “My pleasure.”

Slowly, he rolled the hem of her sweater up over her torso, freeing her breasts, then tugged it over her head. She fumbled with his belt, then slid his zipper down. She stroked inside, thrilled at the feel of his briefs beneath her fingers, but even more thrilled at the feel of the large package steadily stretching the fabric to its limits. She dropped his pants to the floor, then drew his huge penis from its plush encasement. Nyte unhooked her bra as she stroked his shaft with her fingers. She sat down on the couch, placing his lovely erection at eye level, and wrapped one hand around him, then cupped his testicles in her other hand. He stroked her shoulders and back as she circled her lips around him and laved the head of his penis with her tongue. He sucked in a breath at her tender treatment.

“Lucinda, I love what you’re doing, but I want to pleasure you, too.”

He eased her back onto the couch and stripped off her jeans, then her lacy panties. He climbed over her, his erection over her face and his face over her sex. He leaned forward and treated her damp slit to a tender stroke of his fingers. She opened her legs in eager anticipation. As his tongue nudged her clit, she grasped his rod in both hands and swallowed as much as she could, squeezing it between the roof of her mouth and her tongue. He licked and squeezed her bud between his lips, then dabbed in a steady rhythm. The sensations shot through her in a continuous stream of jolting delight. She sucked on him, trying desperately to concentrate, but failing miserably. How could she pay attention to him when he was distracting her with so much pleasure?

His cock twitched in her hands. His long, thick, beautiful, pleasure-rendering cock. She licked it like a popsicle, then drew it deep into her mouth then glided off the end again. His tongued continued to lave her clit, then she felt his finger slide inside her and he stroked the inside of her vagina. She sucked on him, then swirled her lips around the shaft, right under the head, lapping her tongue over the tip. He exhaled sharply, sending a chill through her as his breath whooshed across her clit.

As he stroked inside her vagina, she felt a pleasure storm building inside her. Relaxing the muscles of her throat and opening wide, she took his whole penis inside. The pleasure storm built into a wild tornado, spiraling through her vagina in a steadily increasing cataclysm of bliss. He sucked on her clit, then nudged it in a rapid rhythm. She slid her mouth up and down on his cock, trying to match his rhythm.

A cry rumbled through her throat as the pleasure washed over her in tumultuous waves. Her hands tightened around the base of his erection and she slipped to the end of his penis, only the head within her mouth. She tapped her tongue under the head. He continued to stroke her inside and dab at her clit as his balls tightened. She felt warm liquid spurt into her mouth just as liquid heat melted from her insides as the overwhelming pleasure drove her to a powerful orgasm.

As ecstasy subsided, leaving her in a deep glow of satisfaction, she slumped back on the couch.

“That was incredible.” She stroked his still rigid member, concerned she’d lost attention too soon. “Is everything good with you?”

“Good doesn’t begin to describe it.” He climbed to his feet, then shifted her to a sitting position. He pressed her knees apart and knelt before her.

He hooked one hand around the nape of her neck and drew her forward for a kiss. His tongue plunged deep into her mouth and suddenly she felt his cock plunge deep inside her still slick opening.

The sudden feeling of his rigid length penetrating her, thrusting into her wet, slick vagina, sent her into immediate orgasm. She clutched him close to her body and rode the wave as he thrust into her again and again. As ecstasy blinked around her like a million twinkling stars, he slowed his pace, allowing her to draw in much needed air, but only for a minute, then he thrust sharply again, zinging her into yet another orgasm. When she flopped against him, he stroked her breast, the nipple peaking into his hand, then he squeezed the nub between his thumb and index finger. She gasped and churned into him at the exciting jolt it triggered between her legs. He tweaked again, then slowly and deliberately propelled his rock-hard cock into her. An orgasm swept her away again. As it started to ebb, he grasped her buttocks and drove into her deep and hard and she started to scream as the biggest, most forceful orgasm she’d ever experienced stormed through her. The intensity of the pleasure overwhelmed her and, with a smile on her face, she lost consciousness.

She felt a hand patting her cheek,

“Lucinda?”

She opened her eyes to Nyte staring down at her, his eyes filled with concern.

“My, God, Nyte. That was incredible.”

He smiled. “You’re incredible.”

She sat up and realized a warm, red fleece robe now covered her body. He wore a matching one.

“I thought you might be cold.” Nyte hugged her close.

When they finally parted, she said, “Nyte, I love you.”

His eyes softened and he stared at her with such intense tenderness she felt tears prickle at her eyes. He drew her close and cradled her head against his chest. “I’m glad you’ve finally stopped fighting it.” He nuzzled her ear. “So, you didn’t answer my question. Is your answer yes?”

He had proposed. Growing happiness spiraled through her. She drew back from him, deciding he deserved a little teasing in return for his playing dumb earlier.

“Well... .”

He arched an eyebrow. “You have to think it over?”

“There are a lot of complications, you know. I mean, one part of me is intrigued by the idea of being Rand’s stepmother, but the thought of my rotten cat as a brother-in-law is giving me second thoughts.”

Nyte shrugged. “That’s easy. I’ll disown him.”

At the twinkle in his eye, she laughed. “No, that wouldn’t be fair. Not after all he’s gone through to patch things up between you.” She entwined her fingers in his. “I think I’ll be big-hearted and marry you anyway. Do you think he’ll appreciate my sacrifice?”

“I doubt it.” Remlin’s voice startled her.

She glanced around to see him standing behind the couch. She flattened her hand on her chest, over her rapidly thumping heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He shrugged. “Old habits are hard to break.” He strolled around the couch, glancing at the massive arrangements of blossoms. “Nice flowers.”

She couldn’t help thinking as Merlin he would have looked at them as a smorgasbord of tempting treats.

He sat down on the couch beside her. Her gaze darted to Nyte, worried about his reaction, but he merely slid one arm around her shoulder--clearly indicating his claim on her--and watched his brother tolerantly.

“As for you having to put up with me, I’ll be going back to my home world with Clarissa tomorrow.”

He was leaving? “But--”

Remlin took her hand and kissed it. “Come now, Lucinda. You didn’t really think I’d continue to wander around on four legs and be your pet, did you?”

“No, of course not, but--”

He smiled and the glint in his green eyes reminded her so much of the cat he’d been that her heart clenched painfully.

“But you’ll miss me?” He squeezed her hand. “And I’ll miss you.” He leaned toward her. “That’s why I’ve brought you something to remind you of the time we spent together.”

He held up his hands, palms cupped together and blew on them. When he opened them, a tiny black kitten peered over his thumb and cried. A small, squeaky sound.

“Oh, look,” she crooned. She scooped up the small fur ball and held it to her chest. Its tiny--and very sharp--claws dug into her robe and, as she stroked it, it purred loudly.

“He can be the cat you always wanted.”

Nyte reached over and stroked the bottom of the kitten’s chin with his index finger. Its little eyes drifted closed and the purring became louder.

“But he’s not sleeping in the same bed with us.”

###

If you loved this story, you can sign up for Opal’s newsletter to know when Opal has a new release.

If this was the level of sensuality you prefer, you can find more Amber Carew books on her website, www.AmberCarew.com. If you would like something a little hotter, check out Opal Carew’s futuristic erotic romance, SLAVES OF LOVE, or for something fun, a lot hotter, and contemporary, you’ll love Opal’s boxed sets, THE OFFICE SLAVE SERIES, BOOK 1 & 2 or THREE HAPPY ENDINGS

An excerpt of each of the first two suggestions is included.

Slaves Of Love

by Opal Carew

When Shena betrayed Keern, he swore revenge.

Now she is his slave…

Shena is a pawn to her father’s desire to extend his holdings. She’s known neither kindness nor love, until one fateful day when she meets Keern. In a few passionate hours together, he teaches her what it means to feel loved and protected. She would do anything to protect him from her father’s greed, but in a moment of weakness, she reveals Keern’s identity and sets in motion a series of events that lead to his brother’s death and her sale as a slave.

Keern believes Shena betrayed him. When she plays the venomous shrew to push him away and keep him safe, he falls for the act and grows to hate her. When his brother dies, he swears his revenge and tracks her all the way to the auction blocks. He purchases her for his slave, but will he find satisfaction for his rage or will the overwhelming sexual attraction they share make him her slave instead?

Excerpt

Hot steamy dreams... a sexy stranger... and his two brothers... all add up to a sexy adventure she’ll never forget.

Shena felt a hand slide around her naked body and pull her backwards against a hard male chest. At the same time, another hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her scream.

“I won’t hurt you,” a strange male voice promised. The hint of an unfamiliar accent tinged his words. Off-world and educated.

She froze in absolute terror at being held in a man’s grasp while naked and vulnerable. Yet at the same time, the feel of his body against hers set off some very strange feelings. Arousing feelings. Her throat constricted painfully, and she clawed at the steel arm fastened around her waist, desperate to free herself.

His grip tightened, pulling her more firmly against his body.

“Listen to me.” His words rasped in her ear. “There’s a group of soldiers heading this way, so stay still and don’t make any noise. You don’t want to draw their attention.”

Soldiers? She froze in terror.

“They won’t be content to just watch politely, like I did. If I remove my hand from your mouth, do you promise not to scream?”

She nodded. Whether he spoke the truth or not, she didn’t know, but she was too terrified to chance it. He released her mouth, but not her body.

“Let me go,” she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper.

“I don’t think so, neisha.”

His light, teasing tone sent her off balance, and his use of the endearment confused her. Neisha was not a term an off-worlder would use. In fact, with the slight drag on the last syllable... Could he be a local?

“If I see your luscious body again, I may not be able to control myself.” His words melted through her.

She became aware of her nipples tightening, her vagina contracting. He’d watched her swim. Oh, God, he’d seen her taking pleasure.

Memories of the pleasure rippled through her body, but this time she imagined his gaze as a tangible feeling caressing her body as her fingers caressed her intimate self. Images superimposed on her memory, of him leaving his hiding place, of his strong, tanned hands touching her body.

He loosened his hold on her slightly as he used one hand to remove his cape, then eased her away from him just enough to slide it around her shoulders. She grasped it and pulled it close around her, fastening it at the neck. The rich, smooth feel of the fabric, unmistakably ancula, a Tarun fiber, surrounded her with warmth and an odd sense of security. The heady, male scent enveloped her.

He gripped her arm with a gentle but resolute hold and guided her with him into the wooded area overlooking the pond. She struggled, trying to free herself from his grip, desperate to get away from him, her insides shuddering uncontrollably at the powerful and unfamiliar feelings of attraction to him.

His hair, dark brown and wavy, curled around his ears and neck. His warm bronze eyes watched her as he effortlessly guided her along, yet she didn’t feel threatened by his gaze, not like she always did with her father’s men. Their stares, which seemed to strip her of dignity, always frightened her.

“We’ll stay here until they pass,” he said.

“Let me go,” she insisted.

“No. You don’t believe I’m telling the truth about the soldiers. Until you see them with your own eyes, which should be in about five minutes, I’m going to hold tight.”

She was far too conscious of his arm around her waist. His other arm slid around her, and then his hand flattened on her upper chest just below her collarbone, pressing her tight against his strong, broad chest. His leather belt and metal buckle pressed into her lower back, and his pelvis pressed against her buttocks. Only fabric lay between her bare bottom and his... She felt a blush flame across her face, and she struggled against him. Oh, God, she felt a bulge grow against her. Her movements were arousing him. Blinding fear lanced through her, challenged by a powerful desire to experience the tender loving of a man.

Drawn back to the memory of him watching her earlier, it was far too easy to imagine his chest naked against her swollen breasts, to imagine him moving his pelvis against hers in a forbidden act.

Five minutes in his arms. She didn’t think she’d survive the conflicting feelings wreaking havoc on her sanity. She would find a way out of this. Maybe if she gave him false confidence in her submission...

“Fine,” she said tightly and slumped against him. As she’d hoped, his hold relaxed a little, and she thrust her elbow into his solar plexus, then pushed back with all her might.

The Office Slave Series, Book 1 & 2 Boxed Set

by Opal Carew

Four irresistible executives. One powerful boss.

Can she surrender to her ultimate sexual fantasy?

Sylvia loves to read erotica, and after her latest read, she’s developed a sizzling fantasy about submitting to the sexual whims of four incredibly hot business partners. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d have the opportunity to live out her fantasy... until her friend decides to make it happen. Now she’s about to become an office slave to four irresistible executives…

Just when she thinks that her ultimate sexual fantasies have been brought to life, the fifth partner -- the boss -- intervenes and offers her complete domination.

Can she give up total control to the man behind the voice?

THE OFFICE SLAVE

Her ultimate sexual fantasy brought to life...

“Sylvia, thank you for including us in your fantasy.” Then Mike winked and opened the door.

She followed him to the end of the big table in the open area where he gestured for her to sit down. He tapped something on his phone, then leaned back in his chair.

“The others will be here in a few moments.” His tone was more business-like now, rather than the easy banter of before.

The man from the other office walked to the chair next to Mike’s and sat down, glancing at her speculatively. He had short cropped, sandy hair, a wide face with a square jaw, and warm, brown eyes. He wore dark blue jeans and a shirt. A moment later, two men appeared from the hallway, and Sylvia’s breath caught at the side of the tall biker named Slade she’d seen entering the building earlier. Man, this fantasy was getting better by the minute. And the man by his side was the cyclist he’d spoken with at the door.

The cyclist’s short, straight hair was a little damp—he’d probably taken a shower—and he wore dress pants and a striped shirt, accentuating his narrow waist and broad shoulders. Thoughts of him naked in the shower, water sluicing over his muscular body sent a quiver through her. Her gaze shifted to Slade, still wearing his jeans and T-shirt. Clearly, he was the rebel of the bunch.

They sat down and she glanced around the table at these four men, who used to be male strippers. They were all gorgeous and soon she’d be having hot, kinky sex with them all.

“This is Sylvia, the woman we discussed a few days ago. She’s here because of the arrangement to compensate for her brother’s debt,” Mike said. “Sylvia, this is Granger Smith, Neil Craig, and Slade Forrester.”

She nodded as she gazed at their serious expressions. Tension curled inside her.

“So, she’s going to be our office slave, right?” Slade said.

“Yes, that’s the arrangement,” Mike answered.

“Good, then I think we should start right off with seeing what’s underneath those clothes she’s wearing.

Her gaze locked on his and his charcoal eyes glittered as a slow smile spread across his face. Heat washed through her.

“Excellent idea.” Mike said.

THE BOSS

They brought her ultimate sexual fantasy to life...

Now it gets real.

Excerpt

Sylvia opened the office door and stepped inside.

A suited man sat behind a huge, mahogany desk, staring at a large, sleek laptop. His glossy hair, black as a raven’s wing, was cropped short. His face, with high cheekbones and angular jaw framing full lips, was striking. He glanced at her with piercing steel-blue eyes and her breath caught. He was intensely masculine. And incredibly sexy.

“Miss Reed.”

“Yes.”

His gaze took in her face, then drifted down her neck and settled on her chest. Heat washed through her at his intense scrutiny. Her nipples puckered as he blatantly stared at her breasts. Then his gaze drifted downward again, slowing over her stomach, then settling a few inches below her navel. She felt as if he could see right through her skirt to the black lace panties beneath. Her vagina clenched.

Her breath held, and when his gaze slid back to her face, she was elated to see approval in his eyes.

“Are you ready to submit to me?”

Her throat suddenly went dry. This was her last chance to change her mind.

She drew in a deep breath, then nodded.

God, the man had barely spoken to her, and she had just agreed to do anything he wanted.

“You will call me Sir, or Mr. Grant.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now take off your panties.”

Other Books by Amber Carew

Contemporary romance

The Cinderella Obsession

Virgin Spy

Virgin Wanted

Contemporary fantasy romance

Christmas Angel

Magical Dawn

Spellbound

Contemporary futuristic romance

Captive Lover

Other Books by Opal Carew

Contemporary erotic short stories and novellas

Taken By Storm (prequel to His To Possess)

Debt of Honor

Ready To Ride series

- Hot Ride

- Wild Ride (Sep 2014)

- Riding Steele (Oct 2014)

Three series (also available as the boxed set Three Happy Endings)

#1: Three (also available in the anthology Northern Heat)

#2: Three Men and a Bride

#3: Three Secrets

The Office Slave series (also available as The Office Slave Series, Book 1 & 2)

#1: The Office Slave (this is also Red Hot Fantasies #3)

#2: The Boss

#3: On Her Knees

Red Hot Fantasies series (also available as the Red Hot Fantasies Boxed Set)

#1: The Male Stripper

#2: The Stranger

#3: The Office Slave

#4: The Captive (coming soon)

#5: The Bridal Affair (coming soon)

Futuristic erotic romance

Slaves of Love (also available in the anthology Turn Up The Heat)

Celestial Soul-Mates series

Book 1: The King and I

Book 2: The Commander’s Woman

Book 3: Passion Play

Book 4: Love Unexpected (tbd)

Book 5: Fantasy Bound (tbd)

Fantasy erotic romance

Crystal Genie

Contemporary erotic romance

His To Claim (Sep 2014)

His To Possess

His To Command

Illicit

Insatiable

Secret Weapon

Total Abandon

Pleasure Bound

Bliss

Forbidden Heat

Secret Ties

Six

Blush

Swing

Twin Fantasies

Contemporary serial erotic romances

His To Claim

#1: No Strings

#2: Savage Kiss

#3: Rock Hard

#4: Wild Ones

#5: Breaking Storm

#6: Perfect Rhythm

His To Possess

#1: The Seduction

#2: The Morning After

#3: A Perfect Storm

#4: True Lies

#5: Entangled

#6: Forever

His To Command

#1: The Chase

#2: The Capture

#3: The Revelation

#4: The Arrangement

#5: The Submission

#6: The Surrender

Anthologies and box sets

The Office Slave Series, Book 1 & 2 (boxed set) – contains the The Office Slave series

Red Hot Fantasies (boxed set) – contains the Red Hot Fantasies series

Three Happy Endings (boxed set) – contains the Three series

Turn Up The Heat (anthology) – contains the novella Slaves of Love

Northern Heat (anthology) – contains the short story Three

About the Author

Amber Carew is the pseudonym of Opal Carew, under which she writes her milder erotic romances.

As a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of erotic contemporary romance, Opal Carew writes about passion, love, and taking risks. Her heroines follow their hearts and push past the fear that stops them from realizing their dreams… to the excitement and love of happily-ever-after.

Opal loves crystals, dragons, feathers, cats, pink hair, the occult, Manga artwork, Zentangle, and all that glitters. She earned a degree in Mathematics from the University of Waterloo, and spent 15 years as a software analyst before turning to her passion as a writer. She grew up in Toronto, and now lives in Ottawa with her husband, and three cats. One of her sons is pursuing his Masters degree at Sussex University in the UK and the other is working on his undergraduate degree at Carleton University. Yes, mom is proud!

To learn more about Amber/Opal, visit her at www.AmberCarew.com or www.OpalCarew.com

Newsletter: http://tinyurl.com/OCNewsletter

Facebook: http://facebook.com/OpalCarewRomanceAuthor

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/opalcarew

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/opalcarew/

Blog: http://opalcarewromanceauthor.wordpress.com/

Haunting a Cowboy

by,

Randi Alexander

“HAUNTING A COWBOY” Copyright © 2014 Randi Alexander

*~*~*~*

Edited by E Felder

*~*~*~*

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to place of purchase and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web -without permission in writing from the author.

Chapter One

“Go ahead and fire me.” Thad McCade stared at his boss, Sayde Grant, across his kitchen table. “But I’m not taking a vacation.”

Sayde laughed, the crinkles around her eyes a telltale sign of her age. She tapped her pink-painted nails on the table. “Thad, you’ll do well to remember, High Paradise is my ranch, you’re my foreman, and as I see it, your well-being and the well-being of the ranch are interrelated.”

“Why do you want me out of here all of a sudden? Do you have another foreman in mind?” He ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. It was a joke, but he had to wonder what had gotten into her today. Had he done something wrong?

She shook her head, her gray braid skimming across her shoulders. “Of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been an effective foreman for seven years, and before that, for five years, you were the best ranch hand I’d ever had, even though you hired on here as a pimply-faced teenager. There’s no way I could replace you.” Her voice softened and a little smile curved her lips.

Relief flowed through him. All those years ago, he’d come looking for a job; hungry, dirty, and exhausted from hitchhiking his way across four states to this northwest corner of Montana. He knew he’d found home when he saw this ranch tucked up against the Purcell Mountains. He ran his forefinger and thumb over his mustache, then down his goatee. Sayde had been more of a mother to him than his own had been.

“But…” She set her elbows on the table and stared into his eyes. “You never get away from the work. You never leave this ranch.”

He sighed. It was true. Since his wife passed away, he’d become more of a hermit with each passing year. He worked up a plausible untruth. “Ma’am, I get out more than enough. And it’s mid-October. It’s busy around here.”

“It’s always busy around here, and you’re working too hard. It’s gonna catch up with you.”

“I have a life outside work.”

The coffee cup in front of Thad tipped over, spilling black brew that ran straight toward the edge of the table and his crotch. He jumped up. “Son of a…” He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and in front of someone else.

“Mm-hmm. See, even your poltergeist knows that’s not true.”

He forced a laugh as he mopped up coffee with a couple of towels. “Poltergeist, is it? It couldn’t be just my clumsiness?”

“I know you have a ghost, Thad. I’ve been watching. Being alone now…” Her gaze shifted off to another time.

Her husband, Barrett, had passed away nearly eighteen months ago, leaving her to run one of the biggest ranches on this half of Montana.

She blinked back to the present. “I’m awake some during the night, and I’ve seen lights going on and off over here, fading and going bright. Now, I know you haven’t installed dimmer switches.” Sayde gave him a smirk.

He set the towels in the sink and looked around the light blue kitchen that his wife had decorated. Over the years, there had been odd things happening, just now and then, but the last few weeks, the occurrences had begun to intensify. As if whoever was haunting him had a timeline that was growing short.

“I don’t know, Sayde, I think it’s just my crazy imagination playing tricks on me.” He brought his cup to the coffee pot but decided better of it, and set the thing on the white countertop.

“You know what?” She put her palms flat on the table. “Let’s do this.” She stood. “I know a woman who can handle the situation, or at least appraise it.”

“No. No thank you.” He didn’t need one of Sayde’s psychic advisors poking around in his house. “There’s nothing here that I can’t handle.”

The screen door opened an inch and smacked shut.

They both stared at it, then looked at each other.

“Just the wind, right?” Sayde lifted one gray brow. “Even though the trees aren’t moving at all?”

Thad’s jaw tightened. Each night for the last five days, around six or seven, his truck keys would rattle in the bowl by the door, then the screen door would creak open a crack and slap shut. Sometimes the porch light snapped on, too. Somebody trying to tell him to get out? Take a drive? Every night, he ignored it, and it went away.

“Thad, that’s a sign. Someone is trying to communicate with us, and this woman I know—”

“Ma’am, I’d really prefer not to do this.” It wasn’t often they butted heads about anything, but this was his private life.

She held up her index finger. “You’re forgetting who owns this house.” She pointed to herself. “Now, if I was concerned that you had an infestation of rodents, I’d have an exterminator come out. Even if you swore up and down that the rats were your pets.”

He had to bite his lips to keep from laughing. “You’re saying I’m infested?” He leaned back on the counter, his fingers curling around the edge of the countertop.

“I’m saying that I’m concerned about what’s happening, and I don’t want it to affect you.”

He had a joke on his tongue about her only being worried about losing a hard-working foreman to a ghost, but he knew it was more than that. She really did care about him as a person.

“And if this woman can…” She waved her hands up toward the ceiling. “Fluff these spirits to where they can rest, well then we’re doing some other entities a favor, too.”

How could he say no to that logic? “Okay, fine. Bring on the ghost buster.”

“Perfect. You won’t regret this.” She pushed open the screen door, then turned back toward him. “And once we’ve taken care of this, we’ll talk about your vacation.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You’re the boss.”

****

The next morning, Thad rode the fenceline on the lower eighty acres. New hires meant the need to double-check all their work, even though they’d been teamed with an experienced hand. The field of wildflowers stretching for miles in front of him hadn’t been flattened by the cattle yet, and he stopped to look.

The sun angled over the mountains, turning the colors blindingly intense. Butterflies flapped their wings as they flew between blossoms, fuzzy white tufts of seed parachutes drifted on slow, warm air currents.

Melissa would have loved this.

His chest tightened. Not as bad as it did the first couple years after she passed, but still a pain was there, still with him. He turned Gator toward the middle of the field and kicked him into a run. The leopard Appaloosa took his head and raced across the field, kicking up clods of dirt.

Thad leaned over him, letting the smell of earth and the taste of freedom race through him. His hat flew off but he kept going, loving the feel of the powerful animal under him. The gelding slid a few times as the terrain became rockier near the river, but kept steady. Thad eased back, slowing them until they trotted along the riverbank, then stopped. Gator took a drink from the fast-running, clear water.

At one time in his life, he would have raced Gator through the river and up the other side, but he’d learned how fragile life could be, how one little slip could bring it to a devastating end.

He dismounted and walked the horse a ways, listening to the birds, watching the shadows on the mountains as clouds passed over them. If he was forced to take a vacation, he’d head up there. Somewhere no one had been before, camp and live off the land for a week. That was his idea of time off. If Sayde had her say? She’d have him booking into a singles resort in Cabo, or a cruise on some love boat.

He’d done a honeymoon getaway at a Mexican resort seven years ago with Melissa, but he’d only gone along—and pretended to enjoy it—because it was something she’d wanted to do.

The land was what he loved. He jumped up onto Gator’s back and turned him toward home, heading back the way they came to pick up his favorite hat.

Just because he hadn’t had a vacation since then…yeah, seven years was a long time. Sayde was wrong about one thing, though; he did get to town. Once a month or so, when the urge grew too strong, he’d head to a bar and find a lady who was willing to spend a couple hours with him, sometimes even a night.

The problem was, he always returned home with a belly full of guilt. Intellectually, he knew he couldn’t betray a wife who’d been dead for five years. But there was no way to tell his heart that.

****

Two days later, Sayde dropped by the horse barn.

Thad leaned on a stall door watching the wrangler walk a new half-broke horse through the building.

“She’s a beauty.” Sayde stopped next to Thad.

“She is. Will she be your new ride?” The minute he said it, he regretted it.

“Aw, Mazie.” She walked back to the last stall in the barn and put her hand inside. “Hi, girl, how are you today?”

The old palomino slowly lifted her head.

“It’s me, old friend.” Sayde patted her pockets.

Thad headed toward her, digging a handful of sugar cubes out of his pocket. He gave them to Sayde. “She’s holding her own, but she doesn’t want to leave her stall often.”

The old horse sniffed the air, let out a groan, and shuffled over toward them.

“You’re sure she’s in no pain?” Sayde fed the sugar to Mazie and petted her gently.

“I’m sure. Vet’s got her on some meds. She’s sleeping a lot, but doing okay.” The horse wasn’t long for this world. Sayde had raised her from a foal, and would be the one to make any decisions on her longevity.

“She’s a good old girl.” Sayde turned her face away and swiped at her cheeks.

Thad wandered away, giving her some space. He understood the connection between them. His wife had been very attached to her horse. If he could have managed it, he would have buried them together, but…

“Thad?” Sayde followed him.

He stopped and waited, pushing aside the pain that threatened his composure. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I set up a time for my friend to come out and visit your house.”

He’d been hoping she had forgotten. “You weren’t joking about that, huh?” Not only would his space be invaded, but he’d need to do some cleaning up. “When’s she coming?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Thad spun on her. “Are you serious?”

“Is that a problem?” Her brown eyes widened, as if hoping he had a date or something.

“No, just…” How fussy would he sound if he said his house was a mess and he couldn’t have company?

“She’s going to be in the area for work, so I told her she could come stay here a few days.”

Thad’s head jerked back. “You’re going to let her stay on the ranch?”

She gave him a little smile. “She’s my friend, Thad, besides being a ghost whisperer.”

“Ghost. Whisperer.” Those two words together made no sense to him.

Sayde started walking, and Thad had to catch up. “Are you sure she’s not just using you? You know, trying to…” What was the word he was looking for?

“Con me out of all my money?” She kept walking.

“Yes. It’s happened.”

Sayde waved a hand at him. “When you meet her, you’ll understand. Madam Ruby will be joining me for supper, then I’ll send her over your way about eight. Unless you’d like to have supper with us?”

Thad shook his head, then watched his boss stroll toward her house. “Madam Ruby, my ass.” While this ghost whisperer was checking out his paranormal activity, he would be running a background check on Madam Ruby.

****

That night after sunset, Thad sat on the porch, his booted feet propped up on the railing. The clock he and Melissa had received as a wedding gift gave eight bongs. “Witching hour for Madam Ruby.”

A few minutes later, from the direction of Sayde’s house, two headlights headed his way along the gravel driveway.

He dropped his feet and stood. This’d be her, probably driving a VW Beetle, or an old ‘60s van with psychedelic flowers painted on the side.

Instead, a sleek black foreign-made SUV pulled up to his porch.

The driver’s door swung open, and two long, pale legs in sexy black pumps swung out.

“Hello.” Her voice was soft, melodic.

He trotted down the steps and stopped right in front of her. This couldn’t be her. “Ma’am? Can I help you?

“Sure, thanks.” She put her hand out.

It wasn’t quite what he’d meant, but he took her hand.

A sizzle raced up his arm to buck in his chest like a spring colt. He helped her stand.

She was nearly as tall as him, gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair falling below her shoulders. Her dark gray pinstripe suit fit her curvy body well, the skirt sliding down her thighs, covering nearly to her knees. Her lips were a tempting coral color, but when her gaze met his, oh, those eyes. A blue like an early morning Montana sky. They seemed to read him down to his soul.

“Ma’am, can I help you find something?” She had to be lost.

“If you’re Thad McCade, I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

“You’re not…”

“Yes, I am.” She shut her car door. “I’m Madam Ruby.”

Chapter Two

Cheyenne Redford smiled at the tall cowboy in front of her. His dark hair ruffled in the soft breeze, his whiskey-brown eyes seemed soulful in the yard light. But those eyes seemed older than the twenty-nine years he’d been on this planet.

His shocked expression was worth every penny of gas money she’d spent driving out here from Helena.

“You’re not what I expected.” His gaze shot to her feet then back to her face, taking her all in with one quick look.

His dark T-shirt showed off strong pecs, a flat stomach, and work-toned biceps. He was a whole lot of sexy in one well-muscled package, but the attraction sizzling between them threatened to sidetrack her gift. “Before I get any more impressions from you, can I go inside, see what’s happening?”

He ran his hand over his goatee. “About that, I’d prefer if you would tell Sayde you tried but weren’t—”

Buzzing started at her right temple. Cheyenne held up her hand. “There’s something.” Something strong, that pulled her toward the house almost physically. She stepped around him and climbed the first few steps.

“Now, ma’am, wait just a second.” His voice sounded far away as she entered another realm.

She walked across the porch.

“Yeah, fine, please, go right ahead. Don’t mind me.” He laced the words with sarcasm.

Even focused on the entity inside, she had to smile at his tone.

She touched the screen door. Whoever was existing here on a different plane loved this door. Loved the view when they stood inside it. “A woman.” The thought went straight from her head to her mouth. Cheyenne opened the door, walked into the room then turned and looked outside. “Yes, it is beautiful.” The mountains stood dark against the inky blue evening sky.

Not only did she see pictures in her mind, but words popped into her consciousness. This was a very powerful being.

“Hold on a minute.” Thad sounded panicked as he took the steps two at a time.

“She stood here often.”

He stopped as if he’d hit a wall. “Who?” His eyes shifted around, as if he expected to see someone else besides the two of them.

Cheyenne pushed open the screen door to let him in, and stepped backward into the room. “Please, you’re needed.”

He grabbed the door and came inside, his boots loud on the blue floor. Slowly he let the screen door close. Silence dropped, heavy and expectant.

“She loved the sound of the screen door slapping shut. It told her you were home.” Cheyenne could almost see it happening over and over again, day after day.

He groaned as if in pain. “Where is this coming from? How do you know this?”

She looked around at the white appliances, the little things like the blue and white towels and the colorful magnets on the refrigerator that felt like a woman’s touch. Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne closed her eyes and opened herself to receive whatever information the spirit wanted to tell her. It took only seconds for her third eye to see.

“She’s so lovely. Petite with long black hair and hazel eyes.”

Thad grasped the top of a wooden kitchen chair. “You saw pictures of her. At Sayde’s house, right?”

Cheyenne opened her eyes.

He jerked as if struck. “Your eyes are…”

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s just something physical that happens to me when I’m reaching for another dimension.” She knew they’d turned nearly black.

“That’s a good trick, but it doesn’t prove anything.”

Cheyenne held up her hands. “I have nothing to prove.” She closed her eyes. The woman in her mind’s eye was holding something. Something small and… “A baby. She has a baby in her arms.”

“Ah Jesus.” Thad’s head dropped forward and he sucked in a breath. “Leave. Now. Please.”

She heard his words, but the woman in her vision was reaching toward Thad, crying. Wasn’t your fault. You’re my rock.

“It wasn’t your fault. She called you her rock.”

Thad pressed his hands to his temples. “Stop. You have to leave. Now.” He walked toward her, his eyes frantic, haunted. “Don’t say any more. Please.”

Cheyenne wouldn’t push him. She stepped to the screen door. The woman reached out, wanting her to stay, wanting to communicate with Thad. “I’ll be back,” Cheyenne promised her.

“No, you won’t.” He stepped around her and pushed open the screen door, his body vibrating with anger and fear.

A blast of despair washed through her, so strong it nearly made her throw up. Cheyenne rarely felt so many emotions coming from the living. Something in him touched her deeply. She walked out onto the porch and he let the screen door slam.

“I’m so sorry, Thad.” She sniffled then realized tears were pouring from her eyes. She’d connected with him on a spiritual level, and was experiencing his emotions.

He stared at her as he closed the heavy wood door. The lock clicked, shutting her out.

Tonight’s experience had been exceptional. She walked to the support post and leaned against it. To have a clairsentient connection with a living being was a level she’d never thought she’d attain. Usually her clairvoyance of the deceased was muted, and took a great deal of time to filter, but the woman in her vision was nearly three-dimensional. What did this mean?

The porch light went off, and she took the hint. Her legs shook as she walked down the steps. There was someone in this house that needed her help, and she’d find a way. “Thaddeus McCade, I promise I’ll not let you down.”

She slid into her Mercedes and headed back toward Sayde’s. She’d have to cancel her meetings tomorrow in town. Whatever was shaking the foundations of this house, she wanted to help Thad face it head-on. Whether he liked it or not.

In minutes, Sayde had Cheyenne sitting next to her on a leather couch in front of a crackling fire in the stone fireplace. They each held a large balloon glass of red wine.

“I won’t ask you what happened, because I know that’s personal, but did you give him any relief?”

“No.” Cheyenne sipped the dry wine. “I need to go back, but he’s not going to be happy about it.”

“Stay as long as you need. This is very important to me. Whatever is happening…” Sayde shook her head.

“It’s very strong. I hope I didn’t make things worse.” She’d made mistakes before, had said the wrong thing and had unhappy results.

“No, you just have to understand Thad. He’s a…” Her brows lifted and her head tilted. “You should get out for a ride tomorrow.”

Cheyenne lowered her brows. “He’s not going to like that.”

Sayde grinned and sipped her wine. “Well, he’s not the boss.”

****

Thad trudged toward the barn well after seven the next morning, tugging his black cowboy hat onto his wet hair. He hadn’t slept much during the night, then had overslept this morning. The house had been silent, no ghost of…whoever it was. He still couldn’t wrap his brain around it being Melissa, but damned if he hadn’t wondered about that over the years. And especially lately, so close to the anniversary of her death.

His phone rang. Sayde.

“Morning, Mizz Sayde.”

“Good morning, Thad. How’d it go yesterday?”

Hadn’t her friend Madam Ruby filled her in on all the details? “Just fine. It’s all fixed.”

Sayde’s snort came loud and clear through the phone. “Cheyenne—or Madam Ruby as you know her—was hoping to get in some riding today. I need to be in town most of the morning. Are you heading out on horseback?”

Cheyenne. He couldn’t quite picture that being her name. Not with that suit and fancy vehicle.

“Thad? Did you hear me?” Her voice came loud through the phone.

He had been heading out, but suddenly his plans changed. “I can have a hand take her riding. I’ll call you back after I—”

“I’d rather it be you, Thad. You know every square foot of this ranch, and I’d feel more comfortable if she was with you.”

Thad gritted his teeth and stormed into the barn. How could he say no to such a seemingly innocent request? “I’d be glad to take her with me.” A city girl. They’d have to travel slow, stop often, and head back before he even got to where he’d intended to go today.

“Perfect, thank you. I’ll send her right down.” She disconnected.

“Perfect.” The word blasted out of his mouth like buckshot.

“Boss?” One of the ranch hands was feeding Mazie by hand.

Thad liked being called boss, a sign of respect from his workers. He’d expected to be the big boss of his own spread by now, and would have been if his life hadn’t gone to hell that day five years ago.

The old horse chewed slowly, staring at Thad.

“Hey, girl.” He stepped into the stall. “How’s she today, Clint?”

“‘Bout the same. Didn’t drink much last night.”

Thad put his ear to her chest. Her lungs wheezed but her heart beat steady. He looked her over, keeping his hands on her gently, letting her know where he was. “You’ll let me know when…” He looked at Clint.

“Yes, sir. You first, then Mrs. Grant.” He ran a hand down her long nose. “Then the vet, if necessary.” Clint was a large animal vet by training, but chose to work on the High Paradise instead of running his own veterinarian practice. There was a story there, but it was none of Thad’s business.

“Good. I’m goin’ riding with Mrs. Grant’s houseguest.” He left the stall and headed toward the tack room.

“Have fun.” The guy had the balls to laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it.” The sarcasm in his own voice surprised him. Did he dislike her that much, or just resent the idea that he was forced to babysit…

She stood just outside the door to the tack room, her face pale under her white cowgirl hat, her hair hanging in twin braids. “If this isn’t a good time for you, I can sure wait until Sayde gets back.”

“No, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat and walked past her, guilt making him want to hide his face from her. Walking out with two bridles, he gestured for her to follow him. “We’ve got a few choices for you.”

He stopped at the first stall. “She’s well broke, won’t spook on you.”

“Raindrop.” Cheyenne held her hand to the horse’s nose then scratched around her ear.

“Unless there’s thunder. Then she’s a little unpredictable.” Thad took a moment to appreciate the tight jeans Cheyenne wore on her endlessly long legs, the long-sleeved cotton shirt and suede vest that hugged her curves just right.

When he finally finished staring at her breasts and looked up a few more inches, her gaze met his. “I’d like a horse with a little more…fire.” Her eyes darkened just a bit as a zipline of awareness ran between them.

Now he could see how the name Cheyenne fit her perfectly. “Fire, huh?” The words came out of him like a challenge.

She squared off and dipped her chin an inch. “Yeah, fire. I’ve been riding since I was a girl. I can handle a spirited mount.” She lifted one eyebrow.

Down low in his belly, heat raced toward a spot behind his fly. Did she realize what she’d just said? “Fine, Madam Ruby. Let’s get you on top of something that’ll challenge you some.”

Her cocky look dropped away as color raced to her cheeks.

Yeah, now she knew she’d stirred the rattler’s nest.

“Look who wants to take a walk?” Clint held Mazie’s halter, trying to catch up to the horse and attach a lead rope to it.

“Oh, she’s so beautiful.” Cheyenne greeted the horse and stroked her as she plodded by. “She’s walking funny.” Her gaze shot to Thad’s.

“She’s been with Sayde for over thirty years. It’s…close to her time.”

The woman let out a long breath. “Sayde didn’t say anything.”

“A little bit of denial going on, there.”

She turned to him. “Sound familiar?”

With just those two words, Thad’s warm, fuzzy, sexy feeling for this woman disappeared. He spun on his heel, walked down three stalls, and in seconds, led Righteous through the barn. The gelding tossed his head and pranced a bit. He wasn’t one of their wildest horses, but he’d be a little bit of a handful for Miss Ghostbuster.

“He’s lively.” Her voice came out quiet.

He turned to look at her.

She smiled at him, almost apologetically.

Thad stepped in a fresh, steaming pile of horse apples. This was going to be one hell of a long ride.

Chapter Three

Cheyenne stared at the back of the cowboy in front of her. During their ride, Thad had replied to her questions about the ranch with monosyllabic answers as he plodded along a well-worn path on top of Gator.

She hadn’t bothered to ask where Gator got his name. The horse’s spots resembled alligator skin, except not green. Or slimy. She shivered. Any kind of water creatures freaked her out a little.

Under her, Righteous shook with the desire to break free into a run. She was feeling the need for speed, too. With a quick kick, the horse trotted up beside Gator.

Thad looked at her. “Tired? Want to go back?”

“More like bored.” Cheyenne hadn’t noticed it last night; the crooked angle in the middle of his strong nose. It looked like it had been broken at one time. It gave him a wild look, somehow, and it stirred something a little untamed inside her. If circumstances were different, she’d be flirting the shit out of this cowboy. “Can I run him?” A field opened to their left, gently sloping downward.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you’re sure you can—”

She didn’t waste another second. Kicking Righteous into a gallop then a run, Cheyenne wrapped the reins around her wrist and leaned down over his neck, hanging on with one hand on the pommel, one tight in his mane. The pasture whizzed by in a blur beneath them, the thudding of hooves and the horse’s loud breaths the only sounds she heard. She laughed, loud and free. She hadn’t done this in months, and it felt like a recharge to her soul.

They ran, muscles straining, wind strong on her face, until they nearly ran out of pasture.

From somewhere behind them, Thad’s voice reached her.

She risked a look.

He was running Gator, charging after her.

“Woo-hoo!” She squeezed her legs tighter around Righteous, encouraging him to win this race.

Hooves pounded behind her. “Slow down, damn it!” His voice came from much closer this time.

They were nearing a stand of trees, and the pasture gradually gave way to rockier ground. She eased the horse to a slow, loping run.

He reined up next to her. “This isn’t where you want to be running your horse. It’s rocky, there are tree roots.”

She could tell he was keeping his anger under control. Or was it something else? He looked pale. “Thanks, I saw the trees coming.”

They slowed their horses and he pulled off his hat and wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve.

How had he broken a sweat? It wasn’t that warm today. When she caught his gaze, her instinct told her it was anxiety. He was…afraid? For her? It seemed a bit of overkill, but maybe he was just a control freak.

The shine of sun bouncing off something to the left blinded her for a second. “Is that a river?”

“Yes.” He didn’t seem to be turning in that direction, and instead was guiding her in a wide circle heading back toward the ranch.

“Can we get to it?”

Heaving a long sigh, he turned his horse, slowing to a walk, and they wandered down a path toward the river.

They tied their horses to a tree where the animals could drink as much water as they needed and munch on the sweet grass growing between the rocks.

Cheyenne walked along the rocky bank. The trickle of the water almost made her want to peel off her boots and socks and stick her feet in. Almost.

Thad’s booted feet clomped somewhere behind her.

She came to a log lying parallel to the bank and sat on one end of it.

Thad stopped, then a few seconds later, sat on the other end.

Cheyenne stared at his profile. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed together, but that shaggy hair flipping out from under his hat was so damn sexy. His hand, braced on the log beside him, looked strong and tanned, scarred a bit, and she could almost feel how his callouses would scrape along her skin, just rough enough to excite her, fire up the need for hot, stormy sex. Low in her belly, an ache started to grow, need as unexpected as a lightning bolt from a blue sky filled her nerve endings.

She shook her head. It’d just been too long since she’d been with a man. It couldn’t be that she was actually attracted to Thad, could it? Closing her eyes, she could see him shoving her against a wall, lifting her leg and touching…

“You okay?” His voice rumbled, like he’d be pissed if she weren’t.

“Yes.” She let out a breath. “No.” The words she’d sliced him with in the barn niggled at her conscience. “I need to apologize for my comment in the barn.” When the words slid right from her head and out her mouth, she’d been pissed at the nasty tone in his response to the ranch hand. Like she was some terrible burden he’d been forced to bear.

He sat staring at the river for long minutes. “Yeah. No problem.”

Now it was her turn to sit silently. She wasn’t going to push him, but she could sense he had something on his mind, too.

“I expected someone different.” The words seemed almost dragged out of him.

“I’m sure. You figured I’d have a tie-dyed dress, shawls, ankle bells.”

A small snort accompanied a barely-there smile. “Something like that.”

Cheyenne stretched her legs out and crossed one ankle over the other.

His eyes ran the length of her legs then stopped at her boots. He squinted. “You must make good money at this…job?”

She bit back a smile. He was looking at the stamp on the inside arch of her boots. Yes, they were custom-made by the best bootmaker in the US. “I make good money at my job, but ghost chasing isn’t my job, it’s a hobby. I’m an attorney. That’s where the suits and boots and car come from.”

His head swung toward her so fast, she expected him to lose his balance. “An attorney?”

“Uh-huh. I work in my mother’s firm. We do real estate law, and I handle the west half of Montana.”

“You’re serious.” His brows drew downward.

“Yes, I’m serious.” She leaned to one side and pulled out a business card from her back pocket.

His gaze followed her hand but stayed on her ass.

Something inside her heated and softened. He could look at her like that any day. Or night.

“Habit.” She handed the card to him. “Always carry a business card. My mother’s slogan.”

He took it, glanced at it, and slid it into his shirt pocket. “So why the…” He made spirit fingers with his hands, the way she had done in cheerleading.

“I found out I had strong psychic abilities when I was in college.” She smiled. “Old dorm building, lots of wandering spirits.”

“That’s…” He just shook his head and watched the water flow past.

“Let me just say that what happened last night was not the way I usually do things.”

He gave her a sideways glare.

“I came on too strong, but the spirit seemed almost frantic to get her message to you.”

Thad leaned his forearms on his thighs and laced his fingers together. “You’ve got to understand how difficult this is for me to believe.” He dropped his head. “First, having things going on in the house, then finding out it’s Melissa.” He barely moved, she couldn’t even see his chest rising.

“I can empathize.” She could almost feel the uncertainty pouring from him. She wouldn’t ask him to try again. He needed time, and he’d have to initiate the request. “But, I should also be getting back.” She stood and walked past him toward the horses.

He sucked in a breath as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

They rode back in silence.

****

“Stop turning yourself into a hermit.” The woman’s whisper came so clearly into Thad’s head, he jerked awake and sat up in bed. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes.

“This ain’t right.” In his dream, he’d been at the church cemetery placing flowers on Melissa’s grave. Wind had started swirling around him, changing colors and forming shapes. He’d tried to run, but he couldn’t get purchase on the greasy soil. Then he’d heard the voice.

Thad snapped on the lamp and swung his legs out of bed. He padded toward the kitchen just wearing his briefs and turned on the light. He thought about flicking it on and off a few times for Sayde’s benefit if she was awake, but pulled a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator instead. It was warm.

“Damn ghost. Fucking with a man’s brew just ain’t right.” Some days, things ended up room-temperature, other days, everything in the refrigerator froze solid. He waited to see if the specter would reply somehow, but the place stayed quiet. “Guess the nightmare was enough for one night, huh?”

He walked to the living room and plopped down in his recliner, then turned on the television. A rebroadcast of the local rodeo played.

Melissa had loved rodeo. He glanced around the room. Was she here watching it with him? The thought sent chills from his spine all the way across his skin. He had to get this sorted out. He couldn’t live like this any longer. It had to end.

****

“Come in.” Sayde opened the door for Thad and ushered him into her modern stainless steel kitchen. “Coffee? Beer?”

He took off his hat and set it on a bench by the door. “It’s only ten in the morning, ma’am. Coffee’d do just fine.”

She chuckled. “The way your voice sounded on the phone just now, I thought you might need something stronger.”

He sunk into a carved wood chair at the big kitchen table. “I probably could, but I need a clear head for this.”

She turned and frowned at him. “That doesn’t sound good.” Carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, she sat across the table from him. “What’s going on?”

“Did Madam Ruby tell you anything?”

She smiled. “No, Cheyenne didn’t say a word, although I was inordinately curious.” She blew on her coffee. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He was tempted to share everything; the alleged identity of the ghost, the way he’d freaked out the night Cheyenne was in his house, the nightmare. But with Sayde having just lost her husband, he didn’t want to stir up any unnecessary emotions.

“Her car’s gone.” Had she decided he was a lost cause, and left for good?

“She has a court date this morning, but should be back sometime this afternoon.” Sayde leaned forward. “Are you thinking about giving it another try?”

He held up one hand. “I’ve got questions first.” Picking up his coffee, he sipped the dark brew. “How did you meet her?”

“We met in Bozeman at a psychic convention. I was going to every table asking for information on Barrett.” She shrugged. “Strange things were happening around the house, and I wanted to know if it was my imagination, or if he’d come back.”

This was the first Thad had heard about this. “And she was the lucky psychic?”

“No, she approached me later at the bar. Said she’d gotten a message from the man I was asking about, and that he wanted to tell me he was in a safe place.” Sayde blinked a few times.

“And how much did she charge you for that?”

Her lips tightened. “Why are you so suspicious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be suspicious of a woman who’s going to come into my house and tell me I have a ghost, dance and light some herbs to get rid of it, and charge me a thousand dollars?”

“Has she sent you an invoice yet?” Her brow lifted.

True, Cheyenne hadn’t discussed money, and seemed to have enough from her day job.

“Cheyenne and I have become friends. Good friends, despite our age difference.” Sayde got up and grabbed the coffee pot then refilled their mugs. “She said it was okay for me to answer your questions about her.” She plopped down in her chair. “So, shoot.”

Madame Ruby had known he’d be asking questions? Of course she would have, the way he acted when she’d shown up and waltzed into his house. But, he’d be a fool if he missed this opportunity. “What’s her story? She mentioned her mother, her work. What about her father?”

With a snort, his boss flapped her hand in the air. “He’s an heir to some oil fortune, hasn’t worked a day in his life, and thinks golfing in Phoenix is his life’s work.”

That was interesting. “And her parents are divorced?”

“No. They just lead separate lives. And Cheyenne had the choice of being rich and spoiled, but chose to work with her mother instead.”

“And their firm does well?” He knew the answer to that one, but wanted to hear what Sayde thought.

“They do, and they work a lot of pro-bono jobs, fund a foundation, and host charity events to raise money for just about every local organization you can name.”

She sounded too good to be true. “And in her spare time?”

Sayde laughed. “If I didn’t like you so much, cowboy, your smart-ass sense of humor would annoy the hell out of me.”

He set his elbow on the table and dropped his forehead onto his hand. “I don’t know what to do, Sayde.”

“Thad, there’s something happening. It’s been escalating lately. You’d like to get to the bottom of it. So what would it hurt for you to let her try one more time? She’s leaving tomorrow. You could have this all over and done with tonight.”

“Yeah. I know you’re right, but damn if it makes any sense.” He could give it another chance. He’d be prepared for the worst this time, so he wouldn’t go all drama-queen on Cheyenne. “Fine.” He stood. “Have her stop by if she wants.”

Sayde sat back in her seat. “Will do. And why don’t you take the rest of the day to get that pigsty of a house cleaned up.”

He shook his head. “Fine. I’ll clean.

She just laughed.

Chapter Four

Cheyenne stepped up onto Thad’s porch at seven that evening. At first, when Sayde told her Thad wanted her to try again, she didn’t believe it, and had made Sayde swear she was telling the truth. The door stood open and she knocked on the frame of the screen door.

Thad walked toward her, a bag of garbage hanging from one hand and a dustpan in the other. “Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi. Cleaning?”

He looked down at his hands. “Uh, yep.” He pushed open the door and held it for her.

She walked in past him and he tossed the bag out onto the porch.

Taking a deep breath, she caught the scent of his aftershave, spicy and kind of woodsy. His jeans and button-front red plaid shirt looked freshly pressed.

“Thanks for coming.” He stared at her.

Was he waiting for her to start communicating with the spirit? She looked behind him at the white refrigerator. Her business card sat under a strawberry magnet. At least he hadn’t thrown it in the river yesterday.

“So, what do we do?” He fidgeted from one stockinged foot to the other.

She slipped out of her deck shoes, her bare feet connecting with the cool linoleum of the kitchen floor.

He looked at her toes. “You don’t have to take off your…ah, well. That’s fine.”

She’d painted them that afternoon on the pool deck behind Sayde’s house. It was nice to show them off to someone. “Mind if I walk around?” She wasn’t picking up anything psychic, which was strange after the urgency of the woman’s contact two days ago.

“No. Please.” He stepped back and gestured toward the other rooms.

The dining room hutch held a couple of crystal bowls, but the wood table was bare. In the living room, a red couch faced a small fireplace, and a black leather recliner faced a big-ass television. “You watch sports? Rodeo? NASCAR?”

“All of the above. Mostly football.”

She could picture him playing football. He had the big build for it. “College?”

“Never attended.”

Her gaze shot to his. He’d misunderstood what she was asking.

His chin came up an inch, and his eyes narrowed. Was he defensive about not having a degree?

“No, I mean, do you watch college ball, since Montana doesn’t have an NFL team.”

He tipped his head down. “I’m a Cowboys fan. Grew up in Oklahoma.”

“Oh.” He was a long way from home. She wandered out of the room and down a hallway. The bathroom was done in peach and green. “Pretty.”

Behind her, he cleared his throat. “Sayde let us remodel the bathrooms…as a wedding gift.”

“It’s very tasteful.”

“Melissa, that’s my…that was my wife, she worked at a furniture store as a decorator. That’s how we met.”

Cheyenne looked into his eyes. The hint of sadness that was always present seemed a little deeper today. “How long were you married before she passed?”

“Two years. She’s been gone five.” He walked away, down the hall.

He’d been alone five years? Well, not exactly alone, if she was still present here. She followed, passing an empty room.

He stopped at the last door and stood back to let her enter.

She stepped in, her feet sinking into the thick white carpeting. A four-poster bed with a mossy green quilt stood surrounded by white furniture.

“You feel anything?” He stood leaning against the door jamb with his hands in his front pockets.

Cheyenne had to swallow hard. He was one sexy cowboy, and being in his bedroom turned on some switch deep in her belly. Her exhale had a little sigh with it.

He frowned.

A noise from the direction of the kitchen made both of them jerk, then he walked toward the sound.

She looked at the closed closet doors and fisted her hands, wanting to know what was in there, but wishing to respect his privacy. “Oh heck.” Grabbing the knobs, she pulled them open.

Only men’s clothes. She breathed a sigh of relief. If she had seen his wife’s clothes still in there, she would have suggested a trip to a grief counselor for him. His few shirts and jeans hung neatly, looking lost in the big closet. Far to one end, a black suit hung next to a white shirt. Funeral clothes. She shut the doors and turned.

He stood frowning at her.

Gasping, she patted her chest over her heart. “You scared me, there.”

His eyes followed her movement, then shot to the closet. His jaw worked.

Before he could question her, she pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “What was the noise?”

“Just the trash bag falling over on the porch.” He stood back, gesturing for her to go ahead of him.

She wandered down the hall. “What about upstairs?”

“Four bedrooms. Not used.” His words came out clipped. Cheyenne had a burst of sorrow when she imagined how he and Melissa must have planned to fill every one of those rooms with children.

“If you’re curious, I returned all of Melissa’s possessions to her family after…” He stopped in the dining room. “All except a few things I’d given her.”

She looked at the hutch. That explained the sparseness of decorative pieces. She padded into the kitchen and stood at the screen door, hoping that would trigger some activity.

“You want some coffee? Water? A beer?”

She could use something stronger, like a shot of Jack, but she nodded. “Sure, a beer would be good right now.”

“Might not be cold.” He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out two bottles. He held them up and smiled. “Ice cold.”

Oh jeepers, that smile. If she thought he couldn’t get any sexier, she was wrong. A little crooked, it turned his face movie-star handsome. His face sobered. “What’s wrong?”

Crap, she’d been staring at him. “Nothing. Sorry.” She pulled out one of the chairs from the kitchen table and sat as he twisted the top off the bottles and set one in front of her. “So, why where you surprised the beer was cold?”

He took a seat across the table from her. “About a month ago, the refrigerator started acting up. Freezing everything some days, then not doing a damn thing other days.” His lip curved down at one corner. “Pardon my language.”

She nearly rolled her eyes. She used much worse language nearly every day.

“I looked at it.” His long fingers turned the bottle in a circle on the table. “Had the ranch mechanic look at it, and finally had a service man come out from town.” One brow lifted. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Cheyenne tipped her head. “Do you think it’s her?” She hadn’t seen a spirit use appliances before.

Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the table. Muscled and dusted with a sexy number of brown hairs, she stared at them a little too long.

“I figured it was the ghost when it started happening to other appliances, too.”

Her eyes traveled up his arm, past his big biceps, then to his face. “What happened?”

“I’d put a frozen dinner in the microwave, and it’d still be frozen after five minutes on high.” He gestured to the oven. “Had a casserole from Sayde’s cook that I put in the oven at three-fifty, and fifteen minutes later, I smelled burning.” He puffed out a quick laugh. “Darn thing was up at five-hundred degrees.”

She looked around the room, then caught his gaze. “Sayde mentioned the keys in the bowl by the door, and the screen door opening.” Swallowing hard, she made herself ask a hard question. “You know your wife better than anyone. What do you think she’s trying to tell you?”

“That I should eat out more because I’m a really bad cook?” His lips curled up.

She laughed. “You must be more than just bad to warrant all this attention.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He talked about the few meals he’d tried to prepare over the years, and had Cheyenne laughing until tears rolled down her face. When he offered another beer, she accepted, and she shared some of her own cooking disasters.

The few times he actually laughed, her chest contracted a little at the rusty sound.

When she finished her beer, she stood. “Well, since there’s no one but you and me here tonight, I’d better get going.” She looked out the window. Pitch black. “Could I borrow a flashlight? I didn’t think of grabbing one before I walked down here.

He got to his feet. “You walked?” Leaning over, he picked up his keys out of the bowl by the door. “Let me drive you back.”

“No, please.” She stepped to the screen door. “I don’t mind the walk. It’s so beautiful here, with the stars and…” She rolled one hand around, trying to come up with something else to add.

Thad picked up a rifle from behind the door. “And night critters that are prowling, looking for their next meal.” He checked to see that it was loaded.

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. In the city, night critters walk on two legs, and carry knives.”

“I’ll walk you.” He leaned close to her.

His scent filled her mind with warm, naughty ideas as she blinked up at him, parting her lips. Would he kiss her now?

He frowned and flipped on the porch light. “After you, ma’am.”

Turning her face away, she hid the warmth that flooded her cheeks. Crap, what an imagination she had. Stepping outside, the cool night chilled her romantic notions down to manageable proportions.

They walked along the gravel drive in silence.

A howl came from a distance. In the nearby woods, scurrying sounds startled her, making her lurch a bit, and stumble into him.

Taking her elbow in his hand, he got her straightened out, but kept his hold on her arm.

The heat racing through her, starting at her arm and running all the way up and into her bloodstream, gave her chills.

“Cold?” His voice came close to her ear.

Was he making his move now? She could see the lights of Sayde’s house ahead. Would he kiss her now, or wait until he dropped her off at the door? Oh lord, those two beers had really hit her hard. She was wanting things she probably shouldn’t even be thinking about.

But if she was reading him right, and for some reason she was able to read him a little too well, he was wanting her just as much.

They stepped from the gravel road onto the concrete driveway at Sayde’s house.

He released her. “Cheyenne.” In the low illumination from a faraway yard light, his eyes glimmered.

Her intuition told her he wanted her, but was too reserved to take what he desired.

“Thad.” She stepped close to him, ran her hands from his chest up to his neck and went up on tiptoes, pressing her lips to his.

For a second, he stiffened, then he opened his mouth, the hand not holding the rifle wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against him.

Amazing, his lips felt so firm and hot, his breath laced with beer and sexy, pure man, mingled with his woodsy scent and forced a shiver through her.

Where their hips pressed together, she could feel a bulge. She touched her tongue to his lips.

“Goddamnit.” Thad released her, stepped back, and breathed hard.

The loss of his heat against her cooled her as much as the look in his eyes. Pure terror.

“Get inside, Cheyenne. It’s not safe out here.” He growled the words and turned, walking away.

Her fingers flew to her lips as she watched him disappear into the darkness, his boots crunching loud on the rock driveway, as if he was making good time getting away from her. Had she misread the situation? No. He’d returned the kiss, he’d pulled her in tight.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She trudged toward Sayde’s house, needing a glass of wine, but not a heart-to-heart with her friend. This was not something she wanted to share. With anyone.

She snuck a glass and a bottle up to her room and poured a full one, sitting cross-legged on the bed staring out the window at the stars. Was he still out there?

Why did he attract her the way he did? It was physical for sure, but there was more to him. The way he’d kicked her out of his house the first night, but said, “please” to soften the eviction. His embarrassment at getting caught voicing his displeasure at having to take her riding. His heartfelt revelation when they were at the river. And the way he opened up to her last night at his house.

This was a man to take notice of. Sure, he had baggage. More like storage lockers of emotional burdens. But he was strong and true and good.

Sayde talked him up a lot, and Cheyenne valued her opinion as much, if not more, than that of her mother. Sayde had known him for a dozen years.

Cheyenne had only known him for days, but she was quickly becoming invested in him. Like one-hundred percent infatuated.

****

Thad stood in the darkness waiting for an upstairs light to go on, telling him Cheyenne had settled in for the night. He’d seen her go into the front door. Was she pouring out her heart to Sayde right now?

His body throbbed, wanting to go after her. “What the hell was that?” Hot, definitely. Like a cattle brand to his groin. But he’d been holding back, waiting until things finalized with his ghost. With Melissa. Cheyenne, evidently, wasn’t quite so patient.

He headed back toward his house. Rounding a copse of trees, he spotted his house. Hadn’t he left the porch light on? Then every light in the house went off. “Great.” Now he’d whipped her up again. She’d been quiet recently, and too quiet tonight when Cheyenne was looking for her. What had he done to get her riled, now?

Hours later, he woke. The nightmare had been nearly the same as the last one, but this time, her voice had whispered, “Don’t miss this chance.” The rest of the night was a loss. Melissa kept things hopping until sunrise.

In the morning, he hiked to Sayde’s, ready to apologize to Cheyenne for his overreaction the night before.

His boss sat on a wrought iron chair on her front patio, sipping coffee. “She’s gone. Left before sunrise.”

He nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I was hoping to catch her.”

“She didn’t see me in the living room last night. But she looked kinda…flustered when she came in.”

Thad could just bet how she’d looked. Pink-cheeked and breathing fast. He shrugged a brow. Just like he’d looked, probably.

She set down her cup. “Thank you for letting her into your home.”

“I thought you said it was yours?” He gave her a smile to soften his words.

“It’s my house, but your home. Or at least, it was a home.” She cocked her head. “What does it feel like to you now?”

“Now?” What was she referring to?

“I was up during the night. Lots of activity. Didn’t things go well with Madam Ruby?”

Staring off at the sun coming up over the mountains, Thad plotted his next move. “I gotta talk to her. Something happened last night, and I don’t want her to think it was her fault.”

“So, is that your way of sayin’ you need to apologize to her?”

He nodded once. “Can’t slip anything past you, can I.”

“Nope.” Her eyes narrowed.

He was going to have to pull this out of her like a new sliver. “I have her business card with her work address and office phone, but…could I impose on you for her home address? Phone number, too? I’d like to drive up there today and handle this in person.”

She got to her feet and pulled her phone from her pocket. She accessed the contact information and read it off to him as he typed it into his phone. “She’s in one of them fancy condos in Helena, the ones with the guard in the lobby. So if she doesn’t want to see you—for whatever mysterious reason which you’re not telling me—she’ll have you tossed out on your keister.”

“Fair enough.” He scuffed his boot toe on the patio. “Any chance you could call her and see if she’s home?”

Sayde gave him a sly smile. “Hang on.” She typed on her phone. “I texted her that I needed to talk to her when she gets home.” In seconds, a bubbly sound came from the thing. “She says she’s working from home all day today.”

“Thank you.” He turned to walk away.

“You’re not gonna ask me for the day off?”

“It’s Sunday. According to my contract, it’s already my day off.”

She snorted. “Since you haven’t taken Sunday off in…oh…years, I’m going to declare this a miracle.” Sayde walked into the house and closed the door behind her.

“It’ll be a miracle if I don’t end up in the middle of a sidewalk on my keister.” He wandered toward the barns for a quick check on things before he headed out.

Also known as procrastination.

Chapter Five

Cheyenne hung up the phone. The lobby guard said a cowboy named Thad McCade was asking to see her. With that description, there was no doubt who she’d see if she turned on the closed circuit television. “Holy shit.” She’d laid one on him good last night, and he’d shoved her away. What could he want from her?

Looking down at her sleeveless blue sundress and bare feet, she considered making him wait while she changed, but there wouldn’t be enough time to do it right. By the time she walked to the front door, she’d regained a little of her composure. Seriously, he wouldn’t be here if he was going to yell at her for accosting him. Would he?

The doorbell rang. She swung open one of the two hand-carved oak doors. “Mr. McCade.”

His eyes flashed with a quick sparkle of amusement. “Miss Cheyenne. Beggin’ your pardon for the interruption, but I’d appreciate the chance to talk with you for a few minutes.”

“Of course.” She moved back. “Please come in.”

He stepped over the threshold and a long, low whistle filled the high-ceilinged room. Tugging off his brown cowboy hat, he tossed it onto the small table next to the door. From behind, those tight jeans cupped his really nice ass, and his white shirt had ironed creases along the sleeves.

She watched him walk through the greatroom to the wall of windows overlooking the city and the mountains.

“Quite the place you have here. Now I know why the term ‘penthouse’ was never in my vocabulary.”

“Afraid of heights?” She leaned her hip on one of the green leather sofas clustered around the white marble fireplace.

“No.” He turned toward her. “Afraid I’d never want to leave.” He glanced up at the antler chandelier over the glass dining room table, then at the modern white kitchen. “Yep. This is one heck of a home.”

“It’s the company’s. I have a bedroom here, but it’s not home.” She wasn’t sure why she shared that little slice of dysfunction.

His gaze shot to hers. “I can understand that.” He scuffed the hardwood floor with the toe of one boot. “I came to apologize. For last night.”

She pressed her lips tight and walked into the kitchen. “Coffee? Water? Beer?”

“Coffee, if it’s made.” He followed her and stood by one of the stools at the tall breakfast bar.

“It’s one of them fancy machines that makes one cup at a time.” She slid a little cup into a space-age contraption and pressed a button. A hissing sound emitted from the thing.

His curiosity almost had him walking over to it, but he held back.

She leaned on the counter across from him. “So you think you need to apologize? You sure you didn’t come here for an apology from me?”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “Ma’am, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

She couldn’t look him in the eye. “I could blame it all on the beer, Thad. But that was only the grease that had me sliding right into you.”

He laughed, quick and loud. “Sounds a lot more interesting when you put it that way.”

She shook her head, holding back a smile. “I’d like to say I wish I hadn’t done it, but that’d be a lie.” She caught his gaze.

His brown eyes narrowed. “The mistake was me pushing you away. No, that was the second mistake. The first one was not following through with what I’ve wanted to do since that day by the river.” He worked his jaw. “You’ve got to understand, Cheyenne, I’m new at this, again. It’s been a hell of a long time since I wanted more than a night of sex from a woman.”

His coarse words rang true, surprising her with their intensity. Did she truly feel the same about him? Was she sure it wasn’t just physical desire she felt for him?

“How do you know?” Her question was meant for both of them.

“How do I know I want to get to know you better?” He walked around the counter and stood in front of her, looking down at her with a half-smile but a furrowed brow. “You’re like no one I’ve ever met. An attorney who moonlights as a ghost chaser. Who had the chance to be a spoiled, rich brat, but chose to help land owners with their rights instead.”

“You seem to have me figured out.” Her belly flipped with excitement. She’d never dreamed he’d leave the ranch to come after her, pour out his heart for her.

Shaking his head, he slid his hands from her elbows to her shoulder, over and over, his rough callouses on her bare arms almost more enticing than she could handle.

“No, that’s the thing.” His hands stilled and he pulled her closer. “I can’t figure you out. First off, I can’t believe you’re real, but in a good way.” He shook his head. “See what I mean about being new at this?”

Cheyenne set her hands on his hips. “You’re doing really well, Thad.” Under her palms, his warm, firm muscles gave her a wild ride on the desire side. “Keep going.”

He slid his hands around her back and tugged her against him. “Cheyenne.” With one step, he shoved her against the front of the refrigerator.

Her entire body tingled and quivered. “Yes.” She lifted her face to his.

Thad’s eyes, dark brown now, didn’t shift, stared right into hers. “Yes? This is something you want?”

She grasped his belt loops and pulled his hips in tighter. “Yes, it’s something I want.” Cheyenne licked her lips. “And as long as you’re asking all these questions, I’ll tell you right off, I want it now.”

With a groan, he tipped his head, hesitated a second, then pressed his lips to hers.

She let out a breathy moan and kissed him back, sliding up just an inch to get closer, her nipples scraping along his shirt, hardening beneath her dress and bra. The wicked sensation tickled from her breasts all the way down between her legs.

His kiss turned possessive and perfect, his tongue tasting hers, exploring every space in her mouth, his breath hot, sweet like he’d just had a mint.

Against her belly, his hard shaft pressed, went deeper as he leaned into her, squeezing the breath from her, but she loved it.

He slowed the kiss, backing off an inch. “Here, or in the bedroom?” His hand slid down her side, over her hips, and he yanked up the fabric of her dress. His gaze lasered into hers.

“Oh God.” Heat clenched her core in pulses of desire. “Here first. Bed next.”

His low chuckle shuddered through his belly and chest, reverberating in hers and sending pinpricks of pleasure to her breasts. He stepped back, pulling her dress up.

Cheyenne lifted her arms and let him strip it off her. The cool air hit her, pebbling her nipples even more.

He stopped moving with her sundress in one hand, and just stared at her.

The matching mint lace bra and panties she’d chosen on a whim this morning were doing their job.

“Fantastic.” His breath heaved in and out of his chest.

She grasped both sides of his shirt, hoping it was snaps, not buttons, then tugged. The two halves came apart as the snaps opened, revealing his nearly-bare chest. Just a few hairs graced his pecs, a few more making an arrow on his eight-pack belly, pointing down toward the hot secret in his jeans.

He finished her job for her, sending his shirt sailing, then reached for his belt buckle.

She touched his hands, and knelt.

“Ahhh.” His groan was half-pain, half-lust as he stared down at her, his nostrils flaring.

Unfastening his belt, she paused for a second. “No self-respecting cowboy comes a-callin’ without a condom in his wallet, right?”

He smiled, and tugged a string of three out of his back pocket, and set them on the counter. “I wasn’t expecting…but was hoping like hell.”

“Your lucky day, cowboy.” She unbuttoned his jeans, then slowly unzipped him, the bulge behind his zipper pressing out, stretching his navy blue briefs to the max.

“Lucky me.” He stepped back and toed off his boots, sending them skittering across the tile floor.

Cheyenne grabbed the fabric of his jeans and pulled him back to her. She wanted to do this so crazy-bad. To see him, hard for her, excited to take her for his own. And his comment about “more than sex” kept echoing in her brain. She was the lucky one.

“You don’t have to—” He took her arms, lifting her an inch.

“I want to.” She settled back to her knees and peeled his jeans down, helping him take them and his socks off. Once he wore only his boxer briefs, she licked her lips and looked up at him through her lashes. “I really, really want to.”

His hips jerked forward and a drop of moisture formed on the material where the tip of his length pointed directly toward her. “Cheyenne, honeybee, you please yourself. Whatever you want.”

She liked being his ‘honeybee.’ And liked even more how he practically said she was in charge. Running her palms up the light furring on his thighs, she marveled at the hard muscles, complete lack of fat. Unable to resist, she slid her palms to his back, tugged down his briefs, and cupped his buttocks. “Hard as steel.”

“That ain’t all that’s hard.” His words rolled low and gravelly.

Lifting the waistband in the front, she eased the fabric from his cock, and froze, staring at the wide, long, purple beauty. “Oh, wow.” She bit her lip and sucked in a breath. This was going to take some doing to get all the way in.

“If you don’t—”

Leaning forward, she took his head into her mouth, effectively silencing him. Hot and salty, he made her mouth water. His scent, soap and musky skin, filled her nose, filled her mind with sexy submission.

“Ah, okay.” He whispered the words as he glided his hand down her hair, pulling it to one shoulder and running his fingers through it.

She smiled as she took him deeper, ran her tongue over the slit at the top, the ridge of his plum-shaped knob, then tickled the hot spot at the base of the head.

He jerked and his hand fisted in her hair. “Careful, you don’t want this cowboy to embarrass himself and pop like a teenager.”

She hummed her disagreement. If she had that much power over him, she’d be the happiest girl in Montana. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Deep in her belly, heat pulsed, swelling the softness between her legs.

When she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, he shuddered like a leaf in a tornado and softly tugged her hair, sliding her mouth off of him.

She looked up into his eyes. His cheeks puffed out with his breaths and his eyes seemed almost unfocused.

“Now it’s your turn.” He lifted her to her feet and turned her, this time pressing her back against the wall. His gaze traveled to her bra, to her aching nipples. “You’re the most beautiful woman…” He slid his hand into her bra cup, releasing her breast. “Yeah, I knew you’d be cherry red.” He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth.

She jerked as the pleasure tore through her, her head banging into the wall. His arm curved around her back, his other hand slid down the little pooch of her belly and his fingers slipped into her panties.

His tongue did wild things on her nipple, and shivers raced through her. His hand slid deeper into her panties, touching her trimmed hairs, gently massaging her and sliding lower, deeper, until one finger parted her.

“That feels so good.” Her voice rolled like hot caramel, and she tipped her hips forward, inviting him in.

“So tight.” His finger eased into her core just a fraction more. With one last kiss on her nipple, he pressed his lips to her breast, then traced a path upward to her neck. “If they weren’t part of this pretty set, I’d rip those undies off you.” He slid his hand up her spine, his other hand busy driving her insane with soft thrusts into her lips.

“You’re so considerate.” She had no idea what she was saying as his finger caused pulses of heat to radiate from her opening.

He chuckled as he pressed his fingers against the nape of her neck and slid his thumb along her jaw. “You’re hot and wet, honeybee.” His eyes stared into hers as his fingers did unbelievably sensual things to her pussy. “And I want to taste your sweetness.” His hips bucked and his hard shaft poked into her hip. “But right now, I just have to be inside you.”

She tugged the sides of her panties down her thighs. “I want you there. Now, Thad.”

He practically tore her panties down her legs. Sitting on his heels, he helped her raise one foot to unbind her ankles.

He froze a moment at eye level with her light red curls. “Ah, damn.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss at her juncture, then stood, grabbed a condom, and was sheathed in seconds.

Cheyenne unhooked her bra and tossed it behind him.

He reached his hands to weigh her breasts, flicking his thumb over each one. “Perfection.”

Not interested in slow right now, she grasped his cock. It pulsed hot and hard through the condom. “Erection.”

He laughed, loud and quick as she giggled and squeezed him. “Cheyenne.” He cupped her ass cheeks and lifted her, holding her at the right level, pushing into her with his chest as he lifted her leg. Snugging it in the crook of his arm, he pressed his palm to the wall at her side, his other hand holding her bottom where he needed her. “Slide me in, honeybee.” He bent his knees, making room for her to obey.

She couldn’t waste a second, wanted him in her so badly it became an ache. Guiding him so the head of his shaft pressed to her lips, she shifted her hips, taking him nearly an inch inside her. Hot and thick, he stretched her so perfectly.

“Yeah.” He groaned. “Tell me if it’s too much.” Straightening his knees slowly, he pushed up and into her, so wide and powerful, she nearly cried out. But if she had, he would have stopped, and she wanted all of him inside her.

The slight pinch as her channel adjusted to his width, the shift of her insides to accommodate his length, combined with the luscious feel of his slide into her, started her mind spinning. A burst of heat low in her belly sent her cream flowing, easing his entry.

When he’d pushed every inch of himself into her, he stopped moving, stopped breathing, and focused on her. “You feel so good around me.” He circled his hips, hitting every sweet spot she had.

A shiver raced through her, but she stared into the intensity of his gaze. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want to ride you, and I want it wild.”

“Honeybee.” The word came out a growl. “You got it.” He shifted her, moved his feet, arranged her. “Hang on. This ain’t gonna be nothin’ but wild.” Sliding his cock nearly out of her pussy, he inhaled a long breath, then jerked his hips upward.

His shaft filled her, the delight swirling like rivers of lava through her body. Unable to hold up her head, she dropped her forehead to his shoulder.

“Damn tight. Slick. Ah, Cheyenne.” His words came quietly and hot in her ear, sending chills down her spine, snapping off all conscious thoughts in her brain.

Pulling himself out, he used his legs, his hips, his glutes to push back into her. He moved, graceful like an athlete, strong like a man who spent his days in physical labor. His thrusts increased in speed, inching her farther and farther from reality as sensations expanded, encompassing her every nerve.

His lips pressed to her neck, kisses, nibbles, his tongue lapping at her.

She could only hold on, working her hips in tandem with his as the rub of their bodies fired flames inside her, tightening exquisite pressure on her nipples. She could nearly taste her orgasm building, like a tangy aroma that seeped into every pore.

“You come for me, Cheyenne. Don’t hold back.” His pumping hips increased speed, his hand at her ass gripped harder, his kisses on her neck turned to bites.

The movement of his bones at her mound pressed hard into her clit, and that little bud of delight pulsed with the last push she needed to sail over the edge. Biting his shoulder, she dug her nails into his back and blew apart, like a thousand puzzle pieces spinning and flying out of control.

Her eyes rolled in her head, contractions tightened her around his shaft, and a hot flush spread across her skin. Floating in a far off heaven, she heard him grunt as he pounded into her pussy, his cock thicker, heavier, bringing him to his own perfect completion. With one last thrust and an animal roar, he stilled his body, let his shaft pulse inside her.

The feel of him so deep, burning hot, and throbbing, sent her for another fast spin, as if darkness overtook her for long moments, then her mind glided slowly back into her body.

They both held tight, panting, as moisture formed on his chest, slicking hers with his manly scent.

It took all her effort to lift her head from his shoulder and open her eyes.

Thad stared at her, his brows drawn down tight, a frown on his face.

Panic threatened. “Everything okay?”

Chapter Six

Thad swallowed and took a breath. “Yeah.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, her heated skin making him want more. Now. “Everything is okay.” His legs shook slightly with the effort of holding her against the wall, from the exertion of the best love-making he’d had in…hell, forever. She was sweet and perfect, insatiable and raw. “Amazing.”

She smiled. “It was.”

He eased out of her and let her leg slide from his arm. When her knees buckled, he picked her up in his arms. “Bedroom?”

Her soft hair brushed his arm then his chest as her head lolled against him. “Down the hall, last door on the right.”

He grabbed the other two condoms and strode from the kitchen, across the huge room, his feet sinking into the pure white carpet. The hall was wide, big enough for him to carry her without turning, and the double doors to her bedroom stood open. He stepped inside. “Damn.” Her heavy oak four-poster bed held a ruby canopy and matching bedspread. Cream-colored pillows lay scattered on the bed, and the carpet was a modern pattern of red and cream. “Fancy.” Too fancy for the likes of him.

She laughed. “My mother had it decorated to surprise me. Definitely not my style, but I’m not here much.”

He let her slide down his body to stand on her own two feet, but kept his arms around her. “You travel, mostly?”

She nodded. “Mom too, but on the east side of the state. This is our middle ground. Her bedroom is across the hall.”

His head jerked toward the closed doors, and he quickly turned, hiding his naked ass in case she came out.

“She’s not here tonight.” She backed up and closed the double doors. “She’s somewhere near the North Dakota border, but we’ll lock ourselves in, just to be safe.” She flipped the lock, leaned back on the doors, and gave him a naughty grin.

“Honeybee, you are one special lady.” He looked down at himself. “Bathroom?”

“First door.” She gestured behind him to two closed doors, and one open – the open one showing tile and fixtures.

“Be right back.” He stepped into the gold-tiled bathroom. A huge walk-in shower, deep, giant bathtub, and ruby-red towels to accent it. His Melissa would sure have loved this place. He shook his head as he disposed of the condom. Great time to be thinking of his deceased wife, but she loved nice things. He looked at his face in the mirror. And she’d ended up with him, in an old ranch house, but happy. She had been happy with what they had, mostly. Focused on the promise of a better life in the future, though.

“You look fine, Thad. Don’t even think about primping.” Cheyenne padded into the bathroom wearing a short, silky pink robe and a sly smile.

He turned from the mirror, turned from his past to his present. “Mmmm.” He tugged her tight against him. “You are a present.”

Arching back, she ran her hand over his chest. “You’re a surprise to me, too. I didn’t peg you as the impetuous type. Driving five hours to make love to a girl.”

“Impetuous, huh? Never been accused of that before.” And maybe it was high time he was. “Maybe I was just lured in by your spell and couldn’t help myself.”

She rolled her beautiful, sky-blue eyes and laughed. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever been helplessly in my power.”

He ran his palms in circles over the silk of her butt. “That I don’t believe.” He walked her backward, into the bedroom. She’d closed a set of sheer curtains. The city was still visible, but the room seemed cozy. More intimate. As he untied the robe’s belt, he let the urge deep in his groin take over, hardening him to press between her legs.

She helped him slip the robe from her shoulders, down her luscious body, to pool around her feet. “I’m glad you came here, Thad.” She looked too serious.

“I’m glad you let me in after what an ass I’ve been.”

“No, you haven’t. Under the circumstances.” She huffed out a breath. “But that’s not what I want to focus on right now.” Taking his hand, she walked backward until her legs hit the side of the bed.

“Yeah.” His cock was driving this visit. “I don’t much want to talk about anything.” He pulled her to him for a kiss. Her sweet lips complied, opening softly for him. He tasted her sweetness, glided his tongue over her sharp little eye teeth, played with her tongue until she was moaning.

“I want to taste more.” He breathed the words against her lips.

Her body went slack, and he lay her on the bed.

Kissing his way from her neck to her breasts, he drew in the scent of her. Pure and clean, nothing fancy or floral or cloying. Just perfect skin, cherry-red nipples that tasted like cream, and an outie belly button that he had to nibble.

She jerked. “Why is that so erotic?” Her head lifted and she looked down at him, her sexy pink cheeks and her kiss-swollen lips enticing him to head back that way, but he had a goal, and he would taste her there first.

Ducking his head, he breathed deeply. Her soft scent—woman and arousal—drew him closer. He kissed her hip bones, her stomach, the soft hair at her center.

Cheyenne flopped flat on the bed, her arms out to the sides. Sliding her knees apart, he knelt on the floor at her feet. Trimmed reddish-blonde hair graced the sexy lips between her legs. “You are beautiful.” He slid his hands up her inner thighs, slowly, carefully.

She sighed and tightened her leg muscles, circled her hips. A drop of her sweet juices trickled to the edge of one ruby lip.

He had to have it. Leaning in, he licked the spot, taking the cream, rolling it around in his mouth like it was the finest wine. He slid his thumbs along the perfect softness and pressed his face in, using his mustache to tickle.

“That’s good, Thad. Yes.” Her hands gripped the bedspread.

He took his time, lapping at her, massaging her, exploring all of her with his lips.

“You’re making me writhe around, cowboy.” She looked at him through her passion-darkened eyes. “It’s time to make me pass out.”

He grinned. “Your wish, my command, Madam Ruby.” He pushed his tongue deep into her opening, taking all the juices she sent his way. He slid his tongue up, moving slowly until he found her little bud. At the tip of his tongue, it pulsed and hardened. Damn, he could stay here all day.

Thad circled it a few times, loving how her body shuddered with each pass. He ran his tongue down through her warm, sweet channel, into her opening, then back to her clit. He repeated this over and over, feeling her heat shimmer off her body, watching her tense as she neared her climax.

“Now, honeybee. For me.” He sucked her clit between his lips and flicked it with his tongue.

“Thad!” His name echoed around the room as she bucked her hips against his mouth.

He hung on to her, keeping up the pressure with his lips and tongue, loving every second of what he’d brought her to.

With a whimper, she shook and relaxed, melting into the mattress. Her breath came fast and loud.

He gently kissed her, licking deep into her, seeking more of her honey. When her breathing slowed, he lay next to her, taking her in his arms, nuzzling her shoulder. “You are so sexy, Cheyenne.”

Opening her eyes, she turned her head toward him. “You are so talented, Thad.”

He kissed her, fighting to keep his heart from becoming too involved. He’d take it slow this time. He didn’t need to jump in and claim her, the way he had with Melissa.

Cheyenne stroked her hand along his chest and abs. “What are you thinking?”

He nipped at her lip. “Thinking about how long it’s going to take you to recover before I have you again.”

“Mmmm.” Her fingers trailed lower, touching his hard manhood. “Maybe I’ll have you this time.” She kissed his chin, wriggled lower, kissed his chest, then lower still until her lips brushed his cock.

The roar of lust rattled through him, heat pooling low in his gut. “You think so?”

She took his circumference in her hand. “I do. And I love that you’re already sending me your essence.” Her tongue snuck out and took the drop of pre-come from his slit.

He’d let her play a bit, but he needed to be buried deep inside her again. Soon. Even though he’d buried himself balls-deep in her in the kitchen, he wanted more, wanted all she could give him.

She took her time, licking him, teasing him, tracing her tongue along each vein, each curve and ridge. Then she took him deep, all the way to the back of her throat. She sucked, swallowed, and took him even deeper, down her throat.

His body flooded with the pleasure of being inside her, her nose pressing against his belly each time she bobbed her head and swallowed him. He didn’t want to finish this way, though. Setting his hand on her cheek, he guided her off him.

She wrinkled her brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. That was incredible. But I want to do it all while I’m here. And the thought of you riding me is etched in my brain right now.”

Her smile was too seductive as she sat up, found the condoms, and straddled his thighs, facing him. “You’ve seen me ride, Thad. You think you can keep up?”

A laugh broke from his belly, making his erection wave like a flag. “You’re half-crazy, Cheyenne. I love it.” She made him laugh more than he ever had with anyone.

Her face sobered.

Shit, he’d used the “L” word. Too soon for that. He needed to be careful. Make smart decisions, not the wild, impulsive ones he’d made with Melissa. Running his hands along her outer thighs, he winked. “Show me what you got, then. Ride me like you want it bad.”

After sheathing him, she crawled up his body, kissing him. “I do want it bad.” She canted her hips, sliding his hard length along her slick folds. “Can you feel it?”

“Yeah.” Shocks razored from where he touched her all the way down his shaft, exploding in his belly. “I feel it…” He grasped her hips and pushed her down onto him. “I want to feel it all.”

She dropped onto him, impaling herself on him. Sitting up, she threw her head back and cried out in wordless pleasure.

Watching her ecstasy, her wild beauty, his heart stuttered a few times. He wanted her, body, heart, soul. Yeah, it was too fast, but he’d deal with that later. Right now, he allowed himself to think of her as “his.” Her full breasts pointed upward, their peaks tight and red. Her waist curved in, showing off the feminine fullness of her hips.

Perfection. Her body, her sense of humor, her caring and concern. Right now, mainly her body. “You best hang on.” He grasped her hips, lifting her, sliding her off him, then pumped his hips upward, into her tight, hot channel. Chills raced up his spine. He wouldn’t last long.

She leaned forward, planting her hands on his chest, her hair flying around her face like a storm cloud. “You’d best hang on, Thad. This is going to get rowdy.”

He lifted one brow and dropped his hands to the side, showing her she was in charge.

Pushing herself up and nearly off his staff, she dug her nails into his chest and slammed down onto him again.

His brain clouded as he stared at her, letting feeling take over where his thoughts had been.

She rode him, sometimes staring into his eyes, sometimes tossing her head back, bracing her hands on his thighs, sometimes long, slow movements followed by fast, hard slides of their skin against each other.

When she squeaked and tensed her muscles, Thad cupped one of her breasts. Between his fingers, he pinched and rolled her nipple. His other hand eased between her legs, finding her sweet little bud and pinching it in rhythm with her ride.

In seconds, she broke apart, shivering and crying out as she bounced up and down on his cock. She stopped moving, and melted down onto him.

He’d never seen anything so perfect in his life.

****

Cheyenne drifted back to earth from a jarring ride through the heavens. Lord, this man made her body react like nothing she’d experienced before.

He flipped her, laying her on the bed, his hard length still embedded in her, still pulsing.

She spread her legs, wrapped her arms around his back, and sighed. “Thad, you left me completely brainless.”

He chuckled and moved his hips in a few quick pokes. “I like a woman who’s not too brainy.”

“Keep me satisfied like this, and there’s no way I could ever appear in court again.” She was blathering, but it was just nice to hear his voice responding to her.

“Deal.” His thrusts became more defined, stronger, longer, as he slid in and out of her.

“Deal.” She explored the movement of muscles on his back with each of his pumps, squeezed the huge biceps that held his body just an inch off hers. Touched his face, running her fingers over his mustache and goatee. “I like the facial hair.”

His unfocused eyes sought hers. “Covers scars.” He adjusted his legs, pushing hers open wider, and sliding into her, hard and fast, picking up speed.

Scars? She would ask later, but at least he was starting to open up to her. Her body shimmered with his movements, calling her to let go and enjoy all his hard work.

“Harder, Thad.” She could come again, now, and bit her cheek, holding off, to come with him.

He jackhammered into her, shoving her across the bed as he shouted and bared his teeth.

She rolled into a slow, sweet orgasm, swirling through the ozone, diving through clouds and rain. She landed back in her body as he collapsed onto her, squeezing out all her air. She didn’t need oxygen, not when she had him right here.

He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. “That was incredible. Better than the first time.” Kissing her nose, he ran his thumb over her cheek. “It’ll get better each time.”

She smiled. “I like your confidence.” Her fingers touched his chin, playing in the soft hairs there. “How many more times are you hoping for today?”

He sighed and looked out the window. “I’ve got to be heading back soon, but I thought I could at least buy you dinner.” He wagged his brows. “So our first date would at least include something other than me making you come.”

She laughed, a little snort coming at the end. “I think it was a perfect date, with you making me come multiple times. And we have room service here from the restaurant on the ground level, so we don’t have to even get prettied up.”

Running his fingers through her hair, his eyes took in all her features. “You are as pretty as a woman can get, Cheyenne. You’re really beautiful. Inside and out.”

Her heart caught for a second. “That’s so nice of you to say, Thad.” Her stomach took that opportunity to rumble.

He laughed. “I’m hungry, too. How do we order?”

Chapter Seven

An hour later, after a shower which included a lot of touching and kisses, they sat, completely dressed, at her dining room table enjoying rib eye steak dinners, complete with baked potatoes and sour cream, veggies, and chocolate cake for dessert.

She’d opened a bottle of red wine, but when she saw him just barely tasting it, she went to the kitchen and brought back a bottle of beer.

“Thanks.” He took a gulp. “Not much for the fancy stuff.”

“I like that about you.” She liked a whole lot about him, but she wanted him to trust her, confide in her so she could help him with his haunting problem.

“Thad, will you tell me about the baby?”

He stopped chewing and looked at her.

“I really want to understand what she’s trying to tell me, but…” She set down her fork. She needed to prime the pump. “When I was twenty, stupid, and stubborn, I got married.”

His brows shot up.

“Long story, but I was looking for something meaningful in my life. At least, that’s what my therapist tells me. After a few months, I ended up pregnant.” She shook her head. “I think my husband did it on purpose. Since our marriage wasn’t all that great, he wanted to solidify his place in the family.” Her mouth curled down into a frown. “Money will do that to people.”

He sat back, playing with his beer bottle. He didn’t say a word.

“I lost the baby at four months, and I was heartbroken, but he just shrugged it off, acted like it wasn’t a big thing, and promised we’d try again as soon as we could.”

Thad’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened.

“It was then that I grew up, realized he’d just been a substitute for my father, and probably didn’t love me. I kicked him out, filed divorce papers, and gave him a settlement to make sure he’d never come back into my life.”

Cheyenne leaned forward, looking into Thad’s eyes. “But sometimes at night, I can still feel the presence of that baby.” She swallowed to keep tears from forming.

He let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging.

She worked at her steak a bit longer, giving him time. The meat may as well been tofu for all she could taste through her nervousness.

“Melissa told me she was pregnant two weeks before the accident.” He stared down at his plate. “We decided to wait a few months to tell everyone.”

Cheyenne blinked back tears. His voice held so much pain. “I can’t imagine how it felt to lose them. Just losing my baby was traumatic.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.

He rubbed a fist in his eye. “Is she unhappy?” His words came out a whisper. “She’s been very active the last few days.”

“She’s only unhappy because she wants you to move on. She feels she can’t go to the next dimension because you haven’t done what she’d hoped you’d do.” Cheyenne didn’t know what that was, but she’d follow her inner voice on this. “What did she ask of you that you haven’t done?”

He rubbed his forehead then glanced at her. “Melissa left me a huge insurance policy so I could buy my own ranch.” He shifted in his chair. “She was from an affluent banking family, they owned half the stores in town. She trailer-trashed out to marry me.”

“Thad, you’re not trash. You’re hard working, you’re—”

“Come back with me.” He turned one hand palm-up on the table. “Talk to her again, get her to move on to…wherever.”

“I don’t need to go back there.” She stood, took his hand, and walked to his side, kneeling to look into his eyes. “The answer is here in bold letters. Get off the High Paradise, buy yourself a ranch, start a new life.” She tried to force a soft smile to soften her words.

“It’s not that easy.” He took her hand between both of his. “I have a responsibility to Sayde.”

“Sayde can hire someone just as reliable to replace you. You’ve got to follow your dream.”

“It isn’t a dream anymore. Not without Melissa.” He hung his head.

Cheyenne could barely breathe. He was still attached to his wife? Was it guilt that kept him from gaining closure? “What happened to her, Thad? Tell me?” She had to push this, even if it drove a spike into the heart of their new relationship.

“No.” He stood, nearly tripping on the chair as he stepped backward.

****

Thad nearly fell on his ass as he backed away from Cheyenne. She was asking too much.

“Please tell me what happened.” She stood, holding on to the table as she swayed. “I want to help both of you, but I need to hear—”

“I can’t. I’m not ready.” He hadn’t told anyone what had made Melissa run out of the house that day and race off on her horse.

“It’s been five years. No wonder she can’t break free. You haven’t let her go yet.”

“You’re saying she’s still here because of me?” He wanted to bolt, but needed to hear this even more.

“Possibly. I don’t know. I can’t know until you talk to me.” She stepped toward him. “You know everything about me. My failed marriage, my daddy issues, my guilt over losing my baby.” Her voice broke.

He wanted to go to her, hold her, but that would confuse things, and he was having enough trouble keeping everything clear in his head.

“Thad, I want to know about you, about your scars, about your fears of leaving High Paradise.” She sucked her lower lip for a second. “But that can wait. It’s imperative that I understand your relationship with Melissa first, so I can help her—and you—move on.” Walking to the living room, she patted the couch. “Sit and talk to me. Tell me why neither of you can let go of each other.”

She made it sound like he was still married. Cheating on his wife. Was that how he felt? Shit, he couldn’t do this. He could barely admit to himself how he’d screwed up. Cheyenne. She was everything good, golden, right with the world. He was a mess of dirty secrets. He wasn’t worthy of someone like her. Guilt weighed heavy on him.

“Scars? You want to know about my scars?” He turned on her, fastening his most intense look on her. “They’re from a shitty childhood that ended when I turned seventeen. My father knocked me out with a punch when I lost my job and couldn’t bring home a bottle for him.” He sucked in an uneven breath.

She looked sad, but didn’t run from his tirade.

“Then he threw me out of the house, literally, and unconscious like I was, I landed on my face and broke a couple teeth. I woke up with him kicking me in the ribs, telling me to hit the road. I took him down with the first punch I’d ever swung at him, packed a bag, and got out of town.”

His jaw quivered. He would not break, though. He’d tell her what a low-down piece of crap he was, then get out of her life. “I hitchhiked north, nearly to the Canadian border. Stopped in Libby and knew I could stay there forever. The mountains, the quiet lifestyle. I found a job with Sayde, and she patched me up.”

Tears ran down her face. “Thank you for telling me.”

She wasn’t understanding what he was trying to say. “That’s the shitty life I had, Cheyenne. Dirt poor, homeless, then depending on Sayde because I had no money to live off of.”

“Thad, my father was the exact opposite of yours.” She held on to the back of the couch. “He ignored me for most of my life. I’ve got scars, too. But they’re inside.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Cheyenne.” He dropped his hands and walked to the door. “We’re from different worlds, different lives. It was selfish of me to come here. It was wrong.” Tucking his hat on his head, he gave her one last glance.

“I don’t know what to say to convince you otherwise. So I’ll just agree with you, and we’ll call it over.” She turned away. “You’re right, Thad. You don’t belong here.”

He left, feeling an ache in his chest he hadn’t felt since Melissa’s funeral. He’d panicked, went off with both barrels. How had this gone so fucking wrong? How had he lost Cheyenne, too?

****

Cheyenne sunk into the couch. She had to let him go, didn’t she? He was more confused than she’d imagined he was. After five years, he still hung on to his deceased wife. Still leaned on the High Paradise ranch even though he had the money to start his own spread. No wonder Melissa was unable to move on.

Why hadn’t Cheyenne stopped him in the kitchen, when he’d strolled right up to her, made her blood heat and her brain slow? If she’d waited until after she’d helped Melissa depart, maybe they’d have had a chance. But no, she’d wanted that instant gratification, the lovely hours spent alone with him. Lovely, until the poisoned memory of his wife came to call.

Cheyenne curled up in a ball, staring at the dark, cold fireplace. Her mother warned her not to become emotionally attached to clients. And this time, she’d gone deep, maybe deeper than she could bounce back from.

A tear rolled over her nose and plopped onto the cushion. “Thad, don’t leave me to drown.”

Three days later, Cheyenne watched the mid-afternoon sun scorch the city out the window of her office on the top floor of the newest office building in Helena. Her mother had loved the prestigious space and bought the top two floors for their practice.

Thad and Melissa had been constantly on her mind since he’d walked out on her. She fluctuated between wanting to call Sayde and just head out to the ranch, and sitting patiently, waiting for Thad to make the first move. Chances were good she’d reach retirement age before that stubborn cowboy called her.

She picked up her ringing cell phone. The readout said, “High Paradise Ranch” but it wasn’t Sayde’s phone number.

Her heart skittered. Was it Thad?

“Hello?”

“Cheyenne?” It was his voice.

She melted a little in her office chair. “Hi, Thad. I’m glad you called.”

He was silent. Silent for too long. He cleared his throat. “Sayde is having a rough time, and I know you’re friends.”

She sat up. “What is it?” Visions of injuries, illnesses, financial ruin flooded her imagination.

“Her horse, Mazie, is down…and won’t be getting up again.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sayde loved that horse. She’d call her and—

“She won’t leave her stall.” He sounded like he was walking, breathing fast. “She’s been in there for seventeen hours.”

Cheyenne knew Sayde was loyal, but maybe so soon after losing her husband, this was her way of coping. “What does the vet say?”

“Mazie’s not in much pain, but her breathing is labored, and every breath sounds like it’s a fight.” He groaned. “Tears my heart out to hear it.”

She wanted to reach out and hold him. “What’s his opinion?”

“He left a couple hypodermics with us. Clint’s a licensed vet, and can see to it when the time comes.” The words came out like a funeral prayer.

“Okay. I see what you’re saying.” She checked her watch. “I can be there in less than two hours.”

“Good. Thanks, Cheyenne. I…wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t important.”

Meaning, he wouldn’t have called her—ever—if he didn’t have to. “I’m glad you did. Hang on.” She ran to her office door, flung it open, and held the phone away from her ear. “Tracie, would you have the helicopter on the roof as soon as possible?”

Her assistant nodded and picked up the phone, dialing quickly. “Destination?” Tracie held a pen, ready to take down the information.

“Thad?” She spoke into the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Where can I land? Is there somewhere on the ranch for a helicopter to touch down?”

He was silent.

“Thad?”

“Helicopter? Shi…” He coughed. “Yeah, there’s a flat field, no cattle. I’ll text you the coordinates within the next ten minutes.” He sounded like he was running.

“Thanks. I’ll call when I’m close.”

“I appreciate this, Cheyenne.” He hung up.

She stared at the phone for a few seconds. Was this Melissa’s way of getting Cheyenne out to the ranch? Or some other divine intervention? Or just plain coincidence.

“Hold on a second.” Tracie spoke into her phone, looking at Cheyenne.

“Tell him Libby, Montana, the High Paradise Ranch. I’ll have coordinates before we fly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tracie relayed the information, then hung up. “Chopper will be on the roof in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.” She went back into her office. She kept a few articles of clothing in her bathroom closet. Choosing jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, she changed quickly, and stuffed a few other pieces of ranch-appropriate wear in her gym duffle bag.

“Thaddeus McCade, whether either of us wanted this or not, I’m coming your way.”

****

Thad sat in the blue ranch truck watching Cheyenne’s helicopter land. “A helicopter.” Damn if he wasn’t impressed. The sleek, black chopper had her company’s logo on the side, but considering she and her mother were the only two owners of the company, that made Cheyenne mega-rich.

The door opened and she scrambled out, carrying a purse and a small bag. Staying bent over, she ran toward the truck.

He jumped out just as she cleared the rotors and stood, racing toward him. Every cell in his body told him to run to her, grab her up in his arms, and kiss her. He had to fight to keep from doing it. Instead, he took her bag from her and opened the passenger door.

She looked at him for a second, but the sound of the engines gearing up to fly to the regional airport for refueling didn’t allow for any other communication.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he shifted and drove toward the barn.

“How’s she doing?”

“Mazie’s the same. Sayde…” He shook his head. She was getting more agitated, which didn’t help the horse at all.

“She told me she wasn’t with Barrett when he died.” She glanced at him. “Do you think that has anything to do with what’s happening today?”

“Maybe.” She’d nearly wrecked her car trying to get to the hospital after her husband was brought in with a heart attack. She hadn’t made it in time.

“Sayde’s such a strong woman. It’s got to be hard for you and everyone to see her like this.”

Thad glanced at Cheyenne for a second. She was right about that. He’d been at a loss all morning. Clint had found Mazie laying in her stall right around ten last night. He’d called Thad and the vet, and Thad had gone to Sayde’s house to tell her in person.

She’d dropped her wine glass on the living room rug and ran to the barn.

He’d never seen his boss so vulnerable. “We all love Sayde. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for her.”

“Including calling the one woman you vowed never to speak to again?” Cheyenne snapped off her seatbelt as he pulled up to the barn.

Chapter Eight

“Now, wait…” Thad put the truck in park and swung his gaze to Cheyenne.

She jumped out and turned to him with a frown. “I shouldn’t have said that. This is about Sayde.” She slammed the truck door and ran into the barn.

He turned off the engine and just sat. Fact was, he had been trying to come up with a plausible reason to call Cheyenne since the moment he’d left her apartment. Then this happened, and his first thought was, “Sayde needs a friend.”

Now that Cheyenne was here, he’d take the opportunity to have her come to the house again, “commune” with Melissa one more time. See if she could get his wife to move on without the need for him to upset his whole life. Not right now. This wasn’t a good time for him to leave the ranch.

He stepped out of the truck. Of course, when the hell would be a good time? It hadn’t felt right in five years. What was he waiting for? He stepped into the dark barn and let his eyes adjust. Back in Mazie’s stall, Cheyenne’s voice flowed like a calm river. Sayde’s words were punctuated by tears and sniffles.

A shuffling sounded behind him. He turned.

Clint stood with his hat in his hand, shuffling from one foot to the other.

Thad walked over to him. “Thanks for staying with her.”

He nodded. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Mazie’s about the same. Hanging on. Probably for Sayde’s sake.”

Thad looked down. Clint had a way with horses, the same way Madam Ruby had with ghosts. “You haven’t had lunch. Go on and get some chow.”

Clint jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The injections are in the refrigerator in the tack room. If you need me, I’ve got my cell.” The guy sounded as torn up by Mazie’s imminent end as Thad felt.

“You’ll be my first call when Sayde’s ready.”

The man turned on his heel and quietly walked out of the barn.

Thad stepped closer to the last stall, walking as silently as he could.

“…you’d like something to eat? I have a granola bar.” Cheyenne’s voice was followed by crinkling sounds.

“I can’t eat. Not when she’s so restless.” Sayde sounded exhausted. At first, she’d tried to get Mazie up on her feet, but the horse was unresponsive. “Is she still here with us?”

Thad leaned around the post to get a view.

Sayde sat on a pile of straw with Mazie’s head on her outstretched legs. Cheyenne, kneeling next to her, put her hand on the horse’s forehead. “I’m not sure. I’ve had some contact with animal spirits in the past, but they were usually attached to their humans.”

Thad listened to that statement with a few blinks. Before he’d met Cheyenne, he would have been barging in and telling her to get her voo-doo mumbo-jumbo ass off the High Paradise. But she had a gift. Something he couldn’t deny. And a level head to go with it. She’d help Sayde see reason.

The horse’s breaths came irregularly and with long, drawn-out inhales.

“Do you think I’m being cruel?” Sayde broke down in sobs. After a few seconds, she slowed to sniffles. “Keeping her alive like this, I mean.”

“No.” Cheyenne slid to her butt, crossing her legs in front of her. “She knows how much you love her. How hard it is to let her go.”

“I just want a few more minutes with her.” Sayde leaned down and kissed the horse’s head. “Just another hour.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Cheyenne rubbed Sayde’s arm. “How about at sunset? That’d be a fitting time to usher her on to her next adventure.”

Thad had to swallow back a knot in his throat. That woman was so damn amazing.

“Okay.” Sayde’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Now, will you eat something?” Cheyenne reached for the bottle of water Thad had set on the railing next to Sayde. “Have some water.” She cracked open the bottle and handed it to Sayde. “I bet that nice Mr. McCade put that there for you.”

Sayde chuckled once as she took the bottle from Cheyenne. “That nice Mr. McCade is hovering over me like a guardian angel.”

Cheyenne turned her head and winked at him.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two. Be in the tack room. Just yell if…” He turned and walked away. Thank heavens Cheyenne was willing to drop everything and ride to the rescue in her company’s helicopter.

Her idea of a sunset euthanization was brilliant and kind at the same time. Mazie could last days like this, and setting a goal was the perfect way to help Sayde say goodbye to her old friend. He never would have thought of it. Cheyenne was a very smart woman.

Thad walked into the tack room expecting to find some leather that needed cleaning, or saddles that were unpolished. But everything was clean and shiny. Even the floor was spotless. Clint must have had the same idea—keep busy while he waited. Sitting on an old office chair, he accessed his emails. Nothing but ranch business, but who was he kidding? He never gave his email or phone number to any of the women he…spent time with.

He’d been ignoring his friends for so long, they’d given up on him, had stopped dropping in with a case of beer on football Sundays. All he had in his life was this job, Sayde, and the ranch hands.

Cheyenne.

How did she always creep into his thoughts? From the day he met her, she’d been in the back of his mind. And since he’d driven to Helena and spent the afternoon with her, she had also been in the front of his mind, and making things uncomfortably hard in his jeans.

“Thad?” Cheyenne’s voice rang through the barn.

He jumped to his feet and ran through the barn, skidding to a halt at Mazie’s stall. “Ma’am?”

Sayde looked up at him through red eyes. “Let’s say our goodbyes.”

He choked on the emotion in his throat. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call Clint.”

“Thank you.” Sayde rocked back and forth, singing softly into the horse’s ear.

He stepped away and dialed.

Cheyenne stood and followed him through the barn. “Thad?”

He held up a finger. “Clint, would you come to the horse barn? It’s time.” He blinked back the moisture in his eyes as he disconnected the call. “Sorry, ma’am.” He turned to Cheyenne.

“It’s back to ma’am now, huh?” She shrugged. “What can I expect to happen to Mazie? What’s going to go on in there when Clint comes?” Her eyes shifted and she bit her lip.

He wanted to pull her in for a hug, but held back. “It’ll be easy and quick. A needle to sedate Mazie first, then a second with the final dose. It won’t take long before she’ll fall asleep permanently.”

Her eyes welled with tears and they flowed over. “Okay.” She looked around. “This is going to sound strange, but is there somewhere I could pick a few flowers, just to set on her.” She sucked in choppy breaths, trying to hold back her tears.

“Yeah.” He took her hand. Their eyes met. A slice of his heart went directly into her possession. “Come on.” They walked out of the barn and out to one of the corrals. He leapt the fence in one bound and grabbed up a handful of wildflowers in yellows, purples, and blues. He handed them over the fence to her. “Is that enough?”

She smiled through her sniffles. “Perfect, thank you.” She held them to her lips, brushing the soft petals against her chin.

In the setting sun, he’d never seen anything as beautiful. He spotted Clint walking into the barn. “Let’s go.” He jumped over the fence and led her back into the barn.

Cheyenne walked the length of the barn holding the flowers like she was a bride.

Thad stood watching her as he waited for Clint to come out of the tack room.

Days like this were awesome wonderful, and hell-fire difficult. But they gave life meaning, and heaven knew he needed that right about now.

****

Cheyenne hadn’t cried that hard in years. She stood at Sayde’s bedroom door as her friend shooed her out and picked up the sandwich Cheyenne had made for her. A few of the flowers Thad had picked for her stood in a vase on Sayde’s dresser, the rest of the flowers graced the neck of the beautiful horse they’d just said goodbye to.

Walking down the thick carpet of the hallway, she thought about dropping onto the guest room bed completely clothed and shutting her eyes for a few hours, but remembered her purse and bag were in Thad’s truck. She wandered down the long staircase, thinking about a glass of wine.

“Hey.” Thad’s voice came from the living room at the bottom of the staircase.

She jumped a bit, but didn’t do anything as graceless as tripping and rolling ass over boot heels down the steps. “Hey.”

He sat in a big leather chair in front of a roaring fire, a beer bottle dangling from one hand. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t. Much.” She went to the small bar in the corner and poured ruby red wine from a crystal decanter into a big glass. She consciously poured a whole lot of it. “Hungry?” She turned toward him.

He grinned. “Not this second, but in a bit.”

She sat on the couch near his chair. “That wasn’t as horrible as I expected.”

“It would have been hard to watch Mazie try to live through the night. Your idea of sunset was really good. For everyone.”

She swirled the wine in her glass, watching the flames through the red liquid. “It seemed fitting.”

“You did good. Thanks for coming.” He downed a healthy portion of his beer. He looked at home here, like he’d done this before. Like he was comfortable here. Too bad Melissa hadn’t left him enough money to buy this ranch. Cheyenne had looked into Thad’s finances, just a tiny bit unethical, but she rationalized it that she would probably be the one to help him find a ranch, when he finally took that big step.

While he had a nice-sized bank account, he’d be about ten million dollars short of being able to afford High Paradise. Too bad. He seemed part of the land. Rooted to it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He watched her, his eyes hooded, like he was more than tired.

She had to think of something other than his bank balance. “What’ll happen to Mazie now?”

“In the morning, one of the hands, probably Clint, since he was pretty attached to her, will dig a hole in the horse cemetery.”

Her brows lifted. “You have a horse cemetery?”

He shook his head. “Nothing fancy. Just plots covered in wildflowers and wooden crosses with the important information.”

“How many horses are there?”

“Five.” He frowned. “Maybe six.” He looked at her. “My wife’s horse is there.”

Cheyenne’s heart thundered. He wanted to open up to her? “What happened to him? Her?”

“Her. Wise Acre.” Thad tipped his beer, but there was nothing left. He set the bottle aside and stared into the fire. “Melissa and Wise died together.”

Cheyenne couldn’t help sucking in a breath. Her body tensed, waiting for the story.

“Melissa was riding her, went too fast through the woods.” His voice was low and choked.

The woods? That explained Thad’s mad rush after her that day they were riding together. When she’d gotten too close to the forest.

“The horse broke a leg in a washout next to a tree root. She fell, threw her into a tree and she…”

Please, God, have him say she died instantly. Cheyenne’s vision darkened and she realized she was holding her breath. She took a few deep gulps of air and one healthy gulp of wine.

“She died instantly, but we didn’t find her for hours.”

“Oh Thad, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to go to him, wrap herself around him, and share his pain with him.

He stood and walked to the fireplace, sat on his heels, and poked at a log with an iron rod. “We had search parties out, but it was dark. When they found her, they sent up two shots, and we turned that direction. Then there was another shot, and I knew Wise Acre was gone.”

She could see it in her mind’s eye; Thad racing across the land to get to his wife, terror written all over his expression.

“When we spotted the flares, I raced in, jumped off Gator, and looked for where they would be working on Melissa. Where they would be trying to save her life.” He stood and put a hand on the mantel, a booted foot on the hearth. “But everyone was standing, moving back from the little body lying next to the tree.”

Cheyenne let tears flow. Her heart broke for him. “So sad.”

He turned, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. “She was gone. Our baby with her. The horse had been put out of its misery. And God help me, if I’d had a gun, I would have put a dozen more rounds into the thing.” His voice grew loud.

She set down her glass and stood, not knowing if her comforting touch would be wanted. “I don’t blame you.”

He blinked a few times, as if coming back from a long ways away. “I don’t understand why it had to happen.” He looked lost, so much like a little boy, she couldn’t stay away.

“Thad.” She walked to him, arms out.

He hesitated a second before taking that last step into her arms, wrapping himself around her, and holding her tight. “I’m not usually this dramatic.”

“Or talkative.” She laid her cheek on his chest.

A half-laugh shook his body. “Yeah, or this talkative. But tonight, with Mazie, it just all came rushing back. Seems so close again. Like it’s hanging in the air.”

“It might be, Thad.” She leaned back to look at him. “Maybe this would be a good night…for me to visit your house again.”

Chapter Nine

Thad stiffened. “I don’t know.”

Cheyenne pushed out of his arms. She wouldn’t be offended by his words. A lot had happened today, emotions were raw. Maybe he didn’t want to overwhelm himself, let too many emotions flap in the breeze. “Why don’t we let everything cool down a bit. I’ll make us something to eat, then we’ll decide.”

With a quick nod, he gestured for her to precede him into the kitchen. “Can’t chase ghosts on an empty stomach.”

She grabbed her wine glass on her way out of the room. “That’s the…spirit.”

He groaned, she laughed, and the mood instantly lifted.

****

A half hour later, they stood on his porch. Thad reached for the screen door.

“Wait.” She touched his arm. “The first time I was here, I could almost read your emotions.”

Thad backed away a step. He sure didn’t care for that.

“The last time I was here, when Melissa wasn’t, I couldn’t read you, nor did I sense anything coming off you any other time we were…together.” She said the last word very quietly. As if she didn’t want Melissa to know about their afternoon in Helena.

“And now?” He tried to calm his thoughts.

She drew in a breath. “I can feel your anxiety, your doubt, and your hopefulness.” Cheyenne looked up at him, the porch light highlighting how her eyes were nearly black now. “I love that you’re hopeful, Thad. I want this to work for you.”

“Me, too. You don’t know how much.”

She opened the screen door. “Probably not half as much as I do.”

He watched her walk into his house. What the hell did that mean? Madam Ruby wanted to wrap up this haunting so she’d have another reference on her resume? Or Cheyenne wanted to get his deceased wife squared away so they could…

No. She’d told him flat out he didn’t belong in her world. He had to suck that up and swallow it whole.

She stood in the kitchen looking at the sink.

When he stepped over the threshold, a chill raced through him.

The ceiling light dimmed.

“He knows that. He will when the time is—” Cheyenne turned to him. “She needs you to follow her wishes, Thad. She says time is running out.”

He held up his hands, looking around the room. “I’m not ready. Sayde just lost Mazie, the cattle need to be brought in for the winter, the hay isn’t—”

The light bulbs exploded in their glass globe on the ceiling, and the room went dark.

“Shit.” Thad opened the refrigerator door, looking around the floor to see if there was any glass. “You okay, Cheyenne?”

She didn’t say anything, just breathed fast and shallow. After a few minutes, she laid her hand on her chest, over her heart. “I will. I promise.”

“What? What is it?”

Cheyenne’s business card, which he’d fished out from under the stove, dropped from under the magnet on the freezer door and slid under the stove. “Why?” He asked Melissa, hoping she’d speak to him through Cheyenne.

A soft breeze blew through the room and out the screen door, opening it slightly, then the room grew still.

Thad took Cheyenne’s arm and led her into the living room. He turned on a lamp and sat her on the couch. Taking a knee in front of her, he stared at her, waiting.

Her eyes slowly turned from black to light blue.

“Do you want a beer?” He wished he’d thought of buying wine. Or borrowing a bottle from Sayde. “Wine? I can run to the big house and get a bottle.”

She waved her hands. “No. Thank you, though.” She rubbed her temples. “She’s adamant that you need to get this land purchase done, Thad.” She stared at him, her brows lowered. “Concentrate on that because it’s the only way Melissa will be able to be free.” Her words snapped out like she was frustrated.

He didn’t care as much for what Melissa felt as he did for what Cheyenne was going through.

He got to his feet. “I don’t understand. Why all the sudden—”

“I don’t know either.” She stood and pushed past him. “I only relay what she’s told me to share with you.” She hurried toward the front door.

“Wait…” He followed her. “Are you saying she said other things to you? Like secrets she doesn’t want you to tell me?” Had Melissa told her why she’d run out of the house that day five years ago? Why she was running her horse too recklessly? Why he’d never been able to forgive himself for her death?

Cheyenne stopped at the screen door. “She didn’t reveal any secrets, Thad. She just wants this to come to an end. For you to seek out your dream of having your own ranch.” She stepped out onto the porch. “Please, just do this for her.”

“Don’t go, honeybee.” His voice rolled low, his feelings for Cheyenne taking over every thought. He wanted her here with him. He wanted her in his bed, and at his kitchen table, and riding the range with him. “Stay the night.”

“I can’t.” She breathed like she was hyperventilating. “I just can’t.” She turned and ran off the porch, raced down the driveway.

“Cheyenne, wait for me.” He grabbed his gun and a flashlight, running across the porch, leaping over the steps and hitting the ground hard. He twisted something in his ankle, but ran on it anyway. “Cheyenne!”

He could see her yards ahead of him, moving fast. He struggled to keep up as the pain in his leg became worse. He slowed as she neared Sayde’s house, stopped when the front door opened, her silhouette stepped inside, and the door closed.

“What the fuck, Cheyenne?” He hobbled back to his house, changed the light bulbs, then took off his boot and surveyed the damage. His ankle doubled in size as he watched. “Shit.”

He grabbed an icepack from the miraculously functioning freezer, three ibuprofen, and two beers, and headed for his recliner. Once he was settled, he stared at the blank TV screen. He needed to think. To plan. And the sports stations would only delay the inevitable. So would thoughts of Cheyenne… Maybe that’s why her business card got shoved under the stove. Melissa wanted him to concentrate on one thing. Buying his own spread.

“All I want to do is go after Cheyenne and bring her back here.” He spoke to himself. To Melissa. To whatever mystical being was out there listening to him. But he would do what needed to be done first.

“Fine. Here I go.” How the hell could one little ghost be forcing him to change his life completely?

Pulling out a notepad from the table next to his chair, he clicked open a pen. “Okay, Melissa. I hope this makes you happy.”

****

Cheyenne sat in the chair Thad had vacated in Sayde’s living room, staring into the nearly-dead fire. The wine warmed her, but the alcohol kept her emotions on high-beam. She’d felt Thad’s frustration with his wife’s spirit, but then, when he’d knelt in front of her, she’d felt more.

His concern for her overshadowed his need to see Melissa set free.

That’s why Melissa had made her promise to leave Thad alone, stay away from him, until he’d purchased his own ranch. With Cheyenne tugging at Thad’s heart—and other sexy parts of him—he would never buy his ranch. Would never let Melissa move on to the next life.

“Anything you want, Melissa.” Her voice sounded bitter, even to her own ears. Was Cheyenne jealous? “Hell, yeah!” She was jealous of a woman long-departed, but still loved and coveted by her husband. Cheyenne wanted that kind of love, that kind of closeness for herself.

But she’d wait. Bide her time. No matter how long it took.

“Any wine left?” Sayde came down the stairs in her pajamas.

“Not much.” Cheyenne stood and gestured to the dozens of unopened bottles lying on their sides in the wine rack. “Should we finish them off tonight?” She refilled her glass, and poured one for Sayde.

“If only.” She plopped down on the couch. “At my age, I’d never recover.” She took the glass Cheyenne handed her. “I was awake and heard you come in. Everything okay?”

She sat next to Sayde on the couch, curling her legs under her, staring at her wine. “Sure. Just peachy.”

Sayde let out a low, “Awww. Sorry, honey. I know you keep your Madam Ruby life confidential, but I can imagine how frustrating it is for both you and Thad. And Melissa.”

Cheyenne’s head jerked up. “You knew it was his wife?” She didn’t realize Sayde was that in-tune with the spirit world.

“My intuition told me, and it’s just too close to the fifth anniversary of her death to make me think it’s all a coincidence. Especially since Melissa’s family is in charge of the money she’d left Thad.” She stood. “I know it’s late, but I have some legal papers I want you to look at for me.”

Cheyenne stood. “Of course. Anything you’d like.”

Sayde smiled, the first time Cheyenne had seen her do that all day. “You’re an angel. A real angel.” She led the way into her office and turned the tumblers on the big wall safe.

Thank goodness Sayde wasn’t intuitive about what had happened between Cheyenne and Thad. The woman would think twice about giving Cheyenne the title of angel.

“When I show you this, you’re going to understand why I haven’t pushed Thad to buy his own ranch.” She pulled out a thick stack of papers and set them on her desk, gesturing for Cheyenne to sit in the plush office chair behind the desk.

Cheyenne set down her wine glass. She was going to need to be as sober as possible for this one.

Chapter Ten

Thad rode one of the ranch four-wheelers to Sayde’s house the next afternoon. He knew Cheyenne was gone. He’d heard her helicopter just after sunrise.

Why had she run? Was she feeling his emotions last night in the living room? Was his heart pouring out the tenderness he felt for her? Was his soul trying to connect with hers?

“You fucking sound like a goddamn romance novel, boy.” And now he was talking to himself.

Cheyenne had read his emotions, and run as fast as she could away from him. That was the end of that love story. His chest hurt just thinking about how he’d fucked up, but he had to shove that aside for now. He needed to deal with Sayde before he did anything else, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

She opened the door and stepped out onto the patio, two beers in one hand, a stack of papers in the other. “Been expecting you all day, foreman.” She grinned. “Or should I say, ex-foreman?”

He hated how everyone knew everything about him before he even did. Stepping off the ATV, he limped to the table and plopped down in one of the stuffed chairs. “Ex.” He pulled the resignation letter he’d written last night out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You don’t know how much I hate to do this, Sayde.”

She read the note, then tore it up, throwing the pieces up over their heads. As they blew around them, she grinned. “You don’t know how happy I am to do that.”

Shit, she wasn’t going to make this easy. “I don’t want to leave.” He swallowed down his feelings. “This is like home to me. You’ve been like…” He wanted to say a mother, but that was too much. “You’ve made this a place that I don’t ever want to leave.” He shifted, lifting his sore leg up onto an empty chair. “But I have to. For Melissa’s sake.”

“You have to leave here? Or you have to buy your own ranch?” Sayde looked like she was bursting with excitement.

“Have to buy my own ranch. The money she left me—”

“Oh, I know all about that.” She picked up the hefty stack of papers and dropped it down right in front of him. “And here’s your ranch.”

He stared at her for a long minute. Had Mazie’s death affected her somehow? Was she slipping away from reality?

“Don’t you look at me like I’m bonkers.” She tapped the papers, her brown eyes sparkling. “This is our agreement. You, Thad McCade, are buying High Paradise.”

His mouth dropped open. His brain stopped working. His bad foot slipped off the chair and hit the concrete. “Son of a…” Pain ran all the way up his leg. “What do you mean, buying the ranch? Unless I won the lottery and didn’t hear about it, I’m just a little bit short of having enough to buy the ranch.”

“Not outright, no. But here’s what I drafted four years ago when you didn’t immediately leave High Paradise after getting Melissa’s money.” She sat back. “You will pay me whatever’s in that trust fund with her family’s lawyers. For that, you’ll have full control and partial ownership in the ranch.”

Did he want part of a ranch? Even if it was the place he called home? “And you’d be the majority owner?”

“Yes, we’d split the revenue proportionally until my death.” She stood and paced to the edge of the patio. “I love the ranch, but I’m tired of being alone here. I want to move to the city, where I have friends and family. I want to go out on dates and flirt and…” She turned and looked at him. “Maybe remarry someday.” Gesturing toward the house, she winked at Thad. “The place will be yours to do with as you please. Move in as is, refurnish it, remodel it, hell, tear it down and build your own place.”

“I love this house. Just as it is.” But it would only be a temporary move. When she passed away some day in the far, far future, he’d have to give up the ranch if he didn’t have enough to buy it from her heirs. Which he probably wouldn’t. He couldn’t take that risk. “I appreciate the offer, but having a place that’d be mine forever just sounds too good to pass up, Miss Sayde.” He stood, favoring his bad leg. “It was Melissa’s dream, my dream, and I want to honor that dream and—”

“Oh, stop with the oration, Thad.” She walked up to the table and flipped to a marked page. “Read this.”

He bent closer. “Upon the demise of…” He swallowed. When Sayde died, the entire ranch, land, buildings, stock, equipment, assets… It went on and on listing everything she owned. Then stopped when he saw his name.

He was her beneficiary?

His head shot up. “Sayde. Are you serious?” It was too much to hope for.

“I’m serious, Thad.” She sank into a chair.

He must have done the same without realizing it, because all the sudden they were at eye level. “But why?”

“Barrett and I never had children. We have nieces and nephews, but none of them are interested in running the ranch. They’re more interested in liquidating everything in sight and adding the profits to their fat portfolios.” She rested her forearms on the table. “You are like a son to me.” Her eyes sparkled with moisture.

Opening his mouth, he tried to find words to convey his feelings. Instead, he asked, “When were you going to tell me this?”

“As soon as you screwed up the courage to tell me you were going off to buy your own ranch. Which may never have happened if Melissa didn’t decide to haunt you.”

“Sayde, I…” He wanted to say so much.

She held up a hand. “I know. I know. You love me, you think of me as a mother-figure, you have no words to express the deep emotions you have for me.” She laughed, loud and long.

He smiled, but still couldn’t assimilate this new information as reality.

“Thad, you love this old dirt farm as much as I do. You’ll have little twerps of your own whom you’ll teach to love it, too. And you’ll have a wife—well, maybe swap around the order of those last two things, please. But you deserve a life of happiness, and I know you’ll find it here.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I wouldn’t trust this ranch to anyone but you.”

Her words sent joy exploding through him like fireworks. He lifted his gaze heavenward. “I don’t believe this.”

“Believe it,” She picked up her beer bottle and tapped it against his. “To the future of High Paradise. McCade’s High Paradise.”

He stood and took a drink. This was like nothing he’d ever dreamed of. “Sayde. Thank you. I don’t know how to tell you how much this means to me.”

“Well, you’ll have a couple hours in the truck to tell me.” She gestured toward his house. “Go pack. We’re heading to town for a couple of days.”

“For?” Things were going too fast for him to keep track of.

“We’re driving to the county seat where we’re going to pick up my attorney. We’re going to transfer all the money in your trust account into my account, I’m going to sign over the ranch to you, then we’re going to go to my accountant’s office where we’ll get you set up on the checkbook…” She tipped up her chin. “And get some money into your personal bank account so you can go on that goddamn vacation you promised to take.” She laughed and reached for him.

He hugged her back, laughing like he’d never stop.

Minutes later, with Sayde heading into her house to finish packing, Thad carried the thick stack of papers she’d given him and trudged back toward his house.

He tried to read the first page, but his mind kept spinning with excitement. Halfway to his place, he realized he’d left the four-wheeler at Sayde’s. He shrugged and kept limping along. His ankle barely gave him a twinge with all the adrenaline rushing through him.

High Paradise was his.

He stepped up onto his porch, hoping Melissa’s spirit was lurking, because this was the news that would set her free. Pulling out his chair at the kitchen table, he sat, placing the paperwork in front of him.

“Melissa, if you’re here, if you can hear me…” He felt odd talking to someone he’d let go of so long ago. “Sayde has sold me the ranch. Well, part of it, but eventually…” He didn’t even like to think of that happening. “It’s more than I ever imagined owning, more than I’d hoped to be able to call my own.” He was rambling.

“Sweetie, if this was what you were waiting for to happen, it’s happening now. And I love you, and I miss you, and…” What kind of spell would Madam Ruby perform? “I release you, Melissa, to go to your next reality.”

The room turned cold. Had he said the wrong thing?

In the cabinet, plates rattled.

The damn plate.

She wanted him to remember the plate? The whole reason she’d raced from the house and jumped on Wise Acre nearly five years ago. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened that day. We fought, I was inconsiderate of your feelings, I’ve kicked myself about it for years, sweetie, but I’ve got to let it go now. I’ve got to forgive myself, and beg your forgiveness again.” For the thousandth time.

A warm, soft breeze caressed his face as a golden glow filled the room.

He felt comforted, as if held in the arms of pure love. “Take care of our little one, Melissa. Until I see you again.” His jaw quivered and his eyes burned with the threat of tears.

The light grew brighter, the wind swirling through the room, then slowly diminishing, dimming, until the screen door opened an inch, slapped shut, and silence filled the room.

On the floor, Cheyenne’s business card swirled out from under the stove.

Thad smiled, holding his breath, holding in the emotion for a few seconds. He gave up and dropped his head, mourning all he’d lost, for one last time.

Chapter Eleven

Three weeks later, Thad rode Gator down the mountain fifteen miles from his campsite. Sayde had called his satellite phone this morning telling him there was another batch of papers to sign for the ranch sale, and she was sending Clint to meet him halfway.

He tucked his shearling coat tighter around him and settled his hat a little lower. The gray sky heralded a snowfall tonight. Fall came early this high in the Purcell Mountains, but since he had the opportunity to take a week to himself—semi-forced on him by Sayde—he’d opted for some alone time in the place he loved almost as much as the ranch. His ranch.

The last weeks had been a tornado of activity. With Cheyenne’s help, the legal parts had been rushed through the system, and now one-tenth of the High Paradise was his. He hadn’t seen her since the day she’d run out of his house. She’d done all her work in the background, and Sayde said Cheyenne had pulled in every favor owed to her to get the transfer expedited.

His ranch. The shock he’d felt that first day Sayde had told him was now turning into anxious excitement. He couldn’t wait to get back and get started.

Sayde was in the process of moving out of the big house, heading to a condo in Helena, in the same building Cheyenne lived in. Sayde. Manipulative, tough as tanned leather, but as kind as a woman could be. He’d tried a few times to tell her how much this meant to him, how much she meant to him, but it had come out strange, and she’d just hugged him and laughed through tears.

Hopefully she knew… But now if he could just figure out how to get the same reaction out of Cheyenne.

Gator danced sideways, avoiding a rocky spot.

Thad needed to keep his mind on getting down the mountain in one piece. He couldn’t think about Cheyenne. Those sky-blue eyes of hers turning dark with her arousal. Her silly humor that kept him laughing, even through the seriousness of their lovemaking. Her deep caring for Sayde, Melissa, and even Mazie. The way she wanted to help him through his problems, how she gave up so much of her time to help him when all he’d given her in return was callousness. But she’d forgiven him…

Gator nickered. They were just around the bend from the wide, flat spot in the trail where he’d meet Clint. The horse had to smell something ahead.

He rounded a stand of trees and spotted three horses. He recognized Clint, who he’d just promoted to ranch foreman, another ranch hand, and someone in a big coat, their cowboy hat tipped down low.

When he pulled up next to Clint, the man looked sheepish. “Clint?”

“Sayde says to tell you it’s for your own good.”

“What?” What part of his life was she meddling with now?

The third rider came forward, tipping up his hat. Her hat. Cheyenne.

“Hi, Thad. Mind if I bust in on your vacation for a few days?” Her brow was wrinkled and her lips trembled.

He stared, not knowing how to speak the words that expressed how fast his heart was beating, the way his chest ached with pleasure and his mind soared at the thought of her humbling herself this way.

She was more woman than any female he knew.

“Hell yeah, you can bust in.” He smiled.

Her anxiety turned into a grin that could warm the entire mountain range.

“Thanks, Clint. I’ve got her.”

The cowboy touched the brim of his hat, nodding toward Cheyenne, and turned, heading back down the mountain with the other ranch hand. Sayde had sent two cowboys along to insure Cheyenne’s safety. He sure loved how overprotective his boss lady was.

Thad just stared at her. Bundled up like she was used to being outdoors in this weather. A bedroll and stuffed saddlebags behind her on the horse. “I’m glad you went to all this trouble to find me.” He winked.

She tipped her head down, smiling. “I wanted a few minutes alone with you before you started your new job running the ranch.”

“Really glad.” He turned his horse. “Let’s get back up the mountain before the snow flies.”

She looked up at the gray sky. “Are we going to get snowed in?” Her brows rose and her eyes sparkled.

Damn, stuck in a lean-to with her for a few days. He chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

****

Cheyenne shivered as Thad jumped off his horse and walked toward her.

He lifted his arms and she fell into them.

“I think I’m numb.”

He tightened his grip on her. “I’ll warm you up.” He brought her to where pine branches leaned against the face of a cave. “In here.” Taking her hand, he led her into the dark space. He powered on a lamp and showed her the area. “Not as nice as your digs, but it’s free.” He pointed up. “There’s an opening that lets the smoke out.” He took a knee and lit the pile of logs inside a rock circle.

She wandered around, looking at the big logs sitting outside the fire ring, the screen tent near the wall holding his sleeping bag, and the metal box in a small opening in the cave wall. “How did you find this place?”

Walking to her, he ran his hands up and down his arms. “I came up here every chance I got. Living in a bunkhouse with a dozen other men had me a little stir crazy, and Sayde’s husband gave me a map, a compass, and told me to ‘git’.”

The fire crackled and he brought her closer. “Sit a spell while I get the horses settled.”

She sat on a log and held her gloved hands out toward the fire. This had been one of the scariest things she’d done in her life. No, the scariest thing. When she didn’t hear from Thad after all the paperwork was filed, she’d called Sayde.

The woman had balked at Cheyenne’s suggestion of ambushing Thad, but worst case scenario—he’d just haul her back down the mountain. After he broke her heart.

She had to give it a try, though. She’d felt such tenderness from him that night in his living room. Deep emotions and a sense of wonder, almost, like he was surprised by how she affected him.

His voice carried from outside as he spoke to the horses.

She’d had to run, that night, but never again. She’d tell him how she felt about him, and see if he…ran.

He came inside carrying her bedroll and the saddlebags Sayde had packed for her. “There’s an outcropping for the horses.” He flexed his bare fingers near the fire. “You look like something serious is on your mind.”

“It is. I…” She wasn’t ready to dive in head-first. “Where did that metal box come from?”

He walked over to it, unfastened the lock, and lifted the lid. “I hauled it up here one year after I found this cave. Keeps food safe from bears…” He turned toward her. “Um, I mean, raccoons.”

She laughed. “I did my research, Thad. I know there are bears and wolves and cougars.” She pulled off her gloves and her hat. “I’m guessing you’re a good shot, so I’ll try not to be too worried.”

He strode to her and straddled the log, facing her. “You know I’m curious why you’re here. Why you didn’t just call me last week. Or wait until next week when I was back on the ranch. Why head up here to find me?”

“I don’t even get a cup of coffee first?” She sighed, her joke echoing through the cave. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.”

Taking her hand, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m damn glad you’re here.” He slid a little closer. “Still cold?”

She nodded and scooted toward him.

He moved in, one leg behind her, the other pressing hers to the side as he pulled her back against him. “Better?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Now do you feel more like talking?” Thad’s breath blew softly on her temple.

“I have to know. Is…she gone?”

“Melissa? Yep. The day I brought home the paperwork, she left. But not before reminding me that I wasn’t to blame for her death.”

Cheyenne frowned. “Why did you think you were?”

“You want the long story or the short one?”

“Long, of course.” She snuggled in. “We’ve got all week.”

“Whoa.” He pushed her off him, a fierce scowl on his face. “We’re only gonna be talking all week? No fun stuff?”

She smacked his leg and lay back in his arms. “I didn’t say that. Let’s save the fun stuff ’til after we’re all talked out.”

He let out a slow breath. “When Sayde promoted me to foreman, she told me to update the furniture and appliances in the foreman’s house. I was lost, but I didn’t want to fail at my first assignment from the boss lady.”

She giggled. “You don’t subscribe to decorating magazines?”

“Not hardly.” His chin brushed against her hair. “Melissa’s family owned the furniture shop in town, and she took pity on me. She came out to the house, took measurements, and came up with a whole plan for me.”

“That’s sweet.” Cheyenne could easily see how Melissa fell for the quiet cowboy. The same way she herself had.

“Yeah, until her family found out we were dating. They’re big money, all about appearances. But Melissa wouldn’t budge, and we were married six months later.”

“Wow, that’s fast.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it happens like that.” He kissed the top of her head. “Like lightning.”

Cheyenne knew the feeling. It’d happened like that for her, too. With Thad.

“So that beautiful, talented rich girl married this dirt poor cowboy, and we scraped every penny we could save so we could buy our own ranch one day. But Melissa would come home with boxes of stuff.”

When he was silent for a long while, she asked, “Stuff?”

“Yeah, like things her family gave her for when we had our own place. Decorating stuff, antiques, so many things that we didn’t have room to use them or display them, so she stored them upstairs. The bedrooms were near filled with it.”

“She was going too fast?”

“For me, yep. I told her we had years before we could afford anything on our own. She said she understood, but every once in a while, I’d find something else in the kitchen, or another box upstairs. It made me feel…I don’t know.”

“Like you were holding her back?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He sat quietly for a long time. “Then we had the argument about the plate.” His voice came out so low, she knew this was the final chapter. “The day it happened, she had gone in to town for something, I don’t know what, and I’d decided to surprise her with a fancy supper to celebrate. Just for no reason except I loved her.”

Cheyenne rubbed his thigh. She couldn’t be jealous of their relationship, but it was still a little hard to hear it from his lips.

“When she came in the house, she saw that I had her grandmother’s plates on the table. I had to tell her I broke one of them when I was taking them out of the hutch.” Behind her, he stiffened. “She started crying. Her grandma gave them to us as a wedding gift. They were irreplaceable, and I was a jerk for being so careless.”

She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what would come next.

“I told her—in my understanding husband’s voice—that it was just the pregnancy hormones making her so upset over a plate, and that I’d find a replacement on Ebay.”

Cheyenne groaned before she realized she’d let out the sound.

“Yeah, big idiot, huh? So she said she needed to take a walk. I let her go.” He fisted his hand. “Why did I let her go?”

She nodded. He wasn’t looking for an answer.

“A few minutes later, Clint called. Told me she’d asked him to saddle Wise Acre for her, and she’d ridden off toward the north.” His breathing grew uneven. “You know the rest of the story.”

“I’m sorry, Thad. I wish it had been different.”

“Me too, but it took five years and a ghost to get me to move on.”

She sat up and spun around to face him. “I forgot to tell you what I found out.”

“About?”

“The money Melissa left you. In the trust fund?” She opened her eyes wide. “There was a section in the documentation that stated the money needed to be withdrawn within five years of the date of Melissa’s death, or the money, along with the interest it had earned, was to be reabsorbed by the family.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“No. No shit. I think the family intentionally kept that from you. But somehow, Melissa must have known. Maybe she even put it in her will herself to make sure you got your own place. And Thad, five years was…”

“Last week.” He flung his leg over the log and sat facing the fire.

She gave him some space. He had to be thinking the same thing she was.

That was Melissa’s timeline.

****

Thad couldn’t wrap his mind around it all—the money, the five year limit, Melissa’s presence. But he could easily change his focus to Cheyenne’s coming all this way to see him. He fed the fire as she explored around outside the cave.

“So, what do you eat when you’re up here?” She poked her head into the cave opening.

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Snakes, squirrels, sometimes a porcupine if I get lucky.”

Her face fell, and he had to hide a grin.

“Glad I brought a stash of granola bars.” She mumbled the words as she entered the cave and pulled the makeshift door closed.

“Honeybee, with what I brought, and what Sayde packed in your saddlebags, we have enough steaks, bacon, chicken breasts, and eggs to last us the rest of the week. They’re all in the strongbox on dry ice.

She flung her hand to her forehead. “Thank goodness. I feared I might starve.” She shrugged out of her coat. “Not that I couldn’t afford to lose a few pounds.”

The temperature in the cave had risen to near-toasty, and he was in his flannel shirt and jeans. “You’re perfect.” He set another log on the fire and walked over to her. “You stay just the way you are.” He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up, swinging her in a circle. You are one fine specimen of womanhood.”

She held onto his shoulders, laughing. “So poetic, Thad. Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m going to start the beans warming. Then I’ll put some bakers in the coals and cook up a couple thick, juicy steaks.”

“My mouth is watering.” She batted her eyes. “But not for beans.” She wiggled her hips, brushing herself against his big erection.

“For bakers?”

“Nope.” Her hand snuck between their bodies and her fingers slid into the waistband of his jeans.

“For steak?”

“No. Not that either.” She went deeper.

Her touch, just tickling his shaft, sent chills racing through him, followed by flares of heat. “Let’s set up the bedrolls and let you have what your taste buds desire.”

Chapter Twelve

“Finally.” Cheyenne poured as much drama into that one word as any actress could.

He smiled. “You make me laugh, Cheyenne Redford.” His voice echoed in the small cave.

She took both his hands in hers. “You make me happy, Thad McCade.” Her face sobered. “Really happy.”

“Mmmm. Let’s bedroll-up first, and talk later. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He opened both their sleeping bags and laid them on the cushioned floor of the screen tent. When he stepped out, he unbuttoned the sweater she had on over her layers. Peeling off the sweater, he shook his head. “You bundled some, huh?”

“Yes. It’s cold.” She looked uncertain.

“I’ll keep you warm.” He looked around then dragged the shock-corded tent closer to the fire, with the opening facing the warmth. He pulled a folded blanket from his saddlebag and laid it over the top of the tent. “There you go. Cocoon.”

“Now I’ll peel off my many layers.”

She did have layers. Funny, serious, lawyer, ghost chaser. All of them made up one impressive woman.

She stopped with her jeans halfway down her long thighs. “You’re not participating in this bedrolling-up session?”

“Ah, hell yeah.” He tugged off his boots and socks, jeans and long johns, flannel shirt and thermal undershirt.

They stood naked, facing each other. “Ladies first.”

When she bent to step into the tent, he swatted her ass. She squealed.

“Been waiting to do that for a while, now.” He slid in beside her. The blanket kept the warmth in, and her skin glowed with the flickering firelight. “You’re so beautiful, Cheyenne. Smart and successful.”

“Remember when you told me you didn’t feel like we belonged together because of our different lifestyles?”

He’d been such a goddamn fool. “Yeah.”

“Look at us now. We’re just two people in the wilderness. Naked. That’s how it should be. The start of a relationship, I mean. Leave the past out of it. Leave the rest of the world, too.” She ran her hand along his hip. “That’s why I came up here, Thad. To get back to the very beginning.”

“I want that too, Cheyenne.” He wanted more from her, but he didn’t want to overload the situation.

“Let’s start with this.” Her hand glided down, her touch like silk on his stomach, then on his hard length.

“Good start.” He flopped back onto the sleeping bags and ran his hand over the soft skin of her back.

“You would say that.” She bent and licked him.

His hips jerked and heat spread in his balls. “Right now, I’d say just about anything you wanted me to, honeybee.”

She giggled as she took him deep in her mouth.

The vibration rattled through him, flashing hot like fireflies up his spine.

Cheyenne made love to him with her mouth. She lapped at him and teased him, tickled him in spots he didn’t know were sensitive. Taking his sac in her hand, she licked each side, slowly, while rolling his balls gently between her fingers.

He’d never experienced a sensation like that. So intense, so complex.

Still cupping his sac, she took his shaft into her mouth and down her throat. Swallowing around him, she found a rhythm, sucking, swallowing, breathing, humming, all the while treating his balls to pleasure that curled them up tight to his body.

When his mind flared like a thousand spotlights, he erupted, his staff sending bursts of his cum into her mouth, down her throat, where she moaned and swallowed, kissed and caressed.

“Oh Cheyenne, you are a major talent.” Had stupider words ever come from his mouth?

She snuggled in. “Thank you. Coming from you…” She wagged her brows at him. “That’s a lovely compliment.”

He rolled her on top of him, pressing their skin tight against each other. “You make me laugh, Cheyenne.” How could he convince her to move closer to him? Like into the same house? He cupped her cheeks and kissed her, slow and sweet, showing her how much he adored her.

She returned the kiss with such warmth, he wanted to ask her right then.

“Wait here.” She jumped off him, crawled out of the tent, and bent over her clothes pile, digging for something. In seconds, she stood, holding a three-pack of condoms. “Found them.”

“That’s all you brought?” He braced himself on his elbows, watching her. “Looks like I’m going to have to make a run to the gas station.”

She laughed. “No, I have a full box.” She climbed into the tent. “And just how far away is this gas station?”

“Oh, about seven, maybe eight hours’ ride.” Thad pulled her down onto him then rolled them so he was on top. “But it’d be worth it.”

“It would.” She ripped open a condom packet and held the rubber circle up. “Because I want to have you inside me every hour of the day and night, Thad. I need you.”

****

Cheyenne let the words pour out of her. Something about this man, his stubbornness, his sense of right and wrong, his loyalty. She didn’t want to be without him.

Thad lifted himself from her, his hard cock pressing against her mound. He rubbed up and down a few times, hitting her sweet spot and making her breath catch. “I want you, Cheyenne. Put that thing on me. Now.”

His hungry stare, his powerful words, made her core quiver and her pussy juice for him. She rolled on the condom and immediately guided him to her opening. “Now. Fast. Please.” She wanted nothing more than to be overpowered by him.

With a slow push, he sheathed himself deep in her, pumping quickly to go even further inside, make room for himself in her waiting body.

When he was fully encased inside her, she spread her legs and wrapped them around him. With a tug, she pulled him in even more. Inside her, the beautiful ache of her body accommodating his thickness, his length, sent jittery pleasure up her spine to dance in her mind.

“You’re so tight. Hot and perfect, honeybee.” He moved, slowly at first, then began to rock into her, letting her slide off him and pull him back in with her legs.

He leaned down and took her breast in his mouth, suckling her, licking and biting.

The sensation flittered through her, concentrating in her belly, turning her brain into a spinning mass.

“You want fast?” His words, whispered against her breast, sent shivers along her skin.

“Yes, and hard. Fast and hard.” She laughed at the silliness of her words.

“Any other critical instructions here?” He smiled up at her, holding her nipple between his teeth.

“Make me howl like a wolf, then purr like a cougar.” She shrugged, feeling too love-drugged to care how goofy that sounded.

“We’ll both howl.” He reared up onto his knees, picked her up by the hips, and began jackhammering into her. “We’ll howl like the moon was full tonight.”

She hung on to the bedroll under her as he slammed into her, wild and unfettered.

With teeth bared and the firelight behind him, Thad looked like he belonged up here, feral and free on his mountain.

Squeezing herself tight around him, she let the moment surround her, let the man she couldn’t live without take her where she needed to go. Her body convulsed with her sudden climax, sending her shooting out of her body, circling the moon, and letting loose with a loud animal cry.

“That’s it, Cheyenne. Let it loose. Let yourself…” With a jerk of his hips, he shouted with everything he had, his cry echoing with hers around the cave. He pounded into her a dozen more times, then pulled out, collapsing onto her and rolling to her side, his head on her chest. He panted, loud and fast, for what seemed like forever.

“C’mere.” He tugged her on top of him, holding her head over his heart, smoothing her hair as both their heartbeats slowed.

“Wow. Guess it must be all the fresh air.” She kissed his chest.

Thad chuckled, the sound rolling from deep inside him. “Must be. That and our wild naked primal…what was all that you were saying before?”

“I don’t know. I talk too much. A hazard of my job.” She could lay here with him for the rest of her life.

“I think it’s perfect. You like to talk. I don’t. But you seem to get me to say more to you in one minute that I usually say in a whole day. We’re good together.”

Her heart thudded. “We are good together.”

“Move in with me.” His body stiffened.

She froze for a minute then shifted so she could look into his eyes. He was dead serious. She didn’t know how to respond. “I assume you mean at the ranch, not here in the cave, right?”

He nodded.

She swallowed. This was not a topic to joke about. “I do a lot of traveling. Have to be in hotels all over Montana for days at a time.”

“I’ll wait for you.” His whiskey-brown eyes reflected the firelight. Intensity filled his gaze.

She couldn’t resist. Even this early in their relationship, and with the shaky start they had, this felt right. It filled her heart with joy, and was the perfect thing for him to ask her. “Yes. I’ll move in with you.”

He smiled, then dropped his head back, laughing. When he sat up and pulled her onto his lap, he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her chin. “You’ve made me a very happy man, Cheyenne. And I promise to make the rest of your life, the best of your life.”

She sucked in a breath and gave in to the tears that filled her eyes. “And I promise to enjoy every precious minute of it.”

*~*~*~*

Connect With Me

Thanks for reading Haunting a Cowboy. I am thrilled to be part of the Tall, Dark and Paranormal boxed set with nine of the best authors in paranormal romance today. I hope you enjoyed Cheyenne and Thad’s story. I will be continuing the hauntings at the foreman’s house at the High Paradise Ranch when I bring you Clint’s story. Be sure to join my mailing list so you’re among the first to know when my next book is released.

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All my best,

Randi

“Rode Hard and Put Up Satisfied”

RandiAlexander.com

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All Hat No Cattle: Red Hot and BOOM!

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Cowboy Bad Boys - Ten male/ female (M/F) erotic romances starring sexy cowboys and the ladies in their lives.

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About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author Randi Alexander knows a modern woman dreams of an alpha cowboy who takes the reins, and guarantees they’re rode hard and put up satisfied.

Published with Cleis Press, Wild Rose Press, and self-published, Randi writes smokin’ hot romance with heroes who’ll have you begging to ride off into the sunset with them. When she’s not dreaming of, or writing about, rugged cowboys, Randi is biking trails along remote rivers, snorkeling the Gulf of Mexico, or practicing her drumming in hopes of someday forming a tropical rock-band.

Forever an adventurous spirit with a naughty imagination, Randi is also family oriented and married to the best guy in the world, her own cowboy, Kick. Give in to the allure of erotic passion, strong but vulnerable heroines, and irresistibly seductive cowboys, as Randi’s emotional love stories sweep you off your feet and leave you breathless with passion.

Saddle up! And prepare yourself for the sexier side of happily ever after.

Huntress For Hire

by,

Terry Spear

Huntress for Hire Copyright © 2010 by Terry Spear

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Discover more about Terry Spear at:

http://www.terryspear.com/

Dedication

I dedicate this book to fans of the paranormal. And to my mother, Florence Lois Wilde, God rest her soul, who whenever she offered ideas for vampire romances, I’d have to remind her that I wrote vampiric romance, not horror stories.

What would you do, if you fell in love with a vampire, when you were supposed to hunt them instead?

Description for Huntress for Hire

He’s a hunter turned vampire, she’s a huntress of vampires—he’s needs her cooperation to free his family; she’s trained to kill his kind. Rebel vampire huntress Rachael Bremerton wants revenge against Piaras, one of the most ruthless vampires in Dallas, for the murder of her parents. But when she’s lured by another vampire, Adonis, into the darkness—the same darkness she’s feared since she was a child—she’s torn between her huntress sensibilities and some strange desire to be with the creature she’s meant to despise and destroy. Adonis, a hunter turned vampire, has been ordered by Piaras to bring Rachael to him untouched. In return, Piaras will release Adonis’s family unharmed. But when Adonis first sees Rachael, his hunter desire to have a huntress mate kicks in, or is it the dark heart of the vampire that makes him crave her so? Turning Rachael over to Piaras becomes less of an option. But can he find a way to free his family, claim Rachael for his own, and keep her family from discovering he is a hunter turned vampire—a creature they will all feel obligated to hunt down and kill?

Prologue

Beguiling.

Adonis held his breath as Rachael Bremerton walked toward her bright red Mustang, wearing typical huntress attire—perfect for taking down rogue vampires—black denims, a black turtleneck, boots, and an ancient huntress dagger sheathed at her waist, the weapon forged of steel that with a nick of a heart could take down the most lethal opponents.

His pulse quickened at the sight of her—petite, blonde, devastatingly brilliant blue eyes—bewitching. Yet, the notion she’d wear that kind of attire when she was attending a hunter’s formal ball meant she was a bit of a rogue like he’d been. He gave a sardonic smile. Then his mood soured. How was he to turn such a marvel over to Piaras for his disposition?

Adonis ground his teeth, fighting the urge to extend his canines, the hate he had for the vampire twisting a shard of anger up his spine. Rachael would kill Piaras and free his family. She had to—it was the only way to take down the vampire.

A cell phone jingled a merry tune on her belt, and she jerked the phone out of its pouch. “What?” Her annoyed voice intrigued him. Everything about the huntress’s actions did. “I know I’m late, Zachary. I’m on my way. If you wouldn’t keep pestering me, I’d be there already. All right?”

Zachary, one of Rachael’s cousins. She flipped her cell phone closed and jammed it into its pouch, then climbed into her car.

How was Adonis to seduce the huntress into doing his bidding? His vampiric charms wouldn’t work on her. Or would they?

He stood taller in the shadows of her apartment complex as she drove off. The hunter in him longed to have her for his own... as his huntress mate. Which blast his dark soul would now never be possible. The cursed vampire part of him craved having her for all time—just a bite and a little more, and he’d claim her for all eternity. Already he endangered the mission as his feelings got in the way. His family came first. He didn’t personally know the huntress. She just had to accomplish the mission, and then she was expendable.

The fact he had to remind himself brought him to one alarming conclusion... the huntress had already claimed a part of his soul.

Chapter 1

An unfamiliar whiff of a spicy woodland scent caught Rachael’s attention as she climbed out of her car at her uncle’s hotel where the annual hunter’s ball was in full swing.

A misty gloom clung to the November night in the dimly lit parking area, but she saw no one. Yet, her intuition warned her something was amiss.

A lively gypsy rhapsody played in the ballroom on the second floor, and she glanced in the direction with disdain. Having to socially interact with bride-hungry male hunters, totally irked her especially when she had no intention of settling down anytime soon.

She locked her car door and strode across the parking lot. The mission: Get the hunting contract from her uncle and return home, pronto.

A subtle flapping noise caught her off-guard. She whipped out her hunter’s dagger and whirled around. Her pulse raced and despite the chill in the air, her hands grew sweaty. Not a soul stood in the murkiness, but the sound like the flapping of wings or a cape resonated suspiciously like a vampire’s arrival. Instantly, adrenaline surged through her, and she poised for the danger lurking in the dark.

Two of her cousins’ voices drifted from a distance. She slipped her dagger into its sheath and headed in their direction, knowing if a vampire were foolish enough to come here, he wouldn’t dare draw any closer to the location of fully armed male hunters.

“Rachael mustn’t learn of the news,” redheaded Ferris warned his identical twin brother, Ned. Even in the semi-dark, the red freckles that bridged their noses stood out against their creamy skin.

Although she attempted to sneak up on them, her boots crunched on leaves in the parking lot. She cringed. With a whoosh, both cousins unsheathed swords, the preferred weapons for killing vampires, having passed down from generation to generation. Her cousins whipped around to face her.

“I mustn’t learn of what news?” Rachael asked, her voice sharp, knowing a coddling tone wouldn’t convince them to tell her what was going on.

“Damn it, Rachael.” Ferris waved his sword at the surrounding area. “You know better than to sneak up on hunters in the dark.”

“You’re afraid of a vampire appearing here? He’d have to be rabid to come within a mile of a hunter’s ball.” Yet she feared the sound she heard moments ago was just that. Still, for now, she was more interested in the secret concerning her. She folded her arms. “What news am I not to hear?”

“Nothing.” Ferris sheathed his sword.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“The secret is if Uncle Tobias sees you dressed like that, he won’t give you the hunting contract.”

Rachael touched her left shoulder where a vampire had marked her when she was five, digging one wickedly sharp fang across it. Huntresses only wore bare-shouldered gowns for the formal affair. She wasn’t staying. “You’re not going to tell me what this is all about?”

“No.”

She gave him her best I’ll-learn-the-truth-on-my-own scowl and stormed up the outside stairs.

Again, the fragrance of spice kissed the breeze, and she whirled around to see who or what smelled so heavenly. The creature had to be a vampire as elusive as it was, stalking her, but why?

Squashing the shiver that dared trickle down her spine, she hesitated to open the door to the ballroom. Her eyes attempted to adjust to the low light of the parking area while she searched for the intruder. She saw no one but her cousins watching her.

Maybe something else fluttered in the breeze. The American and Texas flags flapped on metal poles in front of the hotel. That was it. As for the spicy scent...

She shook her head and entered the ballroom. Expensive colognes and perfumes mixed, making the ballroom smell like a floral fairyland. She took a deep breath. The male scent outdoors was some hunter’s. No vampire would be so brazen to come anywhere near a hunters’ ball. The tension in her stiff spine eased.

Crystal chandeliers sparkled high above the dance floor, casting a soft light over the partygoers, while a different gypsy rhapsody drifted overhead.

Her cousin Zachary quickly intercepted her, dressed in a tux, his dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, his brows knit in a frown. “About time you arrived. Dad’s throwing a fit that you’re so late.” Zachary motioned to her clothes. “Why are you wearing hunter’s clothes to a formal function?”

“I’m here strictly on business.”

Something sparkling through one of the glass doors leading out to the balcony caught her eye. Something in the dark.

Zachary sipped his drink. “I heard Dad has a new contract for you to fulfill. But he won’t be pleased that you’ve refused to dress for the occasion tonight. How will you ever catch a hunter’s eye, the way you flaunt our protocol?”

Irritation ran through her veins. After the death of her parents and because she was the only female among her cousins, they treated her like she was their younger sister... each one in charge of her. Tonight, the idea exasperated her more than usual. She pursed her lips.

Crinkles appeared beneath Zachary’s eyes as his lips curved up. “I hear he wants you to destroy another vampire dog.”

“Not this time. This time, I’m to go after Piaras.” She patted Zachary on the shoulder as his jaw dropped. “You know, the head of the family in eastern Dallas. One of the meanest, most evil vampires of our time.” She glanced back at the balcony doors. The strange light flickered, then faded into the blackness. What in the world was it?

Zachary finished his drink. “Not even the most experienced of us can touch him. You shouldn’t joke about it. If anyone thought you were serious, the word could get back to Piaras, and he’d order a death contract on you.”

For a huntress who terminated vicious vampire dogs? That would be the day. “Tell me, what’s the news concerning me tonight? I overheard Ferris talking of the special family meeting.”

Zachary narrowed his eyes. “He wouldn’t have.” He took in a deep breath, enraged. “Where is he?”

“In the parking area.”

Without another word, Zachary stormed toward the doors, but then he hesitated, turned on his heel, and disappeared down a hall. Evidently, whatever was said about her was serious. She’d find out what the secret was though as soon as...

The light on the balcony sparkled again. Like a shining lure in the dark waters, the glitter drew her across the floor through the dancing, twirling couples. Her gaze focused on the light while dancers, hugging each other in lover’s embraces, moved out of her way.

“Rachael!” Uncle Tobias’s sharp tone wouldn’t dissuade her.

She continued toward the door, the object outside capturing the reflection of light from inside.

“Rachael!” Her uncle’s voice raised an octave.

The light from the object of interest faded as she neared the door. Whatever it was moved away from the glass and into the dark.

She stared into the pitch-black night. If she were a vampire, she’d be able to see clearly in the darkness, but as a huntress, she couldn’t see anything. She grabbed the brass door handle, but just as suddenly, a large hand clasped over hers, giving her heart a start.

She looked up to see her uncle’s gray eyes, stormy and piercing. He dragged her away from the main ballroom and hurried her toward his office. Zachary passed her, coming from his dad’s office, gave her a small smile and nod of his head, and continued to the stairs that would take him outside.

Her heartbeat quickened as her uncle’s fingers gripped her wrist tightly. If he’d leave his party to speak with her, she was in trouble.

“Zachary relayed to me you intend to go after Piaras.”

So that’s what shook Uncle Tobias up.

His thin lips drew taut, and he released her wrist, shut his office door, and motioned for her to take a seat. “Don’t you dare go anywhere near his estate. Understand?”

“I was only joking.” The words squeaked out, the tone of her voice immediately annoying her. She wanted to sound sure of herself, like the men did, not high-pitched like a mouse. Standing six-foot-two, her uncle could be an intimidating figure. When she took a seat before him, she felt like less of a huntress, and more like his... niece. “I want to know what the special family meeting was about. If it’s something that pertains to me, I have a right to know.”

When he refused to say, she dropped the topic, knowing she wouldn’t learn anything from him if he didn’t choose to speak on the matter. Somehow, she’d wheedle it out of one of her cousins—Ferris, maybe. “I understand you have a job for me.”

He glanced down at her clothes and scowled. “Why aren’t you dressed properly tonight?”

She ran her hands over her jeans. “You know I hate these affairs.”

“Nonetheless, you’re not excused from them. Come back here properly attired. After the function ends, I’ll give you your assignment.”

“Killing another vampire dog?” Venom filled her words.

“I have another job for you, but you won’t get it, if you disobey me about this ball.”

The only way she’d ever prove her self-worth and be able to deal with her unreasonable fears was to have a real hunter’s job... killing rogue human vampires. She owed it to the memory of her parents, to take up the sword, to set the world right. Killing rabid-acting vampire dogs wasn’t the same thing.

She ground her teeth, hating that she had to dress up like the women did for the ball, showing themselves off to the men like pieces of succulent meat—in her case, a scarred piece of meat. She quickly shoved the notion from her mind.

“Rachael?” He folded his arms and pinned her with a glare.

“All right.” Grateful to be released, she quickly rose from the chair.

Uncle Tobias grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open. “Don’t delay.”

She soon entered the ballroom, her thoughts in turmoil. If it wasn’t so important she get another contract so she could turn the evil ones to dust and reasonably support herself—and avoid having to live with her uncle again—she’d skip the whole affair. As if Uncle Tobias would allow it. He’d send one of her cousins to fetch her and force the issue.

But then she considered the glass atrium doors where she’d seen the light and headed for them.

“Rachael!”

She wheeled around to see her uncle watching her, his expression severe. Taking a deep breath, she turned and crossed the floor toward the door that led to the outside stairs and parking area. But after she exited the building and descended the flight of stairs, she turned back toward the hotel.

Walking down a path, she made her way to the back of the building. Except for a faint light from the ballroom above, the grounds remained mostly shrouded in dark.

The fragrance of pine needles scented the cool crisp air. She looked up at the balcony that stretched out from the ballroom. No stairs led to the balcony from down below. The only access was from the ballroom itself.

A breeze tugged at her hair, blowing shoulder-length strands into her eyes. Then a sound like a footstep crunching on fallen leaves caught her ear. She whipped around. Gooseflesh dotted her arms as her eyes widened, seeking out the source of the footstep. Her heartbeat quickened and blood pounded in her ears.

If a hunter or huntress had come down here to be alone, he or she would have announced themselves. Something else remained cloaked in the dark. Something mysterious that drew her into the ebony web.

A new gypsy melody drifted down to her from the party, but it didn’t disguise the footstep she had heard. Had someone walked in her direction, or away from her? She couldn’t be certain.

She pulled the dagger from its sheath at her waist. A vampire wouldn’t endanger its life by coming to a hunter’s ball with so many hunters about, would it?

His scent floated to her as the wind shifted direction. Her throat dried instantly as if a sponge suddenly soaked up the moisture. She strode forward, attempting to perceive anything, an outline of a body, anything she could make out in the lightless void.

Whoever it was took three steps back, drawing her forth. She charged forward and felt a piece of satiny fabric, suspiciously fluttering in the breeze like a cloak... like a vampire’s cloak. Panicked, she swung her blade, attempting to strike the creature, but all she touched was air.

Unsure of herself, she remained frozen to the walk. Why hadn’t he attacked her? He could have easily taken her as disadvantaged as she was alone in the darkness. Yet, she was drawn to him and couldn’t free herself from wanting to solve the mystery of who or what he was. But it was more than that. Almost as if her backbone had turned to steel and a man-sized magnet drew her into the shadows... like she had no willpower to resist his force.

Then a masculine hand grasped her wrist and attempted to drag her into the dark. Her heart pounded out of bounds. Although she knew she should have struck at him with her dagger, his touch was warm, full of life, and filled her with need. An unnatural need... well, for her it was unnatural. She’d never been interested in any man before. Certainly, desiring a vampire was anything but normal. Her molecules dashed around inside her, colliding with one another in a madcap frenzy. Her knees grew weak. Her head spun out of control with the sensation.

“Rachael!” Zachary hollered from the parking lot.

The man released her, severing his tie to her. Her stomach flip-flopped as she fought the urge to find him in the dark—to learn his identity, to know how this man could undo her with a simple touch. What would he have done to her if he’d pulled her into the shadows with him? Kissed her? Or torn her throat out with his lethal fangs? She touched her shoulder. Or marked her. She shuddered. Maybe he was the one who’d already marked her and now came to claim her. All at once, dread bunched in her stomach.

What was wrong with her to even want to know the answer to the questions? Her uncle had only allowed her to kill vampire dogs. Not human vampires. She wasn’t experienced in dealing with them. That was the problem.

She backed up, then ran for the parking lot, her heart thundering. His intriguing scent seemed to follow, but she saw no sign of anyone other than her cousin searching for her in the low light of the parking area.

“There you are.” Zachary hurried toward her. “Where have you been?” he scolded. “Father said you were to go straight home, change, and come directly back here at once. Half an hour... no longer.”

She strode to her car without a word to her cousin, her thoughts still consumed with the man in the dark.

“Father doesn’t like it that you said you were going after Piaras, even in jest.”

“Tell the whole world, Zachary.” After unlocking the door to her car, she climbed in, slammed the door, and locked it. Hating feeling unnerved, she sat still, watching for any sign of who or what had accosted her.

Seeing no sign of him, she jammed her key in the ignition. No time for paranoia.

Yet, she couldn’t help feeling the man hidden in the shadows had targeted her, not anyone else. What was worse, she should have told Zachary, who watched her while she drove out of the parking lot. Something prevented her from doing it, as if the creature had woven a spell of silence over her—binding her to him for as long as she lived.

Which undoubtedly wouldn’t be long, if she continued to act unhuntress-like in his presence.

***

Like a stalker, Adonis studied Rachael when she exited her apartment wearing a red gown, cut provocatively low in the front, and having virtually no back, a black shawl hung over the crook of her arm as she hurried to his car. Her lips were coated in blood red lipstick that shimmered in the lamplights’ soft glow.

His blood heated with envy. He didn’t want any of the bachelor hunters seeing her dressed like that. He craved to hold her close and dance with her under the full moon to the enchanting gypsy rhapsody—to nuzzle his face against her soft skin, to drink in the subtle floral fragrance she wore that floated on the breeze. His longing to have her would be his undoing.

Even when he’d seized her and tried to drag her into the shadows outside of the ballroom, he couldn’t help himself. Since he’d been turned, he’d been incomplete—not a hunter, and not totally a vampire, a being caught somewhere in between. But Rachael created an urge in him to recapture his humanity.

He cursed himself for his wayward thoughts and actions.

What made her so irresistibly appealing? Using her to kill Piaras had to remain his sole focus. Yet she blurred that focus—an enchantress is what she was—stimulating the hunter’s craving to have her for his huntress mate. He cursed his weakness as she drove back to the ball.

Tonight, one way or another, he would lure her away from her kind and turn her world inside out through no choice of his own.

***

Twenty minutes later, Rachael crossed the parking lot to the hotel again, the air cool, but she decided not to bother with the wrap. Everyone could see the vampire’s mark and know why she hated affairs like this. Nothing would chill her heated blood, as angry as she was about having to attend the ball. A few tendrils of unruly curls pulled loose from her hastily improvised bun, tickling her bare shoulders in the light breeze, and with annoyance, she brushed them away.

But then her anger shifted to morbid curiosity, and she glanced at the path leading into the dark behind the hotel. Did the man who had accosted her still lurk in the darkness? She considered the flagpoles. The flags had been taken down for the night. Taking a deep breath, she didn’t smell any of the spicy scent that warned her the vampire was near. He was gone and a tinge of disappointment left her feeling abandoned. She chastised herself for the thought and focused again on the evening ahead—which she would cut short as soon as her uncle saw she was in attendance.

When she entered the ballroom, several males smiled appreciably at her attire, and her body warmed, despite being annoyed at herself for feeling anything but anger.

Uncle Tobias gave her a small smile and bowed his head. Yeah, Rachael had done his bidding, and he was damned pleased with himself, but she chided herself for not having more determination to stand her ground. She wished she could be like her cousin, Michael, the rogue. That’s who she looked up to, a man who made his own decisions and wasn’t ruled by his father, her uncle.

Needing a glass of champagne for fortification, she maneuvered through couples after the wine steward. Before she reached him, Gregory Devine walked in her path. The bachelor hunter had always kept his distance from her before tonight. What was his problem now?

“Would you care to dance with me?” Gregory asked, his voice somewhat demanding, but a hint of insecurity moderated his tone.

“Thank you.” Rachael smiled sweetly. “Not now.”

His sharp blue eyes took her in, his gaze quickly shifting to her breasts. He smiled. But then he looked at her scar, the raised white jagged line a reminder of the vampire who’d marked her and killed her parents.

She hated Gregory’s changed expression—a flicker of... well, she wasn’t sure whether it was pity, concern, or disgust—none of which she appreciated. She sidestepped him and headed for the wine steward.

Typical of a hunter, Gregory wouldn’t let her go. He again walked into her path. He acted as though she was now seeking a lifelong mate—a big deal in hunter societies. The mating kept the hunter families from dying out. Because traditionally fewer females were born to a family, they were highly prized. But thankfully her uncle had discouraged hunters to pursue her before this, rumors abounding that her tragic loss had made her unsuitable for mating too early. Which suited her fine. At twenty-six, she was still free to pursue a hunting career when other women were busy raising their second or third child and had to abandon hunting altogether.

She glanced at her uncle, hoping that her brief show of attendance and wearing the gown her aunt had given her last year, would satisfy him enough to earn her the contract he was holding for her. But she didn’t like the expression he wore, too serious, too much like the one he displayed when he was conducting business, not when he was socializing at the annual ball. He nodded to her.

Instantly, her blood heated. He couldn’t…

She quickly looked around the room, saw the bachelor males appraising her, studying her actions as if they were on a hunt and this time she was the prey.

Her uncle was presenting her as eligible for marriage to the bachelors tonight? She could scream. Was this the family secret? No way was she getting tangled up with a hunter, not before she proved herself as a huntress and successfully rid herself of her fears. Rarely did the females hunt after they began to have babies.

When Gregory couldn’t snag her interest, another bachelor approached her. He smiled at her and his green eyes sparkled with fascination. She frowned. How was she going to discourage the single men’s interest in her without encouraging her uncle’s wrath?

She caught sight of the wine steward disappearing into the sea of hunters and huntresses and smiled. “Whoever can get me a glass of champagne first, I’ll dance with.”

One dance and then she was out of here.

Hearing her challenge, five bachelors standing nearby, plus the two who had approached her, rushed for the wine steward. A scuffle ensued when two of the men struggled over the glass the steward tried to fill.

Despite the irritation running through her blood over the whole affair, she stifled the urge to laugh and shook her head. They acted like a bunch of bulls during rutting season.

But the glint of light outside on the balcony shimmered again, intriguing her despite how dark it was outside. She crossed the floor to the door, grabbed the handle, and jerked it up.

After stepping outside, she closed the door, shutting out all but the music that served as a romantic backdrop, and the soft light that filtered into the blackness from the ballroom chandeliers. But the rest of the balcony remained dark and foreboding. Instantly, the familiar fragrance of spice reached her, sending her system on high alert. Her heart beat erratically and her hands grew clammy.

The shiny object had faded into the darkness... the same kind of darkness she’d feared ever since she was a child, but was determined to conquer.

She remained frozen in the soft wash of light, not moving any closer to where the object had vanished. Yet a part of her wanted to explore the shadows, to seek out the source rather than let it come to her.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice firm and demanding, trying to sound sure of herself but afraid her voice might have reflected her fear.

“You won’t ever get to Piaras without my help.”

At the sound of the deeply sexual, but deadly male voice hidden in the ebony gloom, her heart nearly stopped.

Chapter 2

Her heart began beating double time and another icy shiver rippled down Rachael’s spine as she stared into the darkness where the male voice had originated. If he was a vampire, he would hear her panicked heart, just as she heard her blood rushing in her ears. She tried to see what it was he held or wore that had so effectively lured her here.

She could see nothing in the ebony void, and the words he spoke again sifted through her brain. You won’t ever get to Piaras without my help.

Had he heard Zachary speak to her in the parking lot about how she was going after Piaras in sarcastic jest? Would he tell Piaras what she’d said? And then would Piaras, the devil of a vampire himself, come after her?

She swallowed, but her throat was dusty dry. She tilted her chin up, showing him he could not intimidate her. Yet every ounce of her huntress sense screamed at her to leave the balcony at once, to warn the hunters a vampire was lurking here, to have him destroyed before he could make her do something she would forever regret.

She’d never heard of a vampire behaving so boldly with that many hunters nearby. Which warned her he was a danger she should well heed. “If I scream, the hunters will come and rescue me.”

Hidden in the shadows, he made a derisive sound. “You’re not interested in anything they have to offer. To dance with any, you must ply yourself with liquor. You wish to be intimate with none of them... not like you wish to be with me.”

Instantly, her blood sizzled. “Why you arrogant—”

“But I can help you, and in return, you’ll aid me.”

To kill Piaras? The vampire had to be delusional, if he was sincere in the least. But he didn’t sound crazy, which left a more disagreeable reason he was risking his neck here. Some darker reason that had nothing to do with her helping him to kill the evil one.

“What makes you think I... “ She folded her arms and changed her tactic, not wanting to discuss the most hated vampire in the region further, or give this vampire any clues about her own nature—that he hadn’t already sensed. “Who are you?”

Another inkling of dread twisted her insides—what if he were Piaras? What if he wished to see if she’d come willingly to him? The ultimate challenge for a vampire of his demonic stature? Right here under the noses of the gathered hunters of the biggest annual bash held in the region? And she, the head of the League of Hunters only unmated female relation?

“Come closer and I’ll whisper my name to you.” His sensual voice stroked her like a brush of black velvet against naked skin. “I wouldn’t want the others to know I have an interest in you.”

Interest? At seduction! Manipulating vampire! Yet, she was nearly ready to let him manipulate her right into his enticing embrace. Unless he was Piaras. Still, she’d heard he was a master at seducing women. Human women, of course. He couldn’t control hunters as far as she knew.

But maybe…maybe this cloaked man wasn’t a vampire after all. A hunter, who wanted to do away with Piaras, to earn himself a name. Someone who wasn’t part of the hunter families in the area. Someone who wanted to join them and needed a way to prove his worth.

Then again, what could she do to help? She wasn’t trained to take down anything as dangerous as the ancient one. No, he had to be a vampire. “You’re not a hunter. If you were, you’d be at the party. Unless you’re a renegade hunter. But you couldn’t slip onto the balcony unless you came through the ballroom, or…”

He had to be a vampire, and she was foolhardy not to ready her weapon. She reached for the dagger at her waist and belatedly realized she wasn’t wearing it. Not to a dance while wearing a gown. Her skin prickled with fresh awareness at how vulnerable she truly was.

He chuckled and the silky sound sent a volley of heat to her belly. “Are you afraid of me?”

He knew she teetered between fear and macabre inquisitiveness. She wasn’t afraid of dying, not at his hand. But of being seduced by his voice, by his touch, the memory of his strong fingers on her arm, the power, the possessiveness, the desire in the heat shared between them still clouding her judgment.

“Should I be afraid?” she asked, much more breathlessly than she wished.

“You should be more afraid of them.” His tone was ominous, as if he knew something about them that she didn’t.

Which was absurd.

“The hunters, you mean?” When he didn’t respond, she shook her head. “I’m not afraid of them.” Willing herself to fight her fear of the dark and what waited therein, she drew a step nearer the shadows. Only in an effort to learn what the vampire’s business was. If she could, wouldn’t her uncle be pleased with her? Maybe even enough to give her a really good paying contract? “I’m close enough. Tell me your name.”

“Come closer.”

She’d had enough of his game. She stood still and crossed her arms, determined not to move another step in his direction—no matter how badly she wanted to see if the creature’s appearance was as sexy as his alluring voice.

Time for the vampire to play his cards. She raised her brows. “I won’t draw any closer. Are you afraid?”

For a minute, that seemed like an eternity, neither moved, and she wondered if he’d grown tired of the game or was truly afraid of showing himself in the event any of the hunters noticed and so then had vanished. But then he walked partly out of the shadows, a ruffle of thick lashes framing his penetrating black eyes and pinned her with an aroused look, dark and lustfully dangerous.

Her heart tripped. She fought taking a step back, of fleeing from the balcony into the ballroom filled with hunters who would protect her from the likes of one so treacherous. And beautiful. His eyes drew her into their fathomless depths, willing her to drink further, to stay with him forever.

But vampires could not control a hunter with their seductive charms. A look, and a human would bare his or her throat, begging for the vampire’s bite. The vampire could not use their hypnotic seduction on a hunter, or huntress.

So what intrigued her so much about him? Not his chiseled face that looked as though he’d been carved from the finest marble from his square jaw to his distinctive nose and wide cheekbones. Not his dark eyebrows giving his roguish appearance further character. Or the straggles of dark tendrils that had loosened from his long hair tied back in a tail and swept his cheeks, teasing his ivory skin, softening his formidable appearance. Even now she longed to free the rest of his hair, to comb her fingers through the strands, to caress the silkiness as if she were his lover.

A blousy-sleeved, black silk shirt fit over broad shoulders and opened provocatively at the chest. And the lure that caught her attention, a gold medallion encircling a diamond, dangled against his bare skin, now catching the light from the ballroom again. Enticing her to reach out and touch it, to hold the treasure in her hand, to feel the hefty-looking weight of it.

But more than anything, his eyes caught her attention and held her captive.

Until banging on the glass door behind her shattered the spell the vampire held over her, and she jumped a little. The music instantly died, shouts filled the air, and two hunters struggled with the door handles, twisting and cursing, while another pounded on the glass to keep her attention. As if she’d give herself up to the vampire if he didn’t.

“Try to open the door, Rachael!” Gregory shouted, his face flushed, his hands on the glass as if reaching out to give her solace.

Her heart in her throat, she watched as other hunters, from potential suitors to older mated men, rushed to grab their swords, removed earlier while they danced. They yanked the deadly steel from leather sheaths.

Torn with indecision, part of her conscious told her she should try the door handles that the hunters continued to twist back and forth, see if they would work for her when they wouldn’t for them. But another part of her refused to do anything that could mean the vampire’s death.

His voice low and dark, the vampire said, “A special trick of mine.”

She turned to face him.

Everyone in the ballroom suddenly grew deathly silent as if they were swallowed up by a black hole. All that remained was the man in the shadows, the breeze whipping her hair about and plastering her long skirt against her legs, and the distance between them—that wouldn’t be safe enough if he decided to press his advantage.

No smile graced the vampire’s lips. His alluring gaze challenged her again to attempt to break free from his magnetism, or be his.

From the time when the Black Death in 14th Century Europe had sickened humans, some of those who had survived the devastating plague, were found to have special abilities—to see in the dark of night, their hearing enhanced. The hunter kind had been products of the plague, too, stronger than humans also, and like the vampires, they could heal much faster when injured, had increased strength as well, but they couldn’t see in the dark, even though their hearing was just as enhanced, and they were obsessed with keeping the rogue vampire population under control.

The natural trait this vampire exhibited in trying to dominate her using his vampiric charms intrigued her. When she should have been appalled.

“Rachael! Open the door!” her uncle shouted. “Rachael!”

The banging on the glass renewed with gusto. The doorknobs rattled in anger.

She ignored them and took a deep breath and savored the vampire’s scent. How could he smell so heavenly when every inch of him was so deadly? And how could he be daring enough to speak to her without flinching once in front of all the hunters, anyone of whom would end his life in a second, given the opportunity? Ignoring them as if no one existed but the huntress before him.

He stretched his hand out to her, fine strong fingers eager to pull her into the darkness, and then what? Whisk her away to his lair? Away from her people? Free to seduce her without interference?

The uncanny way in which vampires transported themselves from one place to another was their greatest ability of all. No one but the vampires knew what it felt like, or how it was accomplished. One minute they were there, the next, gone. But the idea had always fascinated Rachael.

The banging on the glass doors stopped, her uncle and the other hunters’ words ceased, the door handles quit moving.

She didn’t dare take the vampire’s hand. Although she wanted to—to see where this would lead, to feel his heated touch. To be whisked away to another world. But no way could he be trusted.

When she hesitated, his brow creased. “You want my help, and I need yours. We have to depend on one another.” His voice showed a surety that no matter what her doubts, he’d convince her that his reasoning was sound.

“You’re a vampire.”

His lips lifted just a hint.

The same traitorous warmth that had spread through every fiber of her being did so again. She attempted to ignore her body’s unwarranted reaction to the man. “I’m a huntress. Trusting one another isn’t something we do.”

He bowed his head to her in agreement, then raised his hand slightly as if to dismiss her. But as soon as he did, the doors burst open.

The hunters rushed onto the balcony, swords drawn, but the vampire instantly melted into the shadows and vanished.

If it hadn’t been for the mad dash of hunters swarming about her, some sticking close to her in bodyguard mode, the others looking over the railing at the grounds below or searching the rest of the balcony hidden in shadows, she would have felt the disquieting loss deeper when the vampire vanished. She imagined the sensation was akin to the sudden severance of the intimacy shared between lovers.

Her uncle shoved his way through the men and grabbed her arm. She gasped at the suddenness.

Uncle Tobias pulled her into the ballroom where the music had stopped and only muffled conversations continued. “What the hell was that all about?”

For an instant, she felt disoriented. But seeing her uncle’s angry expression mixed with concern, she finally snapped out of the indefensible delusions she had about the vampire.

“I would have killed him if I hadn’t been wearing this…this gown. I didn’t have my dagger.” She had reached for her weapon, after all. If anyone had seen her action. But not to strike the vampire... instead, to keep him away from her just in case he’d threatened to harm her.

Uncle Tobias frowned at her. “Why didn’t you call out for help when you first saw him?”

“The hunters already saw him with me. What was the need?”

“They had to arm themselves. And somehow the bloodsucker managed to secure the door.” Her uncle lifted her chin, his stormy eyes peering into hers as if he was trying to read her mind. “Since you had no weapon to protect yourself, why didn’t you try to come back inside? You might have managed to when we were unable to open the door.”

“I was curious as to why he was here. Don’t you think it foolhardy for one to come to a hunter’s ball? Wouldn’t you have wondered what he wanted?”

“Rachael, you’ve always been afraid of bloodsuckers. You’ve told me you want to hunt the rogues down to conquer your fear of them, to overcome the terror you experienced that…night. But your behavior just now…”

“I can do it! Just give me a contract, and—”

“Rachael…I can’t afford to lose you, too.” A deep-seated sadness reflected in his eyes, yet he studied her with more than concern, a crease deepening over his brow.

“I’m fine, Uncle Tobias. If you’d just let me prove I can do it, I’d have no problem. You’ll see.”

He rubbed his smooth chin, and then gave a slight shake of his head. “Gregory will take you home tonight.”

Her head pounded with frustration. He couldn’t deny her a contract. He just couldn’t. “You promised you’d give me a contract tonight.”

“Not now. It appears a contract is out on you instead. From now on, you can’t venture out at night unless you have a hunter watching over you.”

She felt the walls were closing in on her. “You promised!” she snapped.

She couldn’t control the anger seeping into her voice. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to destroy renegade vampires who threatened the lives of others just as they had destroyed her own family. She wanted to do that living on her own, without her uncle and cousins monitoring her every move. When she was a child, it was one thing. She understood their concern for her. But hell, at this rate she would be ninety years old, and they’d still be watching her every move. Well, by then she might need someone to, but for now, she wanted her independence. She deserved it. And it was past time she had it!

But her uncle’s steely expression said otherwise. “That’s my final word on the matter. Your safety is more important than your need to be self-sufficient, Rachael.” Uncle Tobias turned to the hunter. “Gregory, see that you get my niece home safely.”

Great. Just great.

“Yes, sir.” Gregory bowed slightly. He offered his arm to her, but she stormed off without him and headed outside.

Her blood boiled. If her uncle wouldn’t give her another contract, she’d become a loose cannon.

Gregory rushed to catch up to her in the parking lot, his sword readied. His expression looked so concerned, she felt a twinge of guilt for the anxiety she must have caused. “Don’t worry. The vampire wasn’t going to hurt me. I would have made a fuss if he’d come any closer.”

“You were unarmed. And your uncle was right. You should have at least tried to open the door for us. Unless…” Gregory quit speaking and opened his car door for her.

She climbed in and looked up at him. “Unless what?”

His eyes held a wealth of worry, but he shook his head and shut her door.

Now what was the matter?

When he was seated behind the wheel and was driving out of the parking lot, she said again, “Unless what, Gregory?”

“Nothing. You just should have tried to open the door is all.”

But there was more to what he was thinking, and she wanted to know what it was. “I can handle whatever it is you have to say.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes focused on the road, and he didn’t say another word.

Fine. She clenched and unclenched her hands while she tried to fathom why the vampire seemed to want her and no one else, and why he hadn’t just grabbed her as defenseless as she’d been. It didn’t make any sense.

Halfway to her complex, Gregory finally cleared his throat, but wouldn’t look at her. “I should stay the night with you... sleep on the sofa, of course.”

She laughed. “That’s the first time anyone’s used that line with me before.”

“I’m serious. Your uncle would approve of me doing so, I’m certain.”

She folded her arms. “No. You’d have to have my approval.”

He glanced at the scar on her shoulder.

If she’d had any interest in allowing him to sleep over, that nixed it. She looked out the window.

What had the vampire really wanted of her? Every fiber of her being screamed at her that he couldn’t be trusted. Yet she couldn’t squash the desire to know more about him, to learn what he truly wanted, and a small part of her couldn’t help but fantasize about taking down the cruelest vampire in the region’s history. If she could, wouldn’t that prove to her uncle her worth as a huntress? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate challenge that if she could meet it, she would never fear a bloodsucker or the dark again?

But the look in her uncle’s eyes had warned her she was playing with fire.

She took a deep breath to ease her disquiet. No matter how much she told herself how wrong it was, she wanted to see the vampire again. Insane... the whole notion was insane. Maybe that’s why most huntresses married young. If they didn’t, they’d go mad and want to mate vampires. Right. Her skin crawled with apprehension, and she touched the scar on her shoulder. Was he the one who had marked her?

The whole way back to her place, she couldn’t shake loose of the eerie thought. That the mark was his claim to her. That he wanted her and she had no choice in the matter. Give herself to him, or else.

Barely aware they’d arrived at her complex and were now standing before her apartment door, she realized Gregory had asked her for her keys, a second time. Again, she noted his concerned expression—probably because she seemed so spaced out. She had to snap out of the fog she was in. She was certain everything about her behavior would be duly noted and reported to her uncle.

Gregory unlocked her apartment door for her. “I should check your place out first.”

She grabbed her apartment key from him. “No. You’ve done my uncle’s bidding. And I thank you, but it’s late and I’ll retire now, alone.”

“But he said you couldn’t be alone and although Zachary’s bringing your car home, he’s not here yet and you need protection. Your uncle said.”

“Listen,” she said poking her finger into Gregory’s chest, “tell me what you were going to say earlier, and you can stay for an hour or so.” She hoped she didn’t regret the suggestion.

Gregory swallowed hard and bowed. “I’m sorry, Rachael. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. I’ll see you again, when you’re not quite so... upset. I’ll wait in the parking area for Zachary.”

Upset? Annoyed was more like it. Whatever he was holding back from her, she wondered if the other hunters felt the same way. Did her uncle? She hated the secrets. And they always seemed to revolve around her—the sympathetic looks, the whispered words, the conversations that abruptly died when those speaking caught sight of her. She hated all the secrets.

She closed the door on Gregory’s retreating backside and locked it. On the surface, he was the perfect gentleman, but most hunters changed their attitude toward huntresses once they were theirs. Bossy, controlling, domineering. Or at least that’s the way it seemed to her.

Someday she’d have to marry. There were too few females not to and truly, she owed it to her kind. With the right hunter, it could work. But for now, she wanted to prove to the males she was more than just a breeder.

As soon as she reached the bedroom, she flipped on the light switch at the same time that she smelled the scent of spice. His scent of spice.

Her heart nearly quit, but the perceived threat forced adrenaline to flood her body. He couldn’t be here, not unless someone had invited him in. Which did nothing to explain why she smelled him in her room. She bolted around the bed for her sword leaning against the opposite wall, but stopped dead as the vampire appeared between her and the weapon.

“You shouldn’t handle weapons when you’re upset, Rachael. You might hurt yourself.”

The vampire’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement while his mouth curved up slightly.

“How... how did you get in?” She took a step back.

This was an entirely different scenario. On the balcony, the hunters were there, watching her, trying to come to her aid in an unprotected area that was really open to any vampire who might want to drop in, although she was sure none had ever been so bold. Additionally, she went out to meet him. Here? She was alone, no one to come to her aid, and he had invaded her home, where no vampire should have ever intruded.

He didn’t advance, yet, although that didn’t make her feel any more secure.

“Your manager had an extra key. The dear lady was totally agreeable to letting your cousin in who’d locked himself out of your apartment.”

Heart thundering, Rachael quickly assessed her options, took another step back, hoping if she turned swiftly enough, and she was close enough to her chest of drawers, she could reach one of her daggers.

But as soon as she whipped around and jerked a drawer open, his hand clasped over hers. Her heart skipped a couple of beats. He twisted her around. Before she could free herself, scream, or react in any other way, he leaned down and nuzzled his smooth as satin face against her cheek. His warm breath and skin sent her hormones raging at an all-time high. Why couldn’t Gregory or any of the other hunters make her feel this way?

She chided herself for being so damned different from other huntresses. If the females of their kind weren’t in such short supply, she imagined none of the bride-hungry males would bother with her. And for good reason.

The vampire leaned against her, forcing her to shut the drawer with her backside. He held her wrists firmly at her waist and ran his mouth over her neck while his hard body pressed against hers. “You’re shivering. Are you cold, or afraid of me?”

Terrified. But not of his hurting her. Instead the feelings she had for him were all wrong. Her whole body thrilled with his touch, and she fought against wanting more. Just his male scent stirred her interest in him, and his warmth heated her up. How could he be so hot, when he was a bloodsucker? Ice ran through their veins, didn’t it?

At once she realized how little she knew about vampires. She thought she’d read everything there was about them. It was her job to end their lives before they fed on the innocents of the city, and she felt it important to know her enemy. Yet, this one made her crave succumbing to his innermost needs, allowing him to drink every drop of her blood coursing through her veins like a racecar zipped along the speedway. Nothing in the literature she studied said this would happen to a huntress in the presence—very close presence—of a vampire.

The way he held her, possessively and with determination excited her to no end. She should have resented his manhandling of her, but she craved more. When he shifted his weight next to her, his arousal rubbed against her waist, and she blinked to know she’d brought it on. Not once did she push him away. Instead, she brazenly welcomed his attentions. Leaned against him even, wanting to feel his arousal throbbing with need. She had to be insane.

“You have me at a disadvantage... ,” she said nearly out of breath. Before she could finish what she had to say, he chuckled, possessively, seductively. If he moved away from her, she’d shamelessly melt right against him. “I meant to say... you know my name... but I don’t know yours.”

“There’s more to what you say than you let on, but very well. I am Adonis.”

She let a smile slip out, then quickly recovered. “Right. The lover of Aphrodite, Greek Goddess of Love.” He was as beautiful as the man Aphrodite, and then Persephone, had fallen in love with from the illustrations Rachael had seen depicting him. Did any woman who beheld this Adonis fall in love with him, too?

“My mother felt the name was appropriate for her son.”

Rachael’s heart hitched. She’d never thought of vampires having mothers, fathers, families... only blood-bonded relations, humans they’d turned, who now led a nighttime existence feeding off the unsuspecting.

“Tell me about Piaras,” she said, wanting to get to the bottom of what Adonis was truly about before she gave in and let him drag her to bed. Or, she dragged him.

“First, you and I have to learn to trust one another.” He released her left wrist and touched her hair with a tender caress, as if he truly could have genuine affections for her, and not just a raging need to fulfill some physical craving. “You’ll never be able to approach him unless you can handle my intimacy with you.”

She attempted to shove him away, but he wouldn’t let her go, reclasping her free wrist with his iron grip. What in the world did he have in mind? Just because she wasn’t tied to a hunter, didn’t mean she was that naïve. He had to be crazy to think she’d permit him to seduce her. A vampire seduce a huntress? The notion was unthinkable, worse than that—sacrilegious.

Not only because she was a huntress, but because of what a vampire had done to her parents. Yet no matter how much she warned herself this was so wrong, a part of her kept insisting she needed him as much as he seemed to need her. That he didn’t frighten her like others of his kind did, well to an extent, but not terrifyingly so, and that led her to believe she needed him, to help her overcome her fear of his kind. Which was beyond idiotic!

He held her wrists tightly and wrinkled his forehead. “I thought you might be the one, but not if you won’t cooperate.”

She should have struggled more to get free, shoved him away, regained some space so she could collect her senses, but instead she looked into his darkened, lust-filled eyes and asked in a voice that bordered on seduction—which she chided herself for as soon as the words escaped her lips—”What is it that you have in mind?”

His elusive smile returned, then just as quickly evaporated. “I’ll take you to him, as a human willing to be turned. You’re attractive enough. He’ll be interested. But since he won’t be able to control your mind and make you do what he wants, you’ll have to act as though he can.”

He nuzzled his cheek against hers again. No man had ever gotten so close to her. Not like this.

An encounter with a sixteen-year-old teen years earlier when she was the same age was as close as it got to the real thing. He was human though, fumbling, frantic, in the back seat of his dad’s King cab pickup, worried a hunter family member of hers would catch them in the act and kill him, she had worried about the same thing. Later, a couple of adult encounters, but once they saw her scar and realized a vampire had marked her, that was the end of finding love with human types.

Hunter types believed in the sanctity of marriage, so while her uncle was in charge, none had approached with more than a platonic greeting or two. Although if they could have gotten away with much more without getting into boiling oil over the matter, she was certain a couple of the more roguish hunters might have attempted seduction.

Now she had the opportunity to be intimate with a man she was totally intrigued with, who wasn’t bothered by her scar or hunter ties, and he had to be a vampire?

But not just any vampire. Because never had she been fascinated by one before, and never had she desired one to get even closer to her.

She barely realized his fingers were tracing her bare arms, no longer holding her wrists hostage, his lips pressed against her hair in a whisper soft caress. Not hurried or panicked or pushy. This is what being with a man should feel like. She closed her eyes and savored the way his satiny skin rubbed against her cheek. Like hunters, vampires grew no chin whiskers, and his smooth face made her own skin tingle for more of his touch.

“The only way it’ll work though, is if you show no fear,” he whispered against her ear, her skin prickling with the sweetest sensation. “If you let him know you’re afraid of him, he’ll realize at once you’re not a human host seeking the sexual pleasure a vampire can offer.” He pressed his mouth against her throat, sending a trickle of warmth down her spine and a bead of perspiration between her breasts. “Also you can’t take a hunter’s weapon in on your person. I’ll have to slip it to you once you’re with him. But for now, I’ll help to desensitize you toward the feel of a vampire.”

Desensitize away, she wanted to say in a husky sexy voice, but her huntress wariness broke through to the front lines to save the day, or at least stop her from doing anything too risky, for at least a minute of reprieve or two. “Why do you want him dead?” At least she was proud of herself for attempting to distract herself from his attentions and act more levelheaded like a huntress on a mission should be.

“That’s my business.”

Her spine stiffened and she narrowed her eyes. She didn’t trust him anyway, but her suspicions were further confirmed by his answer. “Why don’t you just kill him yourself then?”

“I can’t.”

She knew this was some kind of vampire trick. She folded her arms. “Sorry, not interested.”

There was no way she could kill the ancient one, certainly not by herself. Adonis had to have had something else in mind, and she wasn’t falling for it.

Adonis’s eyes widened. “I thought you would want to kill the one who had murdered your parents, to avenge their deaths. Isn’t that what any hunter child would wish?”

Chapter 3

“What?” Rachael’s word squeaked out, not sure she’d heard Adonis correctly as she stumbled back from him, bumping into her dresser. No one knew who killed her parents. At least that was what everyone had always told her. Of course she wanted to kill the bastard! As soon as she learned his name!

Frowning, Adonis tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know?”

Her mind swirled with the knowledge. Fuzziness filled her brain, numbness spreading through her body until her knees buckled. No, she hadn’t known.

He quickly lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. The worst vampire of the region had murdered her parents? Her stomach wrenched with nausea, and she blinked back unwanted tears.

“I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t,” she whispered, looking up at Adonis, his dark eyes studying her with the intensity of a panther on the prowl, ready to take down his prey.

But was it her, or Piaras that he was really after? Was he telling the truth about her parents? Or was that the best reason he could come up with to solicit her help?

Yet if she could confirm Piaras was her parents’ murderer, she’d have to kill him. She’d avenge her parents’ deaths and destroy one of the most sinister bloodsuckers of her time. If she could.

But she didn’t trust Adonis. He could be lying. And even if he wasn’t—the way she longed for his contact—she didn’t feel enough of his touching her would ever desensitize her toward him, nor did she have confidence in herself that she could apply the brakes on her own insane need. What in the world was the matter with her?

Even so, she didn’t think—if Adonis was being honest with her—that his desensitizing her would prepare her for dealing with Piaras either. Yet if this was all for real, and his plan could succeed—

He reached down, pulled the pins from her hair, and combed his fingers through the freed curls. His warm tongue ran down her neck in a sensuous caress. Was he feeling her pulse beneath the surface, luring him to seek its source, readying himself to take a bite? Despite knowing how wrong the emotions were, she hungered to have his teeth stroking her skin.

Until the front door of her apartment creaked open and Zachary hollered, “Rachael? Why the hell didn’t you let Gregory stay here until I arrived?” The door clunked shut. The bolt slid in place. “Rachael?”

Rachael’s heart flipped and Adonis grabbed her wrists, pulled her from the bed, and held her securely against his hard body.

She barely breathed with fright, not at the vampire’s close proximity, but considering what he might do to her cousin.

A pause followed, then her cousin spoke again. “Gregory said you sent him home, but my father said you can’t be alone. Rachael?”

“Let me go to him,” Rachael whispered to Adonis, “or he’ll search for me and kill you when he finds you here.” How could she be torn between protecting a vampire and her own cousin?

Adonis pressed his lips against hers, forcing her to part them for him. Her heart beat way out of control. To an extent, she enjoyed his attention as his tongue tangled with hers, but part of her remained anxious Zachary would kill him or that the vampire would get the best of her cousin.

Zachary’s sword pulled out of its sheath with a whoosh.

“Let me to go to him,” Rachael pleaded, her voice hushed.

“I’ll get rid of him,” Adonis whispered in her ear, then he vanished.

Rachael screamed, “No!” and dashed for her sword.

Zachary ran into the room, his weapon readied while Rachael bolted for him in the same offensive posture.

“My God, Rachael. What’s happened?” Zachary’s bushy brown brows pinched together.

“I... I was getting ready to go to bed when I heard something.”

“It was me you heard. Father said you can’t stay here alone. I’m to remain here with you the night. But he’d hoped you’d have permitted Gregory to do the honors.” He touched her cheek. “You’re flushed. What’s wrong?”

“I... I hadn’t expected you.” She quickly shifted the conversation, hardening her words. “And how would it look to the other hunters who desire my hand if Gregory had stayed the night?”

“It would make them more desirous of you, believe me. Uncle Tobias has been beating them off with a stick for four years now.” He wiggled his brows.

She scowled at him.

Zachary grinned, being his usual self, always trying to rile her. She knew he really cared about her, but like most other male hunters when it came to huntresses, it was all about control. And he was way too eager to take the place of her uncle when it came to ordering her about.

“They’d know nothing could happen between the two of you or he’d have to face the consequences of the hunter tribunal. Gregory wouldn’t want to lose his chance at having you for his mate if he’d made a wrong move. But just the fact that he could get that close, would impress upon the other eligible hunters that they’d better make more of an effort to get in your good graces.” He motioned to the hallway. “Make up the bed on the couch for me while I grab a snack.”

She crossed the floor and shoved her sword in its sheath. “Make up your own bed.”

He chuckled. “Some wife you’ll make.”

“You are my cousin. Besides, I’m a huntress, first and foremost.” Wasn’t she? Yet her actions with Adonis proved otherwise. Her skin freckled with goose bumps, she rubbed her arms. The concern the vampire might have hurt her cousin still worked her nerves into a screaming frenzy. And, too, she couldn’t shake loose of the disturbing news that Piaras might have killed her parents. But was it true?

Zachary cleared his throat. “You’ll be a wife and mother, above all else, once you choose a mate. You pretend you don’t like the idea, but I’ve seen you playing tag with Trish’s twins, laughing hysterically, having the time of your life. Last week I noticed when you wouldn’t release Mary’s new baby to any of the other huntresses who wished to hold him.”

Folding her arms, she frowned at him. “Everyone else who held him made him cry. He slept soundly in my arms, otherwise I’d have gladly given him up. I’d never realized how heavy a baby could get.”

Zachary walked down the hall to the kitchen while she followed on his heels. “You can deny it all you want, but everyone noticed. You have the same maternal instincts the other huntresses have.”

Sure she did, but she couldn’t let the others know how she felt. That having a hunter mate to protect her wasn’t the same as being able to protect herself if need be. That feeling secure had to come from within, not from someone attempting to provide that security. She wanted to feel self-sufficient, for a while anyway. To feel whole, to feel good about herself. She wanted to hunt and prove she could survive a vampire’s attack, and if she had a hunter mate and was faced with a situation like her parents had been in, that she would be a help and not a hindrance.

But in their local society, the women gave up their hunting to have babies. She wanted to do both. In other places across the country, hunter clans allowed their huntresses to continue to hunt after having offspring if they wished to. What was the wrong in that?

Zachary opened her fridge door and peered in. Then he pulled out a package of ham slices, cheese, a head of lettuce, and jar of mayonnaise.

“Why don’t you make yourself right at home?”

Zachary began to build his sandwich. “I will. Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll just watch a little television and go to sleep.”

“Clean up after yourself this time.”

He glanced up from his sandwich and narrowed his eyes. “Your lips were coated with a red gloss before you left the dance. You haven’t showered. Why are they naked now?”

She swallowed hard. She’d never known a man who took notice of things like Zachary did. Her lips were naked because a vampire had kissed her like no other man had ever done. She took a deep breath. “Maybe Gregory gave me a goodnight kiss.” The moment she said it, she knew she’d made a mistake. Why didn’t she just say she’d wiped it off? Because she was feeling guilty about having been kissed—by a vampire, no less—that’s why.

Zachary stopped working on his sandwich and stared at her. “Gregory said he hadn’t kissed you. You were too upset about the vampire’s visit, and he felt it wasn’t a good idea. When I pressed him about it, he said you wouldn’t let him stay with you. That’s not the way to win a hunter’s heart.”

“I was joking about Gregory kissing me. I’m not ready to select a mate. Uncle Tobias can’t just spring this on me and expect me to be ready and willing.”

“Yeah, well, he says you’re a late bloomer, or he would have allowed the hunters to pursue you before this. Frankly, I think it’s because he liked having a woman around the house. But now that you’ve moved out, he says it’s time for you to settle down, even if you show no interest in the bachelor hunters.”

“Uncle Tobias can’t force the issue.”

“He can and he will.” Zachary bit into his sandwich.

She tapped her fingers on the table. Would her cousin know who’d killed her mother and father? But if he did, would he reveal the truth to her? “Zachary, why did Piaras kill my parents? Do you know?”

Zachary’s face turned pasty, and he set his sandwich down. Instead of answering her, he pulled the fridge door open and retrieved a soda. After opening the can, he faced her. “What makes you say a thing like that?”

Just Zachary’s reaction to her question—his hesitation to speak right away while he thought of a way to get around the issue—proved to her Adonis had told her the truth. Was this the secret Ferris had been discussing with his twin brother?

Piaras had to die at her hands. She could almost taste his blood.

As for Zachary, she didn’t bother to answer him, knowing full well he’d deny the truth of the matter, if only to help to ensure she wouldn’t take on the deadly mission of killing Piaras. She turned to leave the kitchen, her head still pounding about her parents’ murderer.

“You know, I shouldn’t tell you this as it’ll go straight to your head, but the men were quite impressed when you changed into something feminine. I’ve never seen so many hunters drool as when you walked into the ballroom wearing that low cut gown. Last year you hid under Aunt Bertha’s shawl, as I recall.”

She whipped around. “There has to be more that they see in me, than... than... “

“Yeah, well there is, but that they have to wait for.”

“More than that!” She turned to leave, but he dashed for her and seized her wrist.

A subdued hiss met her ear. A vampire’s hiss. She looked over Zachary’s shoulder. Adonis stood watching her from the dining room, his face unsmiling. Her blood chilled.

But her cousin hadn’t heard Adonis, distracted as he was. Nor could he see him, unless he turned around.

Zachary frowned at her and released her wrist. “I thought I smelled a subtle man’s spicy cologne in your bedroom. Gregory didn’t try to get fresh with you in there, did he? Is that why you wouldn’t let him stay with you until I arrived?”

No way could she get Gregory in trouble for something he hadn’t done. Yet if she said it wasn’t his cologne, whose could have it been? And if she said she didn’t know for sure, Zachary would investigate.

“My manager sent the maintenance man to replace the doorknob on the closet door. Or tighten the screws, I should say.”

“See? If you had a mate, you’d have a place of your own, and he would tighten your loose screws. Go to bed. I promise I’ll clean up the mess.”

She hesitated to leave, Adonis standing there as if he were her knight—black knight, while Zachary should have been her white knight.

“Go,” Zachary said, motioning for her to leave, then began making another sandwich.

But she didn’t want to go, not while Adonis stood there like a menacing avenger. Finally, she cast Adonis a quick I’ll-kill-you-if-you-touch-my-cousin glower while Zachary sliced into his sandwich. Adonis gave her a subtle smile, then she whipped around, praying that he would poof disappear as soon as she left her cousin alone.

She hurried back to her bedroom, intending to get her sword and defend Zachary if she needed to. But by the time she reached her room, she realized how futile the effort would be. Zachary was very capable of defending himself, almost as good as Michael and her uncle in putting down rogue vampires.

Her blood pulsed in her ears while she considered that her manager had let the vampire in though. Now Adonis could enter Rachael’s apartment anytime he wished, just appearing at will.

After closing her bedroom door, she grabbed a nightgown from her drawer. When Adonis had vanished, she thought he had reappeared in the living room ready to battle her cousin. But he hadn’t confronted Zachary at all. Much relieved, she assumed then, Adonis had left for good. Had he been hiding in her living room all this time? And where was he now? Still silently observing her cousin?

She switched on the light in the long walk-in closet and peered at her clothes hanging on either side. No one inside either in full view or hiding amongst her clothes. Her heart pounded erratically. She exited the bedroom and walked into her bathroom down the hall. When she clicked the door shut behind her, she took a deep breath. As far as she knew, vampires had to reappear before they could hear or see anything. They couldn’t invisibly lurk.

She reached into the shower and turned the water on. Within seconds, she pulled off her heels, then stripped out of the evening gown and panties. After stepping into the shower, she purred to the pulse of hot, silky water streaming down her back, trying to pretend none of tonight had happened, that her uncle hadn’t made this her official coming out to match her up with a prospective hunter, that a vampire hadn’t approached her—more than approached her—kissed her senseless, and that she still didn’t know who’d killed her parents. Ignorance was bliss, she mused.

But ignoring any of the events of tonight was like pretending she wasn’t going to be guillotined the next morning at daybreak. The events had been set into motion and life again would never be the same.

Until Zachary yelled out, his voice filled with pain. Her heart tripping, she bolted out of the shower and grabbed a bath towel. All she could think of was Adonis had attacked him.

With the towel wrapped around her, she dashed out of the bathroom and ran down the hall, dripping water on the carpet.

Sucking his thumb, Zachary raised his brows to see her. “If Gregory had observed you like that, you wouldn’t have been wearing that towel much longer.”

She scowled at her cousin. “I thought you were hurt.” Although she was relieved to see no sign of the vampire menace.

“I am.” Zachary showed the bloody cut on his thumb and pointed to the couch pulled halfway out to make a bed. “That metal’s jagged right there.”

“Oh, sorry. I always pull the bed out from the other side.”

“I knew you should’ve made it for me.” He smiled at the sight of her fluffy green towel. “So you came to rescue me. How exactly were you going to save me?”

Without answering him, she turned and stalked back to the shower. No doubt the water had turned cold by now. But she was thankful Zachary hadn’t questioned her as to who or what she thought she was saving him from in her totally panicked state. And doubly thankful that the trouble hadn’t been in the form of one sexy vampire, who should never have gained access to her apartment in the first place, targeting her cousin.

When she entered the bathroom, the steam-covered mirror caught her attention—Rachael was written across the steam and droplets of water trickled from the letters like blood dripping from a wound. Her heart raced and she yanked the shower curtain aside. The water continued to pulse out of the spout. But no Adonis.

She shoved her hand underneath the spray. Still hot, to her relief. Although, the knowledge the vampire chose to play with her stirred her unease.

After closing and locking the bathroom door, she dropped her towel and walked into the shower, grinding her teeth in anxiety. If Adonis thought his actions would desensitize her toward him, he was dead wrong. His actions only furthered her feeling of distrust. Tomorrow, she’d seek out her cousin, Michael, a renegade hunter, and currently estranged from his father, her Uncle Tobias.

Maybe Michael could give her some ideas on how to take out Piaras on her own. She wasn’t about to trust a vampire. And Michael was well thought of among the hunters, having killed more than sixty bloodsuckers that year alone, despite going against his father’s wishes. The problem was both were too headstrong to get along.

But the bigger problem was getting Michael to agree to help her. And avoiding one hot stalker of a vampire in the meantime.

***

Later that night after Zachary had watched a couple of long-winded westerns and finally fallen asleep on the couch made into a bed, Adonis stood next to Rachael’s mattress while she slept. He’d never been so attracted to a woman in his whole life. Why now a huntress? Now that he wasn’t a hunter any longer. He ought to have bitten her and claimed her. And then Piaras would have terminated his life for it because he wanted her so badly. No other vampire would be foolish enough to take her.

Clenching his teeth, Adonis attempted to contain the bloodlust rising in his system. Already his canines itched to extend and graze her soft, fragrant skin, and then dig deep, penetrating her with his fervent longing. And much more. The semi-transparent gown she wore drove him to distraction.

If he did take her, then what? Attempt to make her his? Forever? A vampire and a huntress couldn’t share a life together, not unless he turned her. But no self-respecting huntress could accept him for what he was.

He touched her hair, silky and golden, lying in curls over the blue floral comforter tucked under her arms. In the dark, he could see her as if the room were filled with lamplight. He brushed her hair aside and studied her neck. Creamy smooth skin begged him to press his lips to it.

He ran his finger down the vampire’s mark on her shoulder—a long white jagged streak of raised skin. He frowned. If she’d been too young when the vampire had come into contact with her in the past, he might have marked her and returned for her later. Was it Piaras who’d cut her? And if so, what made her appeal to him so much?

Rachael stirred.

Adonis whipped around and paced back and forth across the carpeted floor. Piaras had given him a job to do. Bring the huntress to him.

Piaras must have been the one to scar her then.

She muttered something under her breath. Adonis returned to her side and listened, but couldn’t make out what she said. His gaze shifted to the lacy edged nightgown she wore, the faint rosy color of her nipples barely visible underneath the pale pink silky fabric. Her breasts rose slightly with each breath she took.

He cursed. She had to kill Piaras. It was the only way Adonis and his family could be free. But she’d never live to see another day after she did the deed. Not once the vampires who lived with him found out... if she was able to kill Piaras at all. He took a ragged breath. Why did she have to be so damned appealing?

And why did Piaras want her so badly? In part, Piaras and his blood relations were testing Adonis’s loyalty to the family. Yet Adonis knew it was more than that. Rachael represented something Piaras desired. Adonis was determined to find out what it was before he handed her over to him. Well, not exactly handed her over to him. Brought her to him, so she could kill him.

He began to pace again. Never before had he been faced with such a dilemma. Choices were always easily made. Kill or be killed.

This was different.

Piaras wouldn’t give it another thought, just flick his wrist and send Adonis’s family to their deaths. Afterward, he’d get someone else to convince Rachael to come to him. Piaras insisted she come to him willingly. Those were the terms. But no huntress in her right mind would agree to such a deadly proposition. Piaras assured Adonis she would, given the right encouragement.

Her desire to kill him because he had murdered her parents was supposed to have been the incentive. But Adonis’s craving to have the huntress for his very own plagued him.

He knew she wasn’t interested in the hunters in the local area. Any of them. Instead, she wanted more of him. He could sense it in the way she had acted so curiously about him... not terrified like the other huntresses would have been. And when he held her tightly in her bedroom, she never once screamed. She enjoyed his touching her as much as he treasured feeling her close to him. Her heart beat way out of control as his fingers had traced her skin. Her violet fragrance, the sweet taste of her soft skin... he groaned.

The box springs squeaked. He turned. She licked her lips and immediately he wanted to tangle his tongue with hers.

Despite not wanting to leave her, he had to get some sleep. But, he wouldn’t depart without a kiss. He leaned over and touched his lips to hers.

She squirmed slightly. He pressed harder. Kissing a woman who wouldn’t notice his ministrations didn’t appeal. She moaned. He pulled away and studied her expression. Her lips curved up slightly. She was enjoying his attentions.

When she parted her lips, he covered her mouth with his own. She purred against his mouth and lightly touched her tongue to his. He smothered her with his kiss in response, her simple touch triggering him to do more. His body burned with an ache that sought relief. He yearned to touch every inch of her, to bury himself in her, to claim her for his own.

To make himself whole again.

“Rachael,” he whispered into her ear, his cravings getting the better of his judgment. He traced her lips with his thumb.

“Hmm,” she hummed sleepily.

His testosterone raged out of control, and he fought the urge to join her in bed. But when she moaned again and shifted her body slightly, he knew the enjoyment had to end.

Her eyes popped wide open, her jaw dropped, but before she could cry out, he vanished, cursing himself all the way home.

Chapter 4

Still cursing himself soundly, Adonis renewed his pacing, this time at his antique shop, the sky still dark. His sister cleared her throat, her look a mixture of concern and annoyance.

He paused. “What, Danai?”

He couldn’t help that his voice sounded raw with agitation. The only place he wished to be was with the temptress named Rachael, exploring every part of her body with every part of his own. After he’d vanished, had she screamed out in a panic when she discovered him there? If she’d cried out and told her cousin what had happened, he would spirit her away to a secure hunter’s home.

Adonis was torn between feeling as though he’d made the second gravest mistake of his thirty years, and knowing that his wanting her was not something he had any control over. Piaras might have desired her for his own dark reasons, but Adonis craved her with a power that couldn’t be quenched. What was it that drew him to her? She was a siren of the sea who would lure him to his death... because lusting after her would earn him Piaras’s wrath that wouldn’t be satisfied until Adonis was dead.

His sister tucked her dark hair behind her ears and turned her attention from him as if she had just dismissed him from her concerns. But he knew better.

With a lemon-polish soaked cloth, she wiped the oak countertop around the cash register. “The wooden floors have just been stripped and revarnished. If you keep pacing, we’ll have to replace them. You’re wearing grooves in them like the eighteen-wheelers do the asphalt on the freeway.” She tried to sound unconcerned, but he heard the wariness in her voice.

He grunted.

“You said you’ve made headway with the woman, so what are you worried about?” The challenge to reveal the truth. Danai suspected something was the matter.

“The woman’s name is Rachael.” He peered out the window into the dark, unwilling to tell his sister what had gone wrong.

“Then what is the problem?” Danai’s voice was edged with ice. “She’ll kill Piaras and set our family free.”

“If she can manage. He’ll know that’s what she’ll intend to do.” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Why would he want me to tell her that he’d murdered her parents? Why want a huntress? And why this particular one?”

“We’ve already discussed this.” His sister sat down on a stool at the counter. “She’s unmarried, but of a marriageable age. He’s intrigued that her uncle hasn’t married her off yet. And he believes your telling her that he killed her parents will make her willing to meet with him, even though she would wish to exact her revenge, not get cozy with him. Willing is the key. I’d say it had to do something with his sick pride.”

Danai tapped her long polished black fingernails on the counter. “Most wed at eighteen. So why the big delay with her? That’s what I don’t understand. Maybe the notion she’d be an unmarried huntress at her age... what twenty-six? Perhaps that’s why Piaras wants her so badly. He’s not interested in younger women. But if he conquered a local huntress at her age, wouldn’t it be another slap in the hunters’ faces, just another way of his showing them how powerful he is? Right?”

“No. He turned you. You’re unmarried still and twenty-six, but he doesn’t want you like that. Although you might be right about the local angle. You’re not from here and no one would even know that he’d taken you.” Adonis shook his head. “But I’m sure there’s more to it. None of his blood family will say though, but I can see the looks in their eyes when they share thoughts between each other. Thoughts they keep hidden from me. Something always remains unsaid when I’m around. There’s some reason he’s so desperate to get her. And she’s been marked by a vampire, too. Was it his mark? Or an enemy of his? Unless it’s because of the fact she’s the head of the League of Hunter’s niece. What better way to strike a blow at the League?”

Adonis reached out to the windowpane, the glass hard and cold to the touch. He wanted to return to her, to feel her breasts in his greedy grasp and kiss her until she begged for more. He rested his forehead against the glass.

“What in the world is the matter, Adonis? You’re doing just what Piaras ordered you to. He’s keeping his promise. Now you must keep yours.”

“Yes.” A promise to the devil himself.

The chair squeaked and his sister’s light footsteps approached him. Her hand touched his shoulder, sending a chill through his system. She couldn’t learn how the huntress had enchanted him.

“Tell me what’s bothering you. We never keep secrets from one another, but something’s eating you. You haven’t been yourself since you returned from seeing her at the ball.”

“I’m not certain I can ensure she sees Piaras. She may not have the grit to go through with it. A huntress in the midst of all his bloodsuckers is a formidable concern.”

Danai withdrew her hand from Adonis’s shoulder. “You said you’d made progress with her.”

Yeah, he’d made progress... in seducing her. Human females couldn’t resist him when he was a hunter. But he’d never worked his charms on a huntress before—never having found one he’d ever thought to settle down with. She was more delightful than any woman he’d ever had his eager hands on. And he thought it had to do with her rebellious nature.

She’d succumbed to his attentions, but not due to his powers of persuasion through mind control. He had no ability to control her in that manner and yet, when her cousin arrived, she’d wanted to protect him, Adonis, from the threat. How could a huntress want that? Her actions turned everything around for him. She wasn’t just a huntress, but a flesh and blood woman intent on destroying his resolve.

Was that part of the test of loyalty Piaras had in store for him? Bring the huntress to him, still unclaimed? Adonis was certain he still hadn’t totally convinced her to go with him to see Piaras. But seeing her alone again was bound to get him into a deeper quagmire.

“Tell me your thoughts, my brother.” Danai reached for his hand, but he pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” As much as he’d needed to be there for his sister after she’d been changed, her mood despondent at times, her will to live fragile except for her drive to free their family, he’d worked tirelessly to lift her spirits, to reassure her that they’d save them. But now his own emotional state was embroiled in a new desperate need. “I require some sleep before the sun comes up. Wake me in a little while if you rise before I do.”

Her dark brown eyes studied him, the look of worry making him feel like less of a brother who’d always taken care of his sisters and mother while his father led the League in Central Florida and more like a heel.

He couldn’t explain to her why he was so cross. Best not to say anything more on the subject.

Danai nodded, but the crease in her forehead indicated she knew something was terribly wrong. “Sleep well.”

“Don’t stay up too late.” He gave her a backward glance to emphasis his words. She bowed her head slightly, and he crossed the shop to the door leading to the house out back. His step grew as weary as he felt. Never had he faced such a horrendous decision in his life. And sleep wouldn’t take care of the fatigue weighing him down.

Yet he knew if the hunters chose to take her into seclusion, he’d still have to see her again... touch her, breathe in her heavenly scent, taste her sweet skin, and convince her to help him with his plan.

His fangs begged to extend.

***

When it grew light, Rachael studied the dark circles under her eyes in the bathroom mirror. She grimaced. How could she sleep when the vampire continued to molest her? She could still feel the way his rough thumb had caressed her lips and taste his wine sweetened tongue on hers. Thinking it was only a dream, she’d enjoyed his attentions, but then realizing it wasn’t...

Of course she’d been frightened, startled, and damn it, more than a little intrigued.

She brushed out her hair. Moving back into her uncle’s home would be the best thing to do. But then Adonis couldn’t get to her, and what if he truly was the only way for her to reach Piaras? He’d have an in. And she’d have lost the opportunity.

Still, she had to make Adonis understand he could no longer sneak into her dreams and make them real as much as she desired him to.

Half hoping he’d return and stroke her needs further and worrying at the same time that he would come back, she’d lain awake most of the rest of the night. She applied concealer under her eyes and took a deep breath. Time to see her cousin Michael and find out what she could about the vampire hunting business from his perspective as a rogue hunter.

On the way out of her apartment, she glanced at Zachary, still sleeping soundly in the couch bed. Then she slipped out the door, locking it as quietly as she could, although her uncle had said she only had to be watched at night—for now. But she didn’t trust that Zachary might learn where she intended to go this morning and put a stop to it.

Before she reached her car, she noticed a man studying her, leaning against a tree across the parking lot next to another building in the apartment complex. She might not have paid him any attention if it hadn’t been that he suddenly looked away as if she’d caught him in some clandestine operation. Then again, guys often checked her out, so no surprise there. Maybe he was just surprised to have gotten caught in the act. As was her usual huntress wariness, she took in his appearance from his black jeans, matching duster that reached his ankles, and western boots—the only thing missing, a Ten Gallon hat. Spiked hair and a black leather spiked collar spoiled the cowboy look. A Goth? She narrowed her eyes. Or a human host. A blood bond couldn’t be out in the sunlight, so not a vampire.

She reached instinctively for the dagger at her waist. What if he was one of Piaras’s minions? Watching her? One good thing about hunting vampire dogs, she never had to worry about them coming after her except in the midst of a hunt.

The man glanced back at her, saw her observing him still, and hurried off.

But he didn’t go to a vehicle. Instead, he headed out of her vision between two of the apartment rows. Hell. If he was reporting back to a vampire concerning her activities, she would know what his business was and which vampire he spied for. Adonis? Piaras? Some other?

She raced across the parking lot and slowed when she came to the walkway between the apartments. Peering around the first of the buildings, she looked to see what the man was doing, if he was even there still. He was, standing, waiting, listening maybe for her to start her car and leave. The sheer look of terror on his face proved he was up to no good where she was concerned. Not a secret admirer. He bolted for the wooden fence that bordered the complex and the housing development beyond.

She raced to catch up to him, but he scampered over the top of the fence and landed on the other side. When she reached it, she grabbed at the top and intended to pull herself over, but she wasn’t tall enough or strong enough, and after four failed attempts, she glared at the barrier between her and the man. His running footsteps faded as he raced farther away from her.

Briefly she wished she could have told Zachary, but he’d repeat every word to her uncle, and he’d confine her to his home for certain. For years, she’d been watched and protected, everyone in the League of Hunters concerned the vampire would return for her. For the first time in ever, she finally had some freedom, and she wasn’t about to risk losing it over what-ifs. But now that she knew she was being watched by more than one sexy vampire named Adonis, she would keep up her guard even more.

Not to be intimidated by a blasted human host, she returned to her vehicle and left her apartment complex.

A short drive and twenty minutes later, Rachael knocked on her cousin Michael’s condo door. The condo development was a singles’ delight, complete with Olympic size swimming pool, weight room, and a recreation room for single get-togethers where parties were a nightly occurrence. If she could have afforded such a place, she might have bought one, too. Although, she was certain her uncle wouldn’t have approved.

After what seemed an eternity, the lock clicked open, and Michael pulled the door aside.

His blond hair hung over his shoulders in a tangled mess. His red-tinged blue eyes squinted back at her. “Damn it, Rachael.”

She smiled.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He walked into the living room.

She followed him inside, shutting the door behind her. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re not allowed.” He collapsed on a blue and white striped sofa and stared up at her.

“Your brothers and other cousins have come to see you. I’ve heard them talking about it and of your remarkable exploits.”

“They should keep their mouths shut when you’re around.” He motioned to an overstuffed white leather chair. When she sat down, he glared at her. “My father will have a fit if he learns you visited me.”

Another reason her uncle would not have wanted her to live there, too. “I promise I won’t speak a word of it.”

“Why are you here?”

“Uncle Tobias won’t let me hunt. I wondered—”

“Listen, what he does is for your own safety. You’re to marry and have hunter children. That’s why you’re important.”

She jumped up from the chair, the anger erupting instantly. “I’m a hunter like you—”

“A huntress. Half of the men can’t have huntress mates because there are so few of you. You have an important role in our society. Listen to Father. If I were the head of the family, I’d say the same thing. Marry a hunter and have babies. Quit being so self-centered.”

Stiffening her back, she tilted her chin up. “You didn’t do what your father wanted you to. Why should I? You became a loose cannon, free to target any vampire you wanted.”

“Only for good cause. And I’m a hunter. There’s a difference. Now I’m alone, without any family backing. It’s not the best of lives, Rachael. It’s dangerous and lonely.”

“Who’s there, Michael?” a woman said from his bedroom, her voice sleepy and sexy.

Rachael glanced at the hall leading to Michael’s bedroom. She raised a brow. Lonely? At this swinging singles condo? “A huntress?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No huntress would ever come near me, considering the life I’ve chosen.”

“A human?” Her voice and eyebrows arched with the question.

“Rachael, you have no business being here.”

The tone of his voice made her change the subject before he kicked her out of his place. Although learning more about his roommate intrigued her. “I wanted to ask you a question. Have you ever heard of a vampire wanting another dead?”

“For power, yes. Sometimes for revenge.”

“A vampire can’t truly have strong feelings of affection for anyone, can they?”

Michael eyed her suspiciously. “What’s this all about?”

“I was just curious, is all. Can a vampire remain invisible and watch someone at the same time?”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, Michael rose from the sofa. Towering over her, he reminded her of his father. In fact, he would be just like him if he took over the League when his father retired, she imagined. Although she couldn’t envision Uncle Tobias living in a singles condo.

“Zachary said a vampire approached you at the hunters’ ball, that Piaras had a contract out on you.” Michael’s voice was full of concern.

What could she say? No, it wasn’t true? The vampire only attempted to seduce her and did a damned good job of it?

She switched topics. “How do you decide which vampire you’re going to go after next?”

“Zachary related to me that you wouldn’t tell him what the vampire said to you. What was his name?”

“He didn’t tell me on the balcony.” She hadn’t lied. He told her in the intimacy of her bedroom. And she knew if she gave Michael the vampire’s name, he’d be his next target.

“You’re not telling me everything. Zachary said you were nervous when he came into your apartment last night.”

“I hadn’t expected him.” While she was in the middle of kissing a vampire.

“Yeah, well, he said you came to rescue him when he injured himself on that damned couch bed of yours, dripping wet and wearing only a towel. It was a good thing Gregory hadn’t seen you like that.” He ran his fingers through his uncombed hair. “Go home, Rachael. Do what’s expected of you and what only a huntress is capable of doing for our cause. And lock the door on your way out.” He padded back down the hall and shut the bedroom door.

Her blood sizzled. But she wasn’t through learning from her cousin. She headed for his office. In there, she rummaged through a stack of newspaper clippings sitting on top of his oak desk. Yellow marker highlighted several articles.

Unsolved murders seemed to be the focus of his attentions. And then she noticed a small classified. Hunter for Hire. She smiled. The idea she could be one, too, appealed. Maybe now she could have some control over her life. Huntress for Hire. That’s just what she’d be. She needed to get used to fighting human vampires before she could go after the top one after all. Destroying vampire dogs wasn’t the same thing.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she hurried for the front door. She pulled it open, but her heart stopped when Zachary stood on the porch with his fist raised to strike the door.

His face turned dour. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Fighting a smile, she folded her arms. “You know, it’s always nice to get such a warm welcome from my family.”

“What are you up to?”

“What do you mean what am I up to? You should ask your brother. He’s in there fooling around with some human woman.” She motioned to the bedroom.

Zachary glanced back at the hallway, then to her. “He told you that?”

“No. I sort of inferred it from the way she spoke so sweetly to him from the bedroom.”

Zachary’s back grew rigid. “Father asked me to speak to you about who the vampire was who approached you last night. He said you were too shaken for us to ask then. So I avoided questioning you last night. I didn’t expect you to leave your apartment this morning without waking me though.”

Shaken wasn’t the word for what she’d felt when seeing Adonis on the balcony. Recklessly intrigued by the creature, yes. Lustfully indulgent. Totally insane.

“Father figured that’s why you hadn’t reacted more when the vampire came toward you, extending his hand. But the thing is, the bloodsucker had to have a reason to seek you out like that. Father says a contract must have been issued for your death.” Zachary’s forehead creased. “You really shouldn’t have left without waking me this morning. You’re to let one of the family know where you’ll be during the day from now on. And at night, someone’s to stay with you.”

She quashed the irritation that elevated her blood pressure. She had no intention of being some kind of a caged animal. And Uncle Tobias hadn’t said she had to be under constant supervision, at least she didn’t think so. She figured it was just one of Zachary’s ploys to control her further. But if she was going to do what she had to, she might as well play along. “For now, I’m going to... the beauty parlor.”

He smiled. “Changed your mind about Gregory?”

“Maybe.”

“Which beauty parlor?”

She shrugged. “Never been to one.”

“You call me when you reach it. You have to let me know, as I’m accountable to Father for your whereabouts. He says you should be safe during the day, but if anything else happens to put you at risk, he’ll change the plan.”

Like Goth-appearing guys watching her at her complex? She should tell Zachary about him, but she knew if she did, she’d be stuck at Uncle Tobias’s place, no more hunting, and he’d insist she marry right away so she’d have further protection from her hunter mate all night long. She let out her breath. Maybe this was Uncle Tobias’s new ruling after all. “All right. Sleep well?”

He touched the concealer under one of her eyes. “Better it seems than you. Have nightmares?”

“Something like that.” At least that wasn’t far from the truth and Zachary and the rest of her family well knew it. Nightmares about the vampire killing her parents, the darkness, the screams, the blood, the pain. She walked outside into the sunlight. “See you later, Zachary.”

“Call me.”

“Got it.”

Rachael had no intention of going near a beauty parlor. Her hair was just fine and didn’t need any fancy treatment.

She considered the newspaper clippings back at her cousin’s house. Then deciding her best bet was to recruit hunting jobs on the Internet first, she slipped into her Mustang and headed toward home.

While driving down Main Street, a man’s profile caught her eye as he placed a sign in front of an antique shop. Sale, One Day Only. Old things had never interested her. But it was the man’s dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail with a slip of rust-colored leather and his familiar build that attracted her attention. If she didn’t know better…

He looked incredibly like Adonis. The man wore a long-sleeved, white satin shirt and black dressy trousers, similar to what Adonis had worn, except he’d exchanged white for black. She swallowed hard. It couldn’t be him. Not standing in a wash of sunlight on the sidewalk. He walked under the blue awning stretched overhead, and when she slowed her car to get a better look, he glanced in her direction.

His dark brown eyes widened to see her, and her blood pulsed at hyper-speed. He recognized her, too. Her gaze shifted to the gold medallion encircling the diamond at his neck. She continued on past, her heart thumping so hard she thought she was experiencing an early heart attack.

After turning right at the next corner, she parked her car. Every molecule in her body swirled with confusion and upset. What in the hell was he, if not a vampire? He couldn’t appear and vanish like that, if he wasn’t a bloodsucker. And he was stronger than her, like a male hunter or vampire would be. So there was no way he was human. She could beat them any day. Plus he could see her in the dark when she couldn’t see a blasted thing.

But he couldn’t live in full sunlight if he was a vampire.

She patted the dagger sheathed at her waist, then lifted her purse off the seat. Satisfied the weapon would keep her safe, she climbed out of her car.

With a quick stride, she soon reached the open doorway of Kismet’s Antiques. She peeked into the shop, semi-dark and smelling musty and dusty of old stuff. Not her kind of place. Wrinkling her nose, she sneezed. No element of surprise if she needed one to keep her safe.

She stalked through the store until she spied a woman with long dark brown hair and eyes, standing behind a counter, her expression wary. Why? If the woman was just a clerk in the shop and had nothing to fear? Rachael glanced around, making sure Adonis wasn’t lurking in the shadows somewhere, watching her.

“May I help you?” the woman asked. Her mouth turned up so slightly that anyone would have to guess she tried to smile, but her eyes didn’t mirror the least bit of friendliness.

“I’m looking for Adonis.”

The woman’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered. “There’s no one here by that name.”

“Really. Well, I don’t know what other name he goes by then. Skulker? Stalker? Deceiver? I could think of a few other names, but they’re not as nice.” Rachael smiled without humor. Her gaze dropped to the necklace dangling at the woman’s neck. She wore the same gold medallion that Adonis had except this one surrounded an emerald. Rachael’s heart hitched and she pointed at the necklace, trying to keep her hand steady. “He wore one like that, only with a diamond. Are you related to him?”

The woman’s expression remained masked, but her eyes couldn’t hide her worry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Done with games, Rachael headed for the door at the back of the store. If Adonis wasn’t hiding somewhere behind all the furniture and shelves stacked with old stuff, he must have taken a hike through the back door.

Suddenly the woman appeared in front of her, arms crossed over her black dress that reached to her ankles covered in black boots. “The back of the store is off limits.”

A chill ran through Rachael’s system. The woman moved just like a vampire.

“I think he’ll see me.” When the woman didn’t budge, Rachael folded her arms at her waist and gave her a look of annoyance. “If he wants me to take care of Piaras, he will.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open again. Her eyes grew big as her brow wrinkled. “You’re... you’re—”

“I guess he’s told you. Rachael Bremerton.” She held out her hand to shake the woman’s.

The woman kept her arms secure around her waist, ignoring her hand, and looked back at the door instead. Then she faced Rachael. She was thin and pale and about the same age as Rachael, but her dark eyes had the intensity of a sleek wild predator ready to tangle. Her high cheekbones gave her an elegant, aristocratic appeal, but otherwise she appeared harsh and cold, and way too thin.

Annoyed that the woman attempted to keep her from learning the truth, Rachael ground her teeth. “Is he scared to see me during the day? Did I blow his cover?”

The woman’s jaw tightened as she pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number, but still blocked the door with her slight figure. “She’s here,” she whispered into the phone as she stared at Rachael. “Yes, yes. Rachael Bremerton. All right.”

She snapped the phone shut. “He says he’ll be right out to see you.”

“Fine.” Rachael turned around and walked back to the storefront windows and stared out.

The dusty old building filled with musty antiques suffocated her. If Adonis didn’t come soon, she’d have to wait for him outside. Then she spied Zachary’s car driving past the antique shop. Oh hell. If he saw her car parked at the curb around the corner... there was no beauty parlor anywhere in the vicinity. And damn it all, he was always so observant. His brake lights grew bright as he reached the corner. His car paused even though there wasn’t anything to stop for, then he turned down the street where her car was parked.

Her blood felt like ice. “Damn.”

“Rachael.” Adonis’s deep voice washed over her like sunlight on a crisp fall day.

She turned to see Adonis step inside from the back door of the shop. He didn’t make another move toward her though. In daylight, he appeared so much more real but just as handsome and sexy as at night. His dark eyes gazed into hers, like they’d done before as if attempting to lure her away from the door and into his arms.

And she would have been enticed, if it hadn’t been for worrying about Zachary. “Got to go.” Adonis’s expression shifted from predatory to surprise.

She yanked the door open and bolted down the street away from her car. Even if her cousin didn’t recognize Adonis from the brief look the hunters had of him half-hidden in the shadows on the balcony, she worried Zachary might see the perspiration already freckling her temple and know something wasn’t right if he caught her in the store. And he probably would wonder what she was doing in an antique store, of all places.

Despite it being a cool autumn day, she felt as though the temperature in Dallas had risen several degrees. She pulled off her black cashmere sweater and tied the sleeves around her waist, then ran down the next street. She had to find another shop to explore... the one that she could allow Zachary to find her in, if he decided to search for her.

Half were boarded up or were not the kind of place she visited... one a pool hall, another a pawn shop, and a bar with blackened windows, lots of vehicles sitting out front. The last choice, a Vietnamese grocery. It would have to do.

She slipped inside. The clerk attempted a smile at her, but his frail body shook as if he were afraid. He had nothing to fear from her.

“Is there anything the matter?” she asked, studying his reaction.

He observed the dagger at her waist, most likely realized she was a huntress, glanced at the back part of the store, then shook his head vigorously.

“I see,” she responded, coolly, not wanting to alert whoever was here causing trouble that she was aware of it.

She looked up at a security mirror that reflected two men wearing black ski masks, hiding behind one of the racks of canned goods. Both held guns and were arguing about something. The dagger she had couldn’t take out two robbers armed with guns.

She moved closer to the counter and whispered, “Why don’t you leave?”

“My wife tied up backroom,” he whispered back.

“Oh.” She said out loud, “I’m looking for a box of rice.”

He pointed a shaking finger at the end of the aisle. “Down there.”

She whispered, “Call the police.”

“But... “

She headed down the aisle, knowing she had to do something. Even if it didn’t turn out perfectly well. Humans might not survive if the gunmen shot them full of bullets, but she might because of her hunter’s advanced healing abilities. Besides she’d have no trouble taking out one of the men before he could shoot her. Although if she could think of an alternative, she would have tried something else. Getting shot wasn’t a really good plan.

With an accelerated heartbeat, she grabbed a box of rice, whipped around the corner, and yanked out her dagger.

A startled lanky gunman raised his weapon at her, the white’s of his widened eyes yellow, his long hair greasy. A druggy. She threw the box at his gun, ruining his aim. The weapon discharged, the bullet hitting the floor. Instantly, the shorter man lifted his gun to shoot her. She struck him in the hand with the dagger. A shot rang out. The bullet lodged low in a wall. Recovering, the other gunman aimed at her again, cursing a string of foul words.

Before she lunged at him with the bloodied blade readied, a hand grabbed her wrist. Her heart stuttered, and the blur of a tall, imposing figure yanked her out of the way, then released her.

Shocked and thrown off balance, she fell back against a shelf and landed on her butt. Hitting the shelf unsettled the boxes of rice, and they rained down on her head like an annoying avalanche. She quickly got to her feet and witnessed her savior. Welcomed relief replaced her surprise when Adonis grabbed the gun from the taller man and tossed him against the wall like he was an unwanted rag doll. The robber groaned and collapsed on the floor, out cold. The other gunman held his bloodied hand and cowered in the corner.

“Police coming,” the clerk shouted and hurried to get his wife out of the backroom.

Adonis lifted Rachael out of the debris of spilled groceries, his hands lingering on her arms as he set her down in a clear area, his dark eyes assessing her for damage.

“I wasn’t hit,” she assured him. Again she couldn’t shake the uncanny desire to feel more than his hands on her arms, the heat from his touch seeping through her silk long-sleeved blouse. Even a quick, firm embrace would have done wonders for her morale. Although something lingering and longer would have been even more welcome.

Before she could say another word to him, the storefront door banged open, the bell jingling, and she barely breathed as she and Adonis stood hidden behind the tall shelving.

“Hello?” Zachary called out.

Her heart lurched to hear Zachary’s voice. Of all the poor timing...

“You have to stay out of sight, Adonis,” Rachael urged, her hand on his arm, trying to push him deeper into the aisle where her cousin wouldn’t spy him, closer to the gunman. Someone had to watch them until the police arrived anyway.

Adonis’s jaw tightened, and he wouldn’t budge.

Damn it. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She hurried through the packages of spilled rice, noodles, and canned goods and smiled at Zachary, although she hoped her expression didn’t look purely faked, or that she didn’t look half as harried as she felt. She prayed Adonis would have the sense to remain hidden behind the grocery shelves or better yet, vanish, disappear, return to his antique shop pronto.

“Jeez, Rachael. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Trying to stop an armed robbery. But initially, I’d wanted a box of rice.” She hoped Zachary wouldn’t see through her lie. The last time she’d tried to make rice for a family gathering, it turned into a mixture of soggy lumps and hard bits of uncooked rice, a total disaster. After all the ribbing she’d gotten from her cousins, she’d sworn never to fix it again.

Zachary’s gaze shifted to Adonis, who walked around the end of the shelves, and then he remained standing next to the rice rack. Rachael stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Did he have a death wish?

“Is he one of the robbers?” Zachary asked, his voice dark as he pulled out his sword.

“No,” she quickly said, too quickly she thought belatedly, as if she was trying to protect a guilty man. “He helped me to stop them. Without his assistance, the one would have shot me.”

“Hell, Rachael, what were you thinking?” Zachary asked, switching his attention back to Adonis, appraising him too closely for her liking.

“She was thinking that the man and his wife needed help,” Adonis said, with a slight bow of his head, “although I’d have to agree that she could have planned the rescue a little better.” He lifted a brow as he looked at her.

She opened her mouth to defend her actions when the clerk aided his crying wife out of the backroom. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Rachael said, grateful that no one but the bad guys had been hurt.

“Take rice.”

She smiled and walked back to the rice rack and selected another box, but glared at Adonis. What was his problem? Didn’t he know how much danger he was in with her cousin seeing him here if he figured out he was a vampire—worse than that—the one who drew close to her on the balcony of the ballroom?

Adonis’s lips turned up slightly.

God, she could have killed him. What would her cousin think of the way Adonis acted toward her? Zachary would think Adonis was a human and attracted to her, but no way was a huntress ever to get mixed up with one of those. Not that she hadn’t made a few attempts, but without success.

She’d even thought of having the scar removed on her shoulder so that she wouldn’t be reminded of the night of her parents’ death every time she looked in the mirror, every time a person whispered to another about her, every time people stared at the sight as if she was a freak. But trips to two human plastic surgeons resulted in hurried rejections. All because they recognized the mark of a vampire as well and didn’t want to have to face off the one who had put it there.

A police siren grew closer, breaking into her preoccupation with vampires and scars.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said to Adonis, truly thankful he had saved her butt, although still annoyed with his boldness and his stating she could have planned her actions a little better.

“Anytime.”

Which she figured meant he was going to continue to harass her until she agreed to go along with his scheme to deal with Piaras. And she wondered if he was sincere, or just plain crazy. And if the Goth-looking guy was one of his own minions or someone else’s.

Two police officers entered the store, took the would-be thieves into custody, and obtained everyone’s statements.

Once she and Zachary were free to go, she turned to leave the store, but Zachary seized her arm and began scolding her. “You said you were going to a beauty shop. I should have known you were feeding me a story to get back at me for monitoring your whereabouts. I thought the last time you made such a mess of rice, you wouldn’t have tried it again. You swore you wouldn’t. And why did you park on the block so far from the store, if this was the only place you intended to go? There was plenty of parking out here.”

She tried to pull away from her over-protective cousin and cringed to think Adonis would hiss again, that the elderly couple would go into hysterics that the police might make a note that he could be a borderline rogue vampire, and Zachary would see Adonis for what he truly was.

But this time Adonis kept his cool. Thank the heavens.

“Father’s going to be furious.” Zachary continued to reprimand her while he pulled her toward the exit. “You said you were going to the beauty parlor. So that’s what I told him. Now what do I tell him? You were in some foreign grocery store buying rice and disarming gunmen? What in the hell were you stopping in this part of town in the first place? Why not at the grocery store near your apartment where you usually shop?”

They glanced back at Adonis when they exited the shop. “And what the hell was that all about?” Zachary asked, his brows knit in a tight frown.

She noted the anger on Adonis’s face, his dark brown eyes black, narrowed, his gaze fiercely warrior like. He didn’t seem to like it when her cousin accosted her, even if he was concerned for her welfare. “Nothing was going on. You can release me.”

They walked along the sidewalk, weeds filling the cracks in the cement, smears of gum turned gray and splotches of faded paint that had undoubtedly dripped from a paintbrush in the distant past speckling the gray blue.

Zachary shook his head, still holding her hostage. “I’m driving you straight home.”

She frowned at him. “I can’t leave my car here.” Not in this area. The tires would be missing by morning.

“I’ll have someone pick it up.”

She yanked her arm free from him and stood her ground. “Zachary Bremerton. I’m driving my own car home. You can follow me if you like.”

“Straight home then.”

He grabbed her wrist again as if she was going to get the urge to rescue more shop keepers, or secretly rendezvous with another Adonis type and her cousin wasn’t about to allow it. As he walked with her toward Kismet’s Antiques, Rachael had the urge to speed on by, but Zachary would notice and question her about that, too.

Instead, she tried to act cool and calm, not in the least perturbed with him hauling her off like an unruly child. But when they reached the halfway point in front of Kismet’s Antiques floor-to-ceiling display window, Adonis stood boldfaced behind an assortment of antique secretary desks, his arms crossed. All he needed was a scimitar hanging from his belt and a turban on his head to finish off the look of a prince of the Arabian Nights—a devious one—at that. His look was dark as he eyed her cousin and the grip he had on her wrist.

She yanked Zachary on past, trying to keep her cousin from observing Adonis. If he saw that the man had reappeared in the shop without having to walk there—damn, what was the matter with Adonis anyway? He paraded his actions toward her like a male proclaiming his interest in the female of his species, just like he’d done on the balcony of the ballroom. He was bound and determined to get himself killed.

Yet being a huntress, who should have been concerned about her own safety, this would have been a good thing. So why was the thought giving her major heartburn?

***

Not long after they left the downtown area, Rachael and Zachary arrived at her apartment and parked side by side. She was certain Zachary had millions of questions to ask her, so she was glad she’d insisted they drive their respective cars home. She tried not to steal too many glances around the parking area also, looking for the Goth guy. Although she didn’t see any sign of him.

Zachary seemed preoccupied with something else though once they entered her apartment, and that didn’t ease her worry any that he would delve more into her chance meeting with Adonis at the grocery store.

“I’ll check out your place,” Zachary said, already heading for the hallway.

“There’s no need,” Rachael insisted, but as soon as the words left her lips, Zachary looked over his shoulder at her.

She was afraid he’d recognized her fear, that he might find something he shouldn’t, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut, or agreed with him sweetly.

This time he didn’t say anything and proceeded toward her bedroom and bathroom to investigate.

“All clear,” he said, stalking back down the hall. “You don’t always have to be so fiercely independent, Rachael. Guys like to be a knight for a woman. We all know how much the past has affected you, but you don’t have to prove anything to any of us.”

She hadn’t expected his kind words, so accustomed to the ribbing from all her cousins and their ordering her about. She didn’t know what to say, but she again felt less of a huntress and more like she wasn’t worthy of his compassion.

Yet, she gave a tentative sigh of relief, glad he hadn’t walked in on Adonis in her bedroom or found him hiding somewhere else. Well, not really hiding. That didn’t seem like the vampire’s nature. More like Zachary might have discovered Adonis reclining in her bed, his arms propped up behind his head, his lips curved up in arrogance, his expression saying, I’m here to stay, so you and the rest of the family will have to deal with it.

Yet she couldn’t quit wondering what he really was. If not a vampire, then what?

Zachary yanked his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ve got plans for lunch, or I’d hang around. After what just happened at the grocery store, you’re not to go anywhere. I’ll be back here in a couple of hours.”

So that’s what was preoccupying him. She spared him a cross look. “Uncle Tobias said nothing about my having to have a constant chaperone. Just during the night.”

“As soon as I tell him what happened at that grocery store downtown, he’ll want some more changes. It’s for your own protection, Rachael.”

Knowing he truly only meant the best for her—although in reality he was trying to keep his own butt out of trouble because if she ended up getting hurt, he’d be in a bigger mess—she let out her breath and focused instead on what he was up to. “Got a date, Zachary?”

His cheeks turned slightly red. Yeah, he was seeing someone. And by his reaction, Uncle Tobias wouldn’t approve.

“You’re not to go anywhere. If you do, my father will move you back to his place with a snap of his fingers until you’re married, then your husband will be responsible for you.”

She sat on the couch and patted the soft blue velvet. “I’ll be right here when you get back.” She hadn’t planned any more excursions out today, and she didn’t need to go anywhere to set up her Huntress for Hire website anyway. She was also glad he hadn’t said anything about Adonis at the grocery store.

Smiling, Zachary reached out his hand. “I’ll be assured of that when you give me your car key.”

Irritated all over again at his need to control, she yanked the car key out of her pocket and shoved it at him. “Here. You just better hope I don’t tell Uncle Tobias you’re seeing a human woman behind his back. With Michael, it’s one thing. He’s already on his own.”

Zachary’s neck muscles tightened. She’d guessed right.

“I’ll be back.” He slammed the door behind him.

She knew he couldn’t help it. There weren’t enough huntresses to go around. The guys had to find some kind of female companionship. Still, hunters mixing with humans was frowned upon. If they grew attached to a human a vampire later targeted, a hunter was more at risk. He’d try to save the one he loved and would take dangerous chances, sometimes getting killed in the process. At least with a huntress companion, they could help fight and defend their mate.

She dragged herself off the couch, went to the door, and locked it. First, she’d have a cup of hot peppermint tea, next, post an ad on the Internet offering her huntress services, set up a website like she’d done for one of her cousin’s wives for her cake decorating business, and then she’d take a well-deserved nap. She’d considered calling her cousin’s wife, Mary, also, to see if she’d heard any rumors about the family meeting and what she wasn’t supposed to hear. But she couldn’t talk about what she truly wanted to discuss... Adonis.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen and her heartbeat surged, her lips parting in surprise. His expression hinting at smug satisfaction, Adonis crossed his arms as he leaned his back against the white-tiled island counter. He wasn’t in her bed like she had envisioned in her fantasies, but close enough.

“I didn’t think that cousin of yours would ever leave. Now we have two hours alone together. And more time for me to desensitize you to my touch.” Adonis’s brows and lips lifted with a devilish twist. He took a step forward.

Her heart pounding hard, she strode toward him. She was ready to strike at him with a razor sharp tongue and everything else she could use to convince him to stay the hell away from her.

Or die.

Chapter 5

Rachael shoved her finger into Adonis’s chest while he moved toward her in the kitchen, not in the least bit affected by her angry demeanor. Her voice raised an octave when she unleashed her words. “Who the hell do you think you are, just barging into my home like this anytime you want? And why are you advertising you’re a…a, well, vampire, if you truly are one, by popping in and out of buildings at will?”

Yet the fact remained, he had stood in the sunlight and the rays hadn’t affected him.

“Do you want my cousin to end your life? Even if you were normal, which you aren’t, you can’t be seeing me on the sly. My uncle wouldn’t permit it.”

He remained cemented to the floor like an unyielding statue. Except his lips lifted into a mystifying smile and his dark eyes sparkled with mirth. Then his expression grew serious. More than serious. Lustful. “I’m the one who’ll get you close enough to kill Piaras, remember?” He reached out to touch her arms.

She slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare touch me again.”

“All right.” He folded his arms across his chest again and remained where he stood.

That was it? She commanded and he’d obey? But she didn’t believe it for a minute. He wanted to touch her, to prove to her how much she needed him like he needed her. And badly. Yet how could a vampire need a huntress?

Trying to calm her racing heart, she took a deep breath. “What are you?”

“You already know the answer to your question.”

“A vampire. But they don’t live in broad daylight. They can move around on overcast days and when the sun’s not full strength as when it’s just rising or setting, but when the sun is high in the sky on cloudless days?” She shook her head.

“Can we sit in the living room and get more... comfortable?”

She hesitated. Getting comfortable with him was bound to get out of hand. Just like she wanted it to. “All right.” Her voice remained dark, untrusting, despite her desire to find out all she could about him.

She crossed the living room and sank into the soft cushions of her velour couch.

After following her into the room, Adonis ran his hands across the back of a velvet-covered chair seated opposite her, his gaze never leaving hers. Just the way he caressed the soft fabric stirred disloyal longings in her.

Then he smiled and joined her on the sofa. His leg touched hers, and she scooted away from him to give them some breathing room. There was no way she could listen to him, or question him effectively if he was touching her.

“We have to talk, Adonis.” Her voice remained businesslike.

“Ask away.”

“Vampires don’t live in daylight.”

He took a ragged breath, his face wearying all at once, his gaze locked on hers, softening her hard stance. “No, most don’t.”

Most don’t? None did! “I’ve never heard of one who can be outside on a day when there’s not at least some cloud coverage.” Then a new worry came to her. It was bad enough hunters had to deal with nighttime feeders, but...

“That’s because I’m a hunter... or was.”

A hunter? She stared at him in disbelief. Hunters were never turned. They’d be too dangerous, too uncontrollable. He had to be lying. Yet the fact he had been out in the sunlight…

“You can’t be,” she said under her breath, her hands growing clammy. Although she couldn’t help looking at him differently now. What if he truly had been an honorable hunter, fighting the good fight and lost the battle with a pack of vampires? Had to have been a number of them ganging up on him if he was telling the truth. Or was he feeding her this hunter tale to get on her good side, to sway her to do anything he wished?

Not saying a word, he waited, allowing her time to assimilate his words. She shook her head. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You don’t, except that I can exist in the sunlight when others can’t. I do have hunter swords and daggers passed down through my family for generations.”

“That could have been stolen.” Although it didn’t explain the part about the sunlight.

He bowed his head slightly, acknowledging her sentiment. “Maybe then my being a hunter is the reason why I intrigue you when a huntress would most likely not be interested in a vampire, particularly a huntress with your history.”

Her history, yes. How could she be intrigued with a vampire after one murdered her parents?

She had a hard time believing he could be a hunter turned, not as arrogant and sure of himself as he was though. Wouldn’t he have been more upset by the prospect? If he’d been a weakling, then overcome in a raid…but that wasn’t Adonis.

Still, some part of the way he had acted so confident around hunter types was more typical of a hunter, not a vampire. As if he belonged among them, was just as much or even more eligible to be one of her suitors, and longed to be part of a hunter family again. Her thoughts shifted to dangerous ground, to wanting to believe him, to wishing she could help him somehow.

“My God, Adonis.” What if it was true? With all her heart, she wanted to believe him. If he truly had been a hunter, he wasn’t the same person she’d known before. He was, but he wasn’t. She was sure he could never have charmed her if he’d only been a human turned vampire. But as a hunter, that made sense. No wonder she was so attracted to him.

Nevertheless, she felt no relief in the notion she wasn’t a disgrace to her own kind for desiring his touch. He was still a vampire. Hell, for the first time, she truly had the hots for a hunter, and she couldn’t have him. Being a hunter turned made him even more dangerous to her in her way of thinking. She couldn’t resist the hunter in him, if he was telling the truth. Yet she had to tell herself she couldn’t have just the hunter part of the equation. It was all or none. And unfortunately that meant none.

When she didn’t say anything more, he leaned against the couch and continued, “I assumed I’d die some day in my hunting career, killing vampire renegades and not keeping up my guard, but I never expected to live like this.” His voice was filled with soft regret, the arrogance gone. He kept watching her, studying her reactions, hopeful maybe that she could still accept him.

But she couldn’t. Not while he was a vampire. And there was no cure.

Her thoughts shifted to the woman in his shop and the necklace she wore. “What about the woman at the antique store?”

“Danai, my sister, yeah, she’s one, too. But we don’t go after human victims. Nor are either of us interested in human hosts or having blood bonds. We’re not anything like the renegade vampires or even those who live within the laws of the city. When we have the need, we buy blood from the blood bank.”

Her heart sank with the notion. She’d secretly hoped he hadn’t needed blood, being a hunter turned daylight vampire. What else was different about Adonis and his sister from the normal ones? “Did Piaras turn you both?”

“Yes. He threatened to kill my sister if I didn’t agree to being changed. He’d already weakened her to the point she was near death. I was in bad shape. She begged me in her declining state to let her die, but I couldn’t.” Adonis’s jaw tightened. “That’s why I can’t kill him. But thankfully because of my hunter abilities, he can’t read my thoughts. So he can’t know my plans. And he can’t... “ He hesitated to speak, his gaze shifting to the floor, then back to her. “... normally can’t control my mind either. Except as far as not allowing me to kill him. The hunter genes help me to resist him in other ways.”

Pain filled his eyes, and she fought tearing up. The memory of losing her parents would never fade. How would she have felt though, if her parents had been given the choice—life as a vampire or death?

To save her mother, she figured her father would have done anything.

To save her parents, she would have.

Hearing Adonis’s confession tore at her heart. She imagined he had never told anyone the story who wouldn’t have already known it, certainly not any of their hunter kind. Being a hunter, then turned by a vampire against his will, had to be the worst thing that could happen to any hunter. Now he had to live among the creatures that he’d made it a calling to kill. Not only that, but he wanted her, like a hunter wanted a huntress, but he could never have her.

He vanquished the silence between them. “I can’t kill him,” he reiterated. “I’ve tried six times. Even had a hunter’s dagger at his throat once while he slept. But it’s got something to do with his turning me. I just can’t kill him, no matter that I desire to with every ounce of my being. Until he’s dead, he’s still in charge of my sister and me.” Adonis’s vampire cool exterior had dissolved, his superior hunter pride set aside. Now he was only a man caught in a nightmare.

She touched his hand, then grasped and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry.” Which, although she meant the sentiment with all her heart, couldn’t aid his cause. She was certain he didn’t want her sympathy. Only her help. But could they successfully go against Piaras? “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

His fingers locked onto hers with determination as though he’d lose her forever if he let go. “Would you have believed me? Not until you saw me in the sunlight could you have accepted I was different from a normal vampire.”

Her mind swirled with the concept while she tried to think of questions that needed answered. No, she wouldn’t have believed him. Even now it was difficult to fathom. “Why me? Of all the hunters you could have asked to kill Piaras, why have you chosen me?”

He hesitated to speak and in that fleeting moment, she knew he wasn’t to be entirely trusted.

Adonis shook his head. “Piaras has my family. My mother, father, and younger sister.”

Jerking her hand out of his grasp, Rachael stared at him, the sickening notion she was the trade for Adonis’s family sinking in. Seduce the huntress first. Get her to agree to facing Piaras, with the notion—as far-fetched as it was—that she’d terminate the bastard, when all along he and Adonis had a deal. Turn her over and in return Piaras would release Adonis’s loved ones.

Not that she didn’t have any sympathy for Adonis and his family, realizing he was living his own nightmare, but the dishonest way in which he tried to get her to agree...

Damn Piaras and Adonis both.

“Rachael,” Adonis said in a formal tone like a hunter would take when making his business known, and the other person had no choice, “I couldn’t very well have told you the truth before. You would have thought that you were a pawn in this whole charade.”

She glowered at him. “Which it seems I am. Thank you for finally being honest with me.”

“Listen,” he said, his voice strained, but not resigned, “I don’t have any choice. He means to take you one way or another, although we have no idea why exactly, but no amount of protection will keep you safe. Either I bring you to him myself, or he kills me and sends someone else to do the job. But as far as he’s concerned, you’re his. And one way or another, he will have you.”

“He wouldn’t kill you—”

Adonis raised his hand. “He would have to kill me before I’d let another vampire come for you, Rachael. Another one of his blood bonds would not hesitate to turn you over to him. Even now I’ve gone against his orders by failing to take you to him last night when you were at the ball. Twice, I could have escorted you to join him without giving the matter a second thought, but I couldn’t. Not without us coming to terms first.”

The longing returned to his eyes, and she wondered if the hunter part of him fought the vampire’s control in this issue also.

“Only a hunter or a huntress would have the training to kill the bastard. But a hunter would never be able to penetrate his defenses. The alternative is that it has to be a huntress. Since Piaras is dead set on having you, I figured the plan could succeed. But we have to work together every step of the way.”

She quirked a brow and looked steadily into his smoky gaze. “You lied about having to desensitize me to a vampire’s touch.”

His face turned to granite again, and he shook his head slightly.

Was it the vampire in him that craved her so? Or the hunter? Or was it all just business?

“If you become flustered when he attempts to take you, your huntress training could be for naught. I believe I can help you to overcome the way your heart flutters every time a vampire draws near, to help you to overcome your fear of them…us.”

Of Piaras, she wasn’t certain. Of others? If she had to confront them in battle, if she was giving the chance to take them down…

But maybe Adonis was right. She’d never thought she could be sitting on a couch with one, talking as if they were old friends. Then again, was that the hunter in him that made her feel so secure?

“I could very well not have wanted any part of it. Even after having learned that Piaras killed my parents. The sons avenge the parents’ deaths. Not the daughters. Even though I was an only child. One of my male cousins would take on the job, or my uncle, since he raised me. If I’d been any of the other huntresses, I’d never had stayed on the balcony with you. Despite that you…” She almost said despite that he claimed he had been a hunter, but she chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for now.

“Despite that you had been a hunter. And certainly once you had access to my place, if I’d been one of the other huntresses, I would have moved in with my uncle. Did you really think I’d go along with you on this once I knew the real truth?”

If that was even the real truth. What if there was something more he wasn’t telling her? What if Piaras really didn’t have his family? What if he only agreed to release Adonis and his sister, and Rachael was the bargaining chip?

Adonis’s eyes darkened and she couldn’t tell if he was angry with her or what. “You must. Neither of us have a choice, but together we have a chance to defeat him. Will you go with me to kill him?”

Now the real problem as she saw it. Yes, she feared vampires in general, feared Piaras in particular more than any of them, now that she knew he was the one she had the nightmares about, his long black hair loose about his shoulders, a madness in his black eyes as he bared his extended canines and dug them into her shoulder, scarring her for life. But the real problem wasn’t her fear, although once she had to face the devil himself, she was sure it would come back to haunt her. “I don’t have any experience terminating human vampires.”

Adonis’s jaw dropped slightly as he looked into her eyes with incredulity. “I thought you were trained.”

At the sound of astonishment in his voice, she folded her arms across her waist, frustrated. “Certainly, I’ve been to hunter schools just like the rest of our kind, trained to use a sword and dagger, throwing stars even, and I have a pair of wrist daggers. Technically, I know how to kill a human vampire, although I’ve never actually had the opportunity. My uncle has only seen fit to give me contracts to kill dangerous vampire dogs. The jobs barely pay enough to permit me to live alone, but still I want to go after the bigger prey.” She wasn’t about to tell him her deepest insecurities. Would he think her incapable of going after Piaras then? Most likely. “The pay is better and killing human vampires gives the hunter higher status.”

He lifted her chin, his gaze intense. Was he trying to decide if she was being sincere? “Together we’ll kill him. He’s the biggest prey of them all in this city. You’ll earn the highest hunter status there is.”

But would she? Or if she managed a feat such as that, would her hunter family believe it was a fluke? That in a million years she couldn’t manage the task again? That’s saying she could even take him down. But if Adonis had a way into the bloodsucker’s lair, and Piaras himself had ordered Adonis to bring her to him, maybe she’d have a chance.

Adonis’s gaze focused on her lips, and she parted them to speak. But only to stop what she suspected he intended to do next. He gave her a knowing smile, not to be deterred from his mission—whether the notion of desensitizing her was necessary or not—then pressed his mouth against hers. Wine-sweetened lips caressed hers with a tentative touch, not boldly like she’d anticipated, soliciting her participation, asking for forgiveness, or just a gentler form of seduction. She fought leaning into the kiss, of grabbing hold of him and forcing him to show her what he was truly feeling, instead of teasing her to death.

But the kiss didn’t stop there as his hands slid up her arms to take hold of her, his thumbs stroking the silky sleeves of her blouse, his mouth promising to stir her blood like no man had ever done. Just a kiss, what harm could there be in that?

She reached up and untied the leather strap confining his hair and that simple action propelled him forth.

His mouth caressed hers with tenderness, yet she sensed him still holding back, almost as if he was afraid to go too far with her, to scare her off. But she wanted the passion she was sure he could bestow on her if she but encouraged him. Just a wild and passionate kiss.

So she did what she knew she shouldn’t and leaned into the kiss, offered her heart and soul, her blood racing through her veins, her lips pressuring for more. He groaned and tightened his hands on her arms, compelling her—although it didn’t take much persuasion—to part her lips for him, to open herself to him, their tongues tangling, probing, their breath shortened, hot, labored.

She stroked the silky dark brown strands of his unbound hair, when his tantalizing mouth moved down her neck in a honeyed caress. No man had ever kissed her so sensually as he did. Was it the vampire influence that made him so sexual? Or the hunter? Or the combination that made him so irresistibly appealing? Whatever it was, she was ready to strip off her clothes and take him to bed.

His hands shifted to her breasts still shielded by her blouse.

“You shouldn’t have touched me like you did this morning while I slept,” she whispered, not wanting to break the spell, but feeling it necessary to set up some rules. She touched his broad shoulders, enjoying the hard muscle that worked under her fingertips as his hands molded to her breasts, lifting, stroking, massaging in a loving way.

“I thought you had consented,” he responded, his voice deep and husky, his mouth brushing her temple with another silken kiss.

She raised a brow.

“You did. Any thread of encouragement... “ He took a ragged breath. “The way you looked in bed, your murmured words of consent…you seemed…willing.” His thumbs rubbed against her nipples, the sensitive nubs stretching out to him, begging for more.

She had been all too willing, in her dreams.

The tips of her breasts tightened into hard nubs and electricity coursed through her body. She was certain her short curls were drenched in anticipation as wet as her panties felt. Her fingers swept to the buttons on his shirt, and she quickly unfastened them, baring his smooth as satin chest. She hadn’t intended anything more than touching his skin, enjoying the feel of his muscles, the hard leanness of Adonis reborn.

He stilled his hands on her breasts as her fingers began exploring the planes of his muscles. And then he began working on her buttons so quickly—the vampiric speed something she would have loved to have—and pushed away the fabric to reveal her lace-covered breasts.

Admiration filled his expression briefly, before his look changed to one of a man with an objective, his fingers slipping around to her back, fumbling with her bra fastener, and then the catch was undone and her breasts were freed from the confinement.

He said something under his breath, she thought words of awe although a curse word or two was thrown into the mix. Frustration and raging need? She wasn’t sure, but she let him have his fill as she ran her fingers through his hair. And then his mouth fastened on a breast, his hand cupping the other, his thumb stroking her into bliss.

Leaning back against the couch cushions, she wanted him to take her, to show her what it felt like to be a hunter’s conquest. Yet she knew deep down, she couldn’t have him now or ever. Her hunter family would kill him if they learned he was a vampire. Why couldn’t he still be a hunter?

Her breathing quickened. His warm, capable hands and hot mouth felt good on her breasts, but this was so wrong.

He was a vampire, she screamed at herself. Why didn’t she discourage him? Did she believe the secret would never get out? Because no man had ever been brave enough to seduce her like Adonis was doing? Was it that he couldn’t truly have her, not as a legally and socially accepted mate, and she felt safe to experiment a little?

She moaned, closed her eyes, and gripped his shoulders, never wanting to let go, never wanting to ruin the fantasy.

He ran his tongue over her nipple, sending her into a state of rapture. A rush of heat spread through her body, bending her to his will. She arched her back in response. But when his fingers touched the zipper of her jeans, a chill doused the flame. The sensible part of her mind quickly took charge, and she opened her eyes, then grabbed his hand.

“We can’t, Adonis.” She shouldn’t have encouraged him. She shouldn’t have wanted this, not from him.

Before he could say a word, his eyes clouded with potent need, a knock at the door nearly unhinged her. She jumped off the couch, secured her bra and began hurriedly fastening her buttons. God, what had she nearly done?

“Go, Adonis! Vanish!” she whispered harshly, her cheeks on fire, a fearful heat quickly spreading through her body.

Adonis looked at her as if she was the sun and moon and the earth, his to cherish, and he’d never give her up. Then the banging on the door renewed, which seemed to clear the lust-filled fog in his brain, and he glanced at the door and swore under his breath.

“Please go, Adonis,” she pleaded this time when her commands did little to persuade him.

He bowed his head slightly and vanished. But she felt too flustered to deal with whoever it was pounding on her door.

Knowing her visitor wouldn’t go away until she dealt with him, she crossed the floor to the front door and peeked out through the security peephole, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.

“Gregory?” she squeaked when she saw him standing in front of the door, his brow furrowed in a hard frown, her heart nearly giving out again. She looked behind her to ensure Adonis was still gone, and he was. She breathed a tentative sigh of relief.

She straightened her shirt again and opened the door. “What are you doing here?” She hadn’t meant for her words to sound so surprised, edged with irritation.

His blue eyes studied her with interest, but she couldn’t share the feeling he seemed to have for her. “I spoke to Zachary. He said you were alone so I thought I’d drop by and check on you.”

“I’m fine, really.” Again, her voice was curt. Go away, she wanted to scream at him. Before Adonis returned and caused a scene.

“Maybe we could have lunch together.”

Typical hunter didn’t know when to give up. She didn’t want to have lunch with him, or dinner, or breakfast, or anything. He glanced toward the kitchen, and his eyes about popped out of his head. She swung around.

Adonis walked out of the kitchen, holding a jug of milk and tall blue glass. His hair hung loosely about his shoulders still as if she’d just raked her fingers through it. Which she had. She glanced at the couch. Sure enough, the leather tie to his hair sat as prominent on the couch as an oak tree standing in the middle of a cornfield. Guilt tugged at her heart.

Rachael’s legs wobbled, and she grabbed the doorknob. Her mind struggled to come up with an explanation of why some stranger was in her apartment, and chill bumps dotted her skin.

Adonis smiled at her, but his calculating expression didn’t impress her one iota. “Rachael’s trying to be polite, but there’s only enough lunch for the two of us,” he said, his tone cordially dismissive.

Gregory’s face had switched from concern for her to anger as he scowled at seeing another man in her apartment. Her uncle would kill her. Well, he’d kill Adonis first, if she didn’t strangle him first. Then Uncle Tobias would kill her. How could Adonis do this to her? To himself even?

“Who’s he?” Gregory snapped, waving his hand at Adonis, then turned back to glower at Rachael.

As awkward as the situation was, introductions were in order. “Gregory, this is Adonis, uhm—”

“Adonis Cameron,” he supplied. “I met Rachael a short while ago, and we really hit it off. We’d ask you to stay but you know how the saying goes... three’s a crowd.”

Gregory shifted his attention from Adonis to Rachael. “Who is he? Does your uncle know about him? Mr. Bremerton said that I was the one he preferred for you to wed among those of us who are eligible to seek your hand. And I’ve never seen this man before in my life... not in any male hunter circles around here.” Gregory folded his arms.

“The huntress ultimately chooses her own mate.” Adonis poured a glass of milk. “Tell him, Rachael, that it’s all right for you to see me. I’m a hunter from back east.” He crossed the floor, handed Rachael the glass of milk, and winked at her.

She stared at him, her mouth wide open. He truly had a death wish... his actions confirmed it.

“We have the same problem with shortages of huntresses in our area also. Besides, it’s good to mix our blood with new families, don’t you agree, Gregory?” Adonis cast that same kind of overconfident smile that made her heart somersault every time.

“Rachael... “ Gregory’s cheeks grew flushed. “I’ll have a word with your uncle.” On his way out, he slammed the door. The impact tilted her oil paintings of Texas bluebonnets sideways on the wall.

Her heart in her throat, she whipped around and faced Adonis. “Now you’ve gone and done it. Why do you flaunt yourself with me so in front of the hunters? You’re going to have all of them down on your neck. My family, suitors, all of them! And now, my uncle’s bound to force me to move back in with him until I marry.”

She shoved the glass of milk back at Adonis, her head pounding with frustration and worry. She didn’t know what upset her the most, the fact she’d never be able to see Adonis again, that they might be able to eliminate him, or that she was about to be confined to her uncle’s house until forced to marry some hunter she wasn’t interested in—not like she wanted Adonis.

He took the glass and grinned. “Come on. Let’s check out your bed.”

“We’ll do no such thing. No telling who all’s going to be arriving here, pronto. And frankly, you should do yourself a big favor and vanish. Permanently.” Although how she was going to deal with Piaras on her own was another matter.

“Admit it, Rachael. You’ve chosen me to be your mate.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you were a hunter... “ She gulped back the tears and shoved past him into the kitchen, then stopped with her back to him. If he were a hunter, he might have been the one for her. And she might have even considered giving up hunting to have his babies, too.

He followed her and set the glass on the counter. When he touched her shoulder, she shrugged his hand off. “I can’t help the way I feel about you, Rachael. And I know you feel the same for me.”

She whirled around and faced him. “I can’t feel anything for you! I can’t!” She wiped a couple of tears away that dared to dribble down her cheeks. He’d drawn her to him with his animal magnetism from the moment she’d sensed him nearby in the shadows of the ballroom. And now she was torn up inside over feeling anything for him and having to reject him. None of the other hunters had ever possessed a fraction of the fascination he held for her. If he’d still only been a hunter.

His soulful eyes pleaded with her. “If I was still a hunter, you’d be mine. You’d declare we were a match.”

He leaned over to kiss her, to will her to be honest with him, but she took a couple of steps back out of reach.

She shook her head at him. “They’ll come for you and kill you if they ever figure out what you truly are. What if any of the men recognize you from the balcony at the ballroom?”

“I was hidden from their view. Only you saw me half-hidden in the shadows. Nobody will ever learn what I am. Nobody’s ever heard of a vampire who can exist in sunlight. They’d never suspect I was one.”

“If Zachary sees you again after the incident with the armed robbers at the grocery store, he’ll know you’re after me.”

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Adonis smiled. Yeah, Zachary already knew Adonis wanted Rachael. From the way her cousin rescued her from the grocery store, tearing her away from Adonis—a potential male suitor—indicated Zachary recognized what was happening even if Rachael was in denial about it. And Adonis had had to fight the urge not to stop Zachary from stealing Rachael away from him, too. He was sure Zachary had been ready for a fight, if Adonis had made an issue of it. “I am after you, Rachael.”

Then she capitulated. He hadn’t expected it, after all her brave words of not wanting him around and after worrying that her uncle would sequester her away. But Adonis couldn’t hide that part of him that longed to be his own man again. His hunter side that was willing to do anything to secure the huntress for his very own, to take down Piaras, to set his sister and the rest of his family free. He wouldn’t hide under the guise of being a vampire. His hunter blood shouted to be recognized.

“All right, to do a job.” Her brows knit into a frown. “Strictly a business arrangement, nothing more. We kill Piaras however you think we can so I can help free you and your sister and your family from his clutches. Then that’s the end of it between us.”

It would never be the end of it between them, unless one or the other was to die. Adonis wasn’t about to let her think she was free to pursue any of the lame hunters who wanted her. He walked forward and seized her shoulders. “I am after you,” he repeated forcefully. “I want you for my own, Rachael.”

He couldn’t help the desire raging in his loins that directed his brain to take his actions further than was safe. But worse, he couldn’t settle the need to have her, every bit of her for his very own, to share the rest of his semi-immortal life with her.

Once he’d seen her and touched her, associated a living, breathing, warm-blooded huntress with the name of Rachael, his needs ran even deeper. A longing to be complete... with her at his side, forever. But he didn’t feel she was ready to learn the whole truth—that no matter how much he wanted this to work, the chances were minimal that either he or she would survive.

But as much as Piaras wanted her, they had no choice. He would take her one way or another. At least this way with Adonis’s help, she had a chance. And time was running out.

Adonis ran his hands over Rachael’s shoulders, wanting to bare them so he could touch her fragrant, silky skin with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue. She melted to his touch, and he knew she felt the same for him. She tilted her lips up, begging him to do the honors. He pressed his mouth against hers, but paused when a sob escaped her lips.

Tears streaked her ivory cheeks, and he pulled her into his embrace, hugging the breath from her. He kissed her tears away and appealed to her. “I want you, Rachael, as a hunter wants a huntress.”

She choked on the words as she spoke, her fingers locked around his back in a bear hug, “But you’re no longer a hunter. And I can’t be yours, not as a huntress.”

The sound of car doors slamming in the parking lot made her jump.

Rachael broke free from his grasp and bolted to the kitchen window. “Oh, my God, Adonis, you’ve got to leave, now! They’re here!”

He joined her at the window and clamped his teeth tight, willing his canines not to extend. He wasn’t worried about the men and how they’d confront him, only with what they would do with Rachael, yet he couldn’t conceal what he had been any longer. They had to know he was a hunter, and he claimed Rachael for his own. The other half of his existence be damned. “Who are they?”

“My Uncle Tobias is the gray-haired man in the center. You know my cousin, Zachary... my suitor, Gregory, and the blond trailing behind, my cousin, Michael... a rogue hunter. If my uncle has called in Michael, he’s made some kind of truce with him, and that means they’ll want you to have nothing to do with me. They’ll make sure you understand that. Nothing else but family business—serious family business—would get those two back together. You have to leave, Adonis. I beg of you.”

Every one of the men carried hunter’s swords as they conferred for a moment in the parking lot. They looked up at her darkened apartment window.

Adonis raised his brows, not surprised to see the number of hunters who’d arrived to protect Rachael’s virtue. “They’re armed.”

She bit her lip. “You know how it is with hunters. Just a show of force. They can’t know you’re... different yet. But you have to leave just the same. The only way a hunter can see me socially is if my uncle knows and approves of him. You’ve broken protocol and no matter what, you won’t be welcome.”

“But Gregory is.”

“My uncle has known him and his family for years. They reside in Waco and I’d never met him until the ball, but that’s only because my uncle didn’t want the hunters pursuing me before then.”

“He can’t have you.”

“You can’t have me.” She shoved at his chest. “Get out of here now, Adonis, before you make this any harder for the both of us.”

His thoughts cloaked in darkness, he wanted in the worst way to confront the hunters, state his business, and square it with her guardian that he would not be deterred from seeing Rachael. But for now, he would heed her request. To rekindle the flame, if only for a moment, he leaned over to kiss her.

Grabbing his shoulders, she held him back. “I don’t want you to die. It’ll be bad enough my having to explain who you were, and what you were doing with me alone, without my uncle’s permission. Please, Adonis, go before it’s too late.”

The sound of the four men pounding up the wrought iron steps to her apartment made Rachael shove at him again. “Go, Adonis.”

A metal key inserted into the lock and twisted as he watched. He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, his fists tightening. He didn’t want to leave Rachael alone to explain who he was or why he had breached protocol. Yet if he stayed, would he be able to help her, or make matters worse for her?

Certainly, if her uncle treated her roughly in any way, Adonis knew he couldn’t contain his need to protect her, and that meant his vampiric side would undoubtedly come into play. Like a primal animal, he desired to declare his territorial rights. And now his burning need to protect her and make her his mate affected his better judgment.

The lock clicked open. Then the knob twisted and one of the men shoved the door aside. It slammed into the wall with a thud.

A spark of anger surged through Adonis, and he hissed as his damnable canines extended.

Chapter 6

Rachael nearly had a stroke when Adonis hissed. But within a hair’s breadth of Uncle Tobias storming into Rachael’s apartment followed by his eldest son, Michael, his youngest, Zachary, and finally her suitor, Gregory, Adonis vanished.

Rachael had expected her family to barge in, but seeing Gregory and the near confrontation between all of them and one pissed off hunter-vampire made her blood pressure rise. But as to Gregory, this was family business. And he wasn’t family—not yet—thank God. Although her heartbeat hadn’t returned to normal after the near battle between her family and Adonis, she was thankful he had finally heeded her wishes and left, as much as she knew his hunter, and probably vampire blood, commanded him to stay and face her family.

“Where is he?” her uncle demanded as Michael and Zachary rushed through the apartment searching for Adonis.

She hoped the hell Adonis wasn’t reclining in her bed to make a statement.

Her uncle glared at her as if she were the next in his sights for the firing squad. “Last chance, Rachael.”

“He... he—”

“He’s not here,” Michael shouted, when he and Zachary finished their search and headed back to the living room.

Her uncle motioned toward her bedroom. “Pack your bags, Rachael. You’re coming home with me now.”

Gregory’s lips were a thin line as he glowered at her. Having to deal with her family’s treatment of her, knowing they only acted in her best interest was one thing, but Gregory had no business thinking she belonged to him already.

Her uncle just couldn’t marry her off to him. Her stomach twisted in knots with the idea. She turned and strode to her bedroom.

“At least one member of the family must remain with her at all times from now on,” Uncle Tobias warned.

“Yes, Father,” both Michael and Zachary said in unison.

“But what about my seeing her, socially, I mean?” Gregory asked.

She threw several articles of clothing into one of her bags and hmpfd while she listened to the men’s conversation in the living room. What did Gregory think he’d do alone with her? She’d never allow him to get close to her like Adonis did.

“Of course when you’re with her, that’ll be acceptable. No need for supervision.”

She groaned to hear her uncle’s words. On the other hand, she was relieved Adonis had made a quick escape and wasn’t foolhardy enough to confront her family.

She pulled her closet door open and nearly screamed.

Half hidden in the shadows of the deep walk-in closet, Adonis gave her a dark smile. “Didn’t have time for my goodbye kiss,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

He moved out of the shadows before she could object, took hold of her shoulders with a firm hand, and kissed her lips, compelling her to comply, to part her lips for him, to acquiesce, sending liquid fire pouring through her veins. But when she resisted, knowing her family would kill him if they found him like this, he pressured her further. “I want you like I’ve wanted no other,” he conceded, his words hushed against her cheek, a kiss punctuating his need.

She finally pulled free. “You’ve got to leave,” she whispered, her heart pounding wildly. The worry of being caught in such a passionate embrace, her whole body flushed with heat.

“I’ll come for you later,” he promised.

She swallowed hard, hating herself for falling for a hunter turned. “They’ll never let me out of their sights, Adonis.” And it was all Adonis’s fault. Yet deep down she understood his hunter need to possess, to crave his old life back in some fashion, to feel wanted and desired, but not as a pawn in somebody’s bigger plan.

He nuzzled her cheek again, stirring her compulsion to hug him tightly and kiss him back.

As much as she didn’t want to give up on Adonis, she knew now, somehow she’d have to get to Piaras, but it wouldn’t be with Adonis’s help. Not now that her uncle would lock her away. The idea sickened her as she would have given anything to be with Adonis when the time came... but the odds were strictly against it.

Adonis tilted her chin up and gazed into her eyes, the longing in his expression still overwhelming any other look, but a hint of business showed in them, too, that no matter how much he craved having her, he could still behave as a hunter would—planning his next move with every intent of winning. “Have Gregory bring you to the antique store tomorrow.”

“But—”

He pressed his mouth against hers, silencing her argument, then he vanished. And at once she felt adrift in a sea of turmoil with no life preserver to keep her afloat.

“Aren’t you packed by now?” Michael said, annoyed.

She whipped around, nearly dying at the sound of his voice in her room.

His scowl switched to concern. “What’s wrong, Rachael?”

As concerned as she was that Michael might have seen Adonis, she felt the blood instantly drain from her face.

“Nothing.” She yanked jeans and blouses off hangers in an attempt to hurry and hide her unsettled reaction. But when she tried to leave the closet, Michael blocked her path, grabbed her shoulder to stop her, and pushed her hair away from her neck.

God, he was looking for bite marks... or something else? Bruising, passionate kisses from Adonis?

“Do you want me to finish packing or what?” she snapped.

Michael moved out of her path. “I told Dad about your coming to see me and about the inquiries you made of me... about vampires.”

He watched her reaction. She tried to act as though his words had no effect on her. That she had nothing to worry about. But she was afraid she failed miserably.

Michael’s stern look didn’t change. “You’ll be answering some questions when we get to his place.”

She gritted her teeth and zipped up her suitcase, her heart doing flip-flops. How could she keep up the lies and not get herself into any further trouble? “I had planned on taking a nap. And I haven’t eaten lunch yet. Can it wait until after that?”

Michael folded his arms, his expression turning even harder. “You were supposed to have eaten lunch with this Adonis Cameron character.”

She was used to everyone keeping secrets from her, but she’d never told so many falsehoods in her life. And she was certain they’d come back to haunt her. “No, he just came by and left. I wasn’t really hungry at the time.”

Michael touched her cheek. “You’ve been crying. Tears have streaked your makeup.”

He was getting to be as observant as Zachary, although it wasn’t really in character for him. Which could only mean he was truly worried about her. She nodded, but didn’t say anything, afraid she’d give herself away.

He grabbed her suitcase and motioned for her to leave the room. She was certain everyone else in the living room was listening, trying to overhear their conversation. “Why, Rachael? Why have you been crying?”

“Uncle Tobias won’t let me have a contract. And once Gregory stormed out of here, I knew your father would make me return home with him. So I was upset. All right?”

He nudged her toward the door. “Need anything else?”

“Just a few things from the bathroom.” She walked into the bathroom and pulled out her cosmetic bag. After throwing her personal items in there, she followed Michael down the hall. Didn’t they even trust her to pack without supervision? No, suppose not, and if they’d known the vampire visited her like he did in her closet, they’d certainly have had good reason.

No one spoke to her as Gregory seized her arm and walked her out of her apartment first. His actions irritated her to the nth degree. She attempted to wriggle free, but his grip tightened. She hated that her uncle and cousins would feel her suitor was handling her just the way they would an unruly wife in medieval times. Frowning, she gave up the struggle. She wasn’t going anywhere else anyway.

They headed for the cars and Gregory said to her uncle, “I’ll bring her to your place, Mr. Bremerton.”

Her uncle nodded.

Great. Already Gregory was putting the moves on her like she was his, and her uncle totally approved. Now she’d have a lecture from Gregory, but no matter what he said, she had no intention of taking any guff from him. No doubt when she arrived at her uncle’s place, she’d have an even more ponderous lecture from the family. Her skin prickled with exasperation.

Michael tossed her bag into his SUV while Zachary climbed into his father’s pickup truck. Rachael waited for Gregory to open the door to his car for her and glanced up at the kitchen window. But the shade from the eaves prevented her seeing through the glass.

Was Adonis watching her from her apartment? If so, he was sure to be angry over Gregory’s treatment of her. Nothing good could come of it. Then she climbed into the car and Gregory shut the door for her.

As soon as he sat in the driver’s seat, he cleared his throat. “You know I want your hand in marriage. So why did you invite some stranger over to your place? Zachary said he should have known as willing as you were to give up your car keys, you were up to something.”

But she hadn’t been up to anything. Not as far as Adonis was concerned. Although if they’d known she planned to make up a Huntress for Hire website, they would have had her there.

Not answering him, she waited for Gregory to pull out of the parking lot, but instead he stared at her, expecting her to answer him. She didn’t have to respond to him. It was bad enough that the family inquisition would come next, and then she’d have to provide some answers.

Uncle Tobias drove into the street. Michael followed after.

Gregory tapped his fingers on the console, and she fought the urge to leave the car. But on foot, she wouldn’t get very far. Gregory shook his head. “Part of me was glad he wasn’t one of the hunters who’d wanted to dance with you at the ball, Rachael. If you’d shown interest in one of them, your uncle would have to permit you to marry him. But not some out-of-stater.”

“Please take me to my uncle’s place.” Not that she wanted to go there, but she was sick of being lectured by someone who had no business lecturing her.

Not starting the car, Gregory took a ragged breath. “Your uncle wants me to marry you. It doesn’t matter that you’re not interested in me. East coast Casanova can take a hike. He’s not going to have you.” He shoved his key into the ignition.

Her lips pursed, Rachael looked out the window. Although Gregory masked his hunter possessiveness while attempting to pursue her, his words revealed he would fight for her if he had to. Is that what she liked so much about Adonis? He rarely masked his feelings for her? Despite the trouble Adonis could find himself in, he was willing to stand up for her?

Right, as he hid in her closet and gave her another spine tingling kiss. Although hunters had outnumbered him four to one and the odds wouldn’t have been fair for any hunter. Plus he hadn’t been armed. Well, with hunter weapons anyway. She groaned inwardly at the thought his canines could extend instantly at the least provocation instead. When he’d hissed next to her, she couldn’t force herself to look at him. The fear she’d see him as he truly was now—a vampire like the one who’d marked her with his wickedly sharp fangs—would color her perception of him forever.

“Where’d you meet him?” Gregory asked, this time his tone at least attempting civility.

The lies would never end at this rate, and she was certain to get caught up in her stories if she wasn’t careful. “Listen, Gregory, I know you want to marry me. But I’m not ready to settle down yet. I want to hunt vampires like you and I were both taught. Uncle Tobias has never allowed me to hunt the human vampires, and I need to do so, for my own sanity.”

“That’s for the hunters, not huntresses to do. You’re to become a mother.”

He didn’t seem to understand her deep-seated reason for wanting to go after the human vampire rogues because of her past, despite her hints to the family as to the reason. But she had never openly discussed it with anyone. Not even with her cousins’ wives. Hunters and huntresses didn’t have vulnerabilities. Or at least that they admitted. Otherwise it could mean their defeat in the battle with those who would turn the city upside down.

“I have every intention of becoming a mother one day, Gregory. But I want to hunt like a real hunter, first. I know once I have children, I’ll never be able to. The thing is we have the same gene, you and I, which creates the urge to end the renegade vampire’s existence. Having children, doesn’t end that for us.”

“How would you know?” He looked at her incredulously. “You’ve never had a baby.”

“I’ve talked with others who have. They still have the urge to hunt. But of course, they have other priorities now. With most, it doesn’t matter. For me, it does.”

“When you’re married and have children, your priorities will change. As for now, considering a contract may be out on you, and your most recent reckless behavior with an unknown hunter, your uncle would say no to your hunting anything vampiric.” He cast her a harsh look. “Even if it meant taking down another vicious vampire dog.”

Time to change tactics, if her uncle was going to saddle her with Gregory. At this rate, he would be worse than her cousins. But at least with them, she didn’t have to marry them. “All right then, take me on a date tonight.”

His blue eyes stared at her, a frown winkling his brow. Inwardly, she smiled. He was trying to figure her out. Keep the guys guessing was her motto. “A date.”

“Yes. Show me how to hunt a human vampire.”

He grunted. “I thought you’d want to go out to dinner, a movie, or something like that first.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I’d have to get your uncle’s permission. And I very much doubt he’d agree to it.”

“Of course.” She assumed her uncle would go along with it if she showed more interest in Gregory. Her uncle might believe their work together would encourage her marriage to him. Or even that under his supervision, this hunting preoccupation she had would be satisfied.

He drove out of the parking area. “Your uncle might not go along with it on account of Piaras having a contract out on you,” he reiterated, sounding resigned to failure.

If she had approached Adonis with the same proposition, would he have asked her uncle’s permission? No, he would have taken her on a hunt anyway. At least she was sure he would. If he could reach her now.

“Your uncle wants you to remain in a hunter’s house at night at all times, from what he told your cousins. And after this deal with that hunter, it’s a good bet he’ll want you watched all day long, too.”

“Then you’ll have to convince him you’ll keep me safe on a hunt.” She wasn’t about to get into it with him over being guarded all day long also.

“I’m not sure he’ll agree with you taking part in a hunt. I’m not sure I do either.”

She sensed he wanted to please her even if it meant doing something that was dangerous for her, which made her regret that she couldn’t feel more for him.

Gregory glanced at her. “You know, I’ve been asking your uncle for four years when he’d allow me to date you.”

She leaned her head against the glass. “He never mentioned that last night was going to be my coming out. I’d never have agreed to it.”

“He knew that. At least that’s what he told me. When we saw you arrive at the ball in jeans and a turtleneck, we were quite shocked. I was looking forward to seeing you dressed up for a change.”

“You’re supposed to marry the person, not the clothes they wear.”

“You wore your clothes pretty well, I have to admit. I only wished I’d had the chance to dance with you.”

Had he wanted to her hold her tight in a sensuous, stirring dance? But whatever he felt for her, she certainly didn’t share with him. Now Adonis... he was a different story. The thought of dancing close with him, of feeling his hard, aroused body enveloping her, of his claiming her in front of all the other hunters…she closed her eyes and chastised herself. How foolish the notion. He was a vampire! No longer a hunter. And thinking of him as a hunter would only get her into more trouble.

Forty-five minutes later, they arrived at her uncle’s palatial estate consisting of the main two-story, rambling ranch house and twenty smaller brick homes situated five acres apart, each a hunter family’s home. Several vehicles sat in the circular drive of the main house, and instantly Rachael knew something was up.

She turned to Gregory. “What’s this all about?”

“It’s a rally for a hunt.” He hopped out of the car and hurried to her side.

She knew that, but they hadn’t had one in a month and normally a hint of a big strike would have surfaced. Was this was the family secret she hadn’t been privy to?

Zachary walked onto the porch. He shook his head at her and leaned his shoulder against a fluted column.

She attempted to overlook him, but there was no ignoring the fact she was in for a lot of questioning next. “And you’re going on the hunt?” she asked Gregory as he opened the car door for her.

“I was, but now that I have you to watch out for, I may not be going.”

“My cousins can watch over me, if you’re not taking me on a date.”

“They’re going on the hunt. Well, one of them was to stay behind with you. But I’ll see if I can have the honor instead.”

“She’s to be taken to the conference room,” Zachary said, then gave Rachael a look that meant she was in real trouble now. “Father has some questions for you.”

She tried to stall the shiver that trailed up her spine.

She knew the family inquisition would not be as easily dismissed as Gregory’s questions of her. Which meant she was doomed.

***

Adonis jerked a hunter’s sword off the wall of his home while his sister wrung her hands and watched.

“What are you going to do, Adonis?” Danai asked, her voice soft, but filled with concern.

“I’m going to claim her for my own, one way or another.” His soul burned for Rachael, and he had to have her. There was no going back. But he knew his sister would feel he was headed for disaster and wouldn’t approve.

“You can’t. Rachael has to kill Piaras, and if she manages, you know she’ll never get out of his estate alive after that.”

Running his hand over the brass hilt of his sword, he did not want to think of what could become of Rachael. Piaras wouldn’t give her up. There wasn’t any other way this was going down. “I can’t think of anything else but her.” He looked up at his sister and saw the annoyance in her scowling face. “You can’t understand how I feel.”

He’d never been so driven to be with a woman every second of the day. His thoughts were no longer his own—every image of her replaying in his mind, the softness of her cheek against his, her warm breath against his ear, the feel of her breast in his hand, but more than that, she didn’t look on him with horror, like the huntresses would undoubtedly do, nor did she see him as an outcast like the vampires who had taken him in did. With Rachael, he was an equal. A hunter with one hell of a problem.

Oh, yeah, she denied she could be his, but he knew her family would expect this of her. If Rachael was shipwrecked with him on a tropical island, and there was no one to influence her decisions, she’d be his without a doubt.

“No, I can’t understand how you feel, Adonis. We have to think of more than your sexual needs.”

His blood heated. “I want her forever, Danai, not just to bed.”

“And you know you can’t have her. Not as a vampire.” She placed her hands on her hips. “What’s gotten into you anyway? You said you’d have no problem taking her to Piaras. With your charming ways, you’d sweep her off her feet and before she knew it, she’d do what neither of us can do... kill Piaras. But no, now you’ve succumbed to her charms.”

He slipped the sharpened blade into its leather sheath. Was his sister jealous? He’d never seen her so annoyed over any attention he’d ever paid to a woman. Of course, he’d never paid this kind of attention to any woman. “You’ll need to see her at her uncle’s house. When you gain entrance, you can let me in.”

“You’ve got to be insane.” Danai furrowed her brow and crossed her arms.

Exasperated, he took a deep breath. “You can do it. She knows you. Just tell her family that you were concerned about her. That she called you and was crying about being returned home. You wished to know if there was anything you could do for her. But whatever you do, sweet talk yourself into the house.”

Danai shook her head. “And how will I say I know her? She won’t have been allowed to have any friends other than huntresses. They’ll know I’m not one of them.”

“Just tell them you’re not from around here. But make it some place other than the east coast.”

“It won’t work, Adonis. They’ll ask me millions of questions. Why am I here, alone? Why am I not married? I’m Rachael’s age and like her, I should be married. They won’t believe me. And because of the trouble you’ve caused, they’ll be distrustful of any who try to get near her. I can’t believe what you’ve done.”

He couldn’t tell her how he’d decided the whole scenario once Gregory had come to visit her to ensure Rachael’s safety until they had to see Piaras. Danai would think he’d lost his mind. But he didn’t trust Piaras. So now Danai had to get him into the hunter’s house. There was no other way. “Tell them the truth to an extent. You refused to marry the hunter in... well, make some place up. And left there to get a new start. Just get into her uncle’s house.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed. Even if you were a hunter—which you no longer are—you would have to have permission to pursue her. If they find you in the house trying to see her... “

“They won’t catch us.”

She groaned. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you throw all our lives away over a woman.”

“She’ll help us to get them back. One way or another.”

“You don’t plan on living either, once she dies, do you?”

“Just get into her uncle’s house, Danai. That’s all I ask of you.” He wasn’t about to consider what would happen to either of them when they faced Piaras. All he could think of was getting into the house and seeing Rachael again, touching her, holding her tight, and kissing that sweet velvet mouth of hers.

And then taking her away to the most odious of tasks. Teaching an unproven huntress how to kill some of his vampire kind—the ones who murdered for sport—and hoping to hell she’d have enough natural hunter skill to pull this off.

***

Rachael tried to act nonchalantly when Uncle Tobias motioned to her to sit in the hot seat in his conference room at his home. Like a jury, her cousins, Michael and Zachary, and two of her uncle’s cousins, Brent and Curt—both white-haired and distinguished looking gentlemen—sat across from her in a semi-circle in green leather chairs. The conference table, that comfortably seated twenty-two, was shoved against the wall out of the way. Gregory and two other suitors, both dark-haired like Adonis, came late and filled the remaining seats while her uncle paced before her.

The walls were covered in burgundy and forest green floral wallpaper, disguising the real purpose of the room—the hunters’ local staging area for making plans to destroy rogue vampires—the bloodsuckers who murdered for the pleasure of killing, most as bloodthirsty as Piaras himself.

She held her hands on her lap, not knowing what else to do with them. As ice cold as they were, she felt like sitting on them, while another chill of worry trickled down her spine. Despite the anxiety rising in her blood, she tried to remain calm, taking a couple of deep breaths, but attempting to be subtle about it.

Everyone kept his eyes focused on her, watching for any kind of reaction that she might have that would give her away. And she was certain she was giving herself away big time. But how could she not when she was the only huntress in the room and all of the hunters were looking to condemn her for her behavior? Even though she had to admit her actions were pretty damned condemning.

Michael had sat in the hot seat three months ago the third such time that she knew of for going after vampires on his own, which was the reason her uncle had finally forced him out of the League of Hunter’s circle. But huntresses never sat in on the proceedings in this region. Unless, like she, the huntress was the reason for the inquisition. She didn’t remember any of the other huntresses having a reason for getting in this kind of trouble though.

She licked her lips and swallowed hard as her uncle faced her. His stormy gray eyes glared at her, and she met his icy look ounce for ounce.

“Who is this Adonis Cameron?”

“A hunter.” Her words squeaked out, and she cleared her dry throat.

Zachary swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Did he feel sorry for her? Michael’s expression, on the other hand, was hard and cold as a block of ice. She figured since he’d been in her place before, he would show no mercy. But then, he’d always been the stronger of the two brothers where emotions were concerned. And she assumed his hardness was meant to get her in line before she really got hurt.

She couldn’t bear to look at Gregory or her other suitors. She turned her attention back to her uncle who just stared at her.

“Rachael, did you hear me?”

Oh hell, he must have questioned her about something else. “I’m sorry, Uncle Tobias. What did you ask me?”

“Where did you meet him?”

This was going to be the difficult part. She spent some time at the library researching about vampires and at two of her married cousins’ homes playing with their children and visiting with their wives, Mary and Trish. But she tended to be a homebody and didn’t go out a lot except in the past to take care of rabid-acting vampire dogs... and the whole family knew it.

“Rachael?”

“At... at the library.” Three of the men hmpfd in response. She wasn’t sure which ones.

Gregory’s steely expression didn’t change. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Then she figured she’d blown it now. Hunters didn’t spend their spare time in libraries. Certainly not one who was as much of a hunk as Adonis. Plus her hesitant answer didn’t help.

“Which library?”

“The main one.” Finally she spit out an answer without sounding like a mouse, only now she felt like a rat for having lied to her family whose only concern was in keeping her safe.

But she nearly always used the main one and her cousins at least, would have known that. Plus it was much bigger, easier to run into more people there.

Everyone was watching her. Uncle Tobias tapped his foot on the floor. “Did you hear me?”

Jeez, she’d done it again. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” She rubbed her temple. “What did you ask me?”

“Why didn’t you sleep well?” He shifted his attention to Zachary who straightened his back. Was her cousin supposed to have made sure she slept well also?

“I had nightmares.” Of one hot sexy vampire desiring her, plying her with his heated kisses, lulling her under his spell.

“About what?”

“You don’t want to know about my nightmares.” Or at least she really didn’t want him to know about her nightmares.

“I want to know everything that’s going on with you. It seems I’ve been too lax with you of late. What about these nightmares you’re having?”

“I don’t remember them.” She shrugged. “I just woke—you know how you do—but can’t remember the nightmare.”

One of her uncle’s cousins folded his arms, his expression unrevealing, but she still felt he didn’t believe her.

Uncle Tobias was rubbing his chin, watching her. “What about this Adonis Cameron? How come he knew you were a huntress? And how did you come to know he was a hunter?”

She glanced down at her hands. If she looked into his eyes, he’d surely be able to see she was lying. On the other hand, her avoidance of his gaze would indicate the same thing.

She looked up at him. “We bumped into each other. He was reading a book on antiques, and I thought I heard Trish’s daughter speaking. I turned and the man came out from behind a bookrack. We collided. I had a whole handful of mystery books that I dropped, so he helped me pick them up. Then he noticed the dagger at my waist.”

Rachael pushed a curl tickling her cheek behind her ear. “Well, being a hunter, he recognized the ancient inscription on the pearl handle and offered to buy me a cup of coffee down the street.”

Someone tapped a foot on the floor, and Rachael looked over to see Gregory shaking his head at her.

“And did you have coffee with him?” her uncle asked.

“No. It would have been forbidden without your permission since I’d never seen the man before.”

“Then why in the hell was he in your apartment?”

“He helped me to the checkout counter, and I left my library card there by accident. He found out where I lived and came to my apartment to bring it to me.”

Gregory cleared his throat. She looked over at him. Her uncle nodded. “You have something to ask?”

Gregory stood. “You were at the ball, then returned home. The next morning, you visited Michael’s house, and Zachary returned you home. Once he left, this east coast hunter arrives at your apartment. My question is, when had you gone to the library?”

“Before I went to Michael’s house.”

He looked at her uncle who raised his brows. Gregory retook his seat.

Thank God he probably didn’t know anything about the library’s hours or how the library operated. No one there would have allowed the hunter to take her library card so that he could deliver it to her, and no one would have given him her home address. Unless he was a vampire and wheedled it out of them that way.

“Any other questions?” Uncle Tobias asked the men.

“Why did you let him into your apartment, Rachael?” her uncle’s cousin, Brent, asked.

“He’s a hunter. They don’t easily take no for an answer. He sort of invited himself in.”

Brent lifted his chin, studying her to see if she’d told the truth. Although he’d always been kind to her, she knew she couldn’t get much past him, and he’d be like the rest of the hunters, no tolerance when it came to a huntress taking matters like this into her own hands. “So you offered him a meal? But Michael says you didn’t have lunch with him. You weren’t hungry.”

She was lousy at lying. The more she did it, the bigger the hole she dug for herself. “Gregory came to my apartment and found him there. I knew once Gregory took off in a huff—threatening to tell Uncle Tobias—the lunch was over. And frankly, neither of us was hungry after that.”

“Why didn’t Cameron stay and face us like a hunter should?” Michael asked, eyes narrowed.

“He intended to. I insisted he leave. He’s about as bull-headed as you are.”

A smile tugged at Michael’s lips. That, he could understand. And she figured nobody would assume she was lying about that.

“What about the questions you asked me, Rachael? Why did you want to know if a vampire could see or hear things when he vanished?”

The men all waited for her answer with baited breaths. She shrugged, trying to appear unshaken by their questioning of her, although deep inside, her system churned with worry that she’d make a slip. “I told you, I was just curious.”

“And asking why a vampire would want to kill another?”

“Michael, I just wondered is all.” Rubbing her hands in her lap, she tried to warm them. She swore they had set the air conditioner on high in the room despite it being a cool fall day.

“Yeah, and that’s why you drove to my place. Just because you were curious. Even though you were forbidden to see me while I was exiled. Why not ask Father or Zachary the questions instead?”

He had her there. And she had no good answer for him either. “I thought maybe you’d know.” Lame, lame and they all knew it.

“Rachael,” Uncle Tobias said, crouching in front of her, looking a whole lot less intimidating, “did you think a vampire watched you at some time, but you couldn’t see him?”

“Sure. In the shadows of the balcony outside the ballroom. I couldn’t see him. It was like he was invisible.”

“This happened at no other time?”

She looked at Zachary, the only one she really worried might have heard something more. He rubbed his forehead and wrinkled his brow like he did when he was contemplating something serious. If Zachary had come to the conclusion Adonis was in her apartment listening to them when her cousin was making himself a sandwich because of some of the observations he’d made, the man’s spicy scent in her bedroom, her naked lips which she had made the mistake of saying was due to Gregory’s kissing her, if he suspected—

Uncle Tobias patted her leg as if to get her attention. “What about the vampire wanting to kill another? Is that what the one on the balcony said to you?”

“I was just curious. I already said so.” A dribble of perspiration trickled between her breasts despite the chill in the room.

Michael leaned forward in his chair and pinned her with accusation. “What about when you asked if a vampire could really have feelings for someone?”

“I will never ever ask another question about vampires my whole life if this is the trouble I get into it for it.”

“There’s no harm in asking the questions.” Her uncle rose from his crouched position. “We just wonder why you’re so interested all of a sudden.”

“I’ve always been interested. I’ve checked out tons of books on the subject, but I’ve never found anything that addressed these questions.”

Gregory stood as if lending weight to his query. “What happened between you and the man while he was in your apartment?”

A flush of heat rose to her cheeks when she thought of Adonis’s hands on her breasts. “He made passionate, romantic love to me. What do you think?”

Gregory made a derisive sound under his breath and sat back down. Zachary snickered. His mouth grim, Michael gave his head a shake.

“That’s quite enough, Rachael,” her uncle scolded. “You have three men interested in your hand in marriage sitting in on these proceedings. Mind your tongue. We’re only doing this to ensure your safety.”

They were right, of course. And she was wrong, but whatever power Adonis held over her couldn’t easily be quashed.

“I don’t want you to see this man again. If he didn’t have the courage to speak to me first, he has no right sneaking around, trying to see you behind my back.”

She bit her tongue to avoid repeating the library story. No use in bringing that scenario up again and possibly getting herself into more hot water if they thought to investigate. Not only hadn’t she been to the library in over a week, but it would show she hadn’t checked out any books for longer than that. So how could she have left her card behind that same day? But she couldn’t fib about having been there some other day, and then have her uncle wondering how long she’d been seeing Adonis behind his back.

She assumed introducing Adonis as a hunter to her uncle wouldn’t affect his decision about her either. He wanted her to marry into one of the local hunter families. Not someone he didn’t know anything about. And certainly if he’d known Adonis wasn’t even a hunter any longer—

“Rachael, pay attention. About the vampire who approached you on the balcony, what did he say to you?” Uncle Tobias asked.

“I... I was shook up. I don’t remember.”

“You talked to him for several seconds while our men armed themselves. You must remember something he said.”

She shook her head.

“We can introduce a truth serum into your blood, Rachael. Maybe you’ll remember some details about what happened that you can’t seem to now because of his frightening you.”

They couldn’t! Could she keep up the charade while under the influence of the drug? They’d learn the truth. She couldn’t allow it. “You can’t do that without my permission.”

Uncle Tobias’s brows lifted a little. “If you have nothing to hide, you won’t deny us permission.”

Tension filled the room, everyone silently waiting for her response, their faces grim. If she’d said that would be fine, she imagined relief would have been visible in at least some of the hunters’ expressions. But even so, concern of what they might learn would keep most on edge. If she refused to give her permission that would most likely prove her guilty. Yet in truth, if she allowed them to use the serum on her, that would surely prove her guilty beyond any doubt.

Steeling her back, she shook her head, and the men’s expressions changed subtly from a hint of hope to resignation. “I have nothing to hide. But you’re treating me like some kind of criminal.”

She still thought she might have a choice, but she should have known better. Brent pulled a syringe out of his jacket pocket. They’d already planned this. Damn them. Rachael nearly died. Her heart pounded so hard she felt it would burst through her chest.

Uncle Tobias motioned to Gregory and Rachael’s other suitors. “You must leave now. You can see her at dinner.”

Without thinking her actions through, Rachael jumped from her chair. She bolted for the door, escaping her fate the only thing on her mind. Uncle Tobias lunged forward and grabbed her arm. Surprised and panicked, she screamed. As soon as she twisted her arm free like she’d been taught in ju jitsu during hunter training, she tried to make another run for it, but Gregory tackled her this time, wrapping his arms around her like a living, breathing human straight jacket.

No way could she allow them to use the serum! What if she revealed not only that Adonis was a vampire, but his sister as well? And what if she told them where their antique shop was located? Their home also?

Frustrated to the max, she squirmed to twist out of Gregory’s arms, but he tightened his grip, then pinned her against the wall, allowing no wiggle room. He wasn’t able to dance close to her at the hunter’s ball, but she imagined he figured this was the next best thing. And she hated the feel of him against her, hot and hard, domineering and in charge, pressuring her to be still. The wall of men now stood in a semi-circle crowding around her, preventing her escape if she were to manage to break free from Gregory’s steely grip.

Her breath was so rapid, her head grew fuzzy, yet she kept wriggling, trying to free herself.

“You’ve got to relax, Rachael.” Brent drew near, his expression determined, the syringe held at the ready. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks, her sight blurring. But as soon as Brent was in range, she swung her leg and tried to kick his shin with the pointed toe of her boot to keep him away.

Zachary surged forth and seized her legs and hugged tight.

She screamed. Adrenaline coursed through her body, her muscles trembling. She couldn’t give away her secrets. She couldn’t.

Michael grabbed her arm and pulled up her sleeve. “Hold still, Rachael, or it’ll hurt.”

“Relax,” Brent said, as Uncle Tobias ran an alcohol swab over her arm. “You’re too tense.”

Everyone waited for Brent to use the needle on her, but he hesitated. Her breathing was so rapid, her legs and arms began to numb, and she felt light-headed.

She choked out a sob. “Don’t do it! Please. I don’t give my permission!”

Holding her arm still, Michael nodded.

When the tension in the muscle gave out, Brent stuck the needle in.

She cried out, silently cursing the whole lot of them as the liquid coursed through her bloodstream, working its way to her brain to loosen her tongue. She struggled for freedom, although she didn’t make any progress, not against Zachary’s and Gregory’s confinement, the other hunters all watching her reaction.

She felt her whole body slipping away, her resistance dissolving, her thoughts fading…fading…

And then hating them all, despite knowing they only meant to keep her safe, she sank into darkness.

Chapter 7

“Carry Rachael up to her room, Michael,” Uncle Tobias ordered, as she drifted in the black void.

Jostled about in her dreamy world, Rachael floated in the air. Here, nothing mattered. The darkness felt safe, and she was at peace. At peace in the darkness. What a notion, her foggy brain thought. She’d never found tranquility in the gloom of night or shadowed spaces.

“What do you fear, Tobias?” Brent said somewhere behind her.

“He’s gotten to her.”

Who in the world was Brent talking about? Who got to whom? When?

A door opened and then after a few more steps, Michael stopped. His firm grip around her loosened, and she moved from the warm embrace of his arms to soft cushiony clouds. She sighed deeply.

“I checked to see if she was bitten,” Michael assured his father, “when we picked her up at her apartment.”

Reaching up, she touched her neck and licked her lips.

Pleasing silence conducive to sleeping filled the room.

Uncle Tobias broke into her dreamy world with another jarring question. “Did you check her everywhere for bite marks?”

“Well, no. Just around the neck.” Michael rubbed the back of his own neck and looked harried—not his usual in-control self.

Yeah. Not a bite one. Rachael distractedly twisted a curl of hair between her fingers.

“We’ll have the women check her. The fact she was so concerned about us using the serum on her reveals something’s wrong. She’s never lied to me before, but I didn’t believe a lot—if anything—of what she said in the conference room.”

“I’ve never seen anyone pass out after getting the serum,” Curt, Uncle Tobias’s other cousin, said.

“She said she hadn’t had enough sleep,” Zachary offered. “And nothing to eat for lunch. She never eats breakfast either.”

She crinkled her nose. Waffles and pancakes smothered in sweet syrup, spicy sausage, fluffy eggs—not for her.

Uncle Tobias spoke again, his voice concerned. “The nightmares bother me. I’ve heard of humans being troubled by what they think are nightmares, when in reality a vampire is visiting them in the middle of the night. The human can’t discern the dreams from reality.”

Had she dreamed about Adonis? She couldn’t remember.

Curt asked, “Are you sure Brent didn’t give her too much of the serum? She seems really out of it.”

“Dr. Stevens informed me that should have been the right amount for her weight,” Uncle Tobias said.

“Gregory wants to listen in on the questioning.” Zachary sounded farther away, like he was on the other side of the room. The door closed with a clunk.

No, keep Gregory out of this.

“No. Just family. And, Zachary, I want you to investigate her library story after we’re done here. Michael, you’ll check out this Adonis Cameron, try and locate his family back east. I want to know everything there is about him. I imagine he’s a rogue and not part of a hunter family, and he’s looking to find an unattached huntress, or he wouldn’t be here.” Then Uncle Tobias squeezed her hand. “Rachael, who was the vampire who came to see you on the balcony of the ballroom last night? Did he give you his name?”

Why wouldn’t the voices go away? She tried to roll on her side, but his hand gripped hers, and he wouldn’t let her turn. Sleep was all she craved, and she closed her eyes to block out the overhead lights.

“Rachael, answer me.” Uncle Tobias used his commanding voice, although she detected a hint of softness trying to creep in.

“Hmm.” She licked her lips and nestled her head further into the soft pillow.

“Rachael, tell me about the man on the balcony.”

“Gregory.” She sighed deeply.

“No, the vampire. What did he say to you?”

“Whisper.”

“Whisper what?” Uncle Tobias waited, but when she didn’t say anything, he nudged her shoulder. “Rachael, what did he whisper?”

“His name.”

“What was his name?”

“He... “ She swallowed hard and frowned, trying to remember what had happened. “He... come closer.”

“He wanted you to come closer to tell you his name?”

She said so, didn’t she?

Curt said, “He was trying to get her to move into the shadows with him, offered his hand to her even, but thank God she didn’t accept. Although I still can’t understand what overcame her that she wouldn’t make an attempt to leave the balcony. They can’t control us like they can humans, yet she appeared to be just as much under his spell as though she were a human he planned to take for his own. I’m certain he intended to sink his teeth into Rachael.”

She bit her lip. Adonis had wanted her to draw close and then what? Bite her? She didn’t think so. Would he have touched her like he did later at her apartment? Just beyond where all the hunters were? Would he have kissed her behind the hotel if she hadn’t broken free of his grip? She’d never met anyone so bold, so daring, so utterly fascinating. Yet a part of her knew how dangerous he could be.

“I wouldn’t. Didn’t trust... “

When she quit speaking, Uncle Tobias spoke again. “If you didn’t trust him, why didn’t you try to leave the balcony?” The floorboards creaked as if someone paced across them. “What was his name?” Uncle Tobias asked again.

“Adonis.”

Uncle Tobias growled. “Hell, this isn’t going to work. The serum’s made her too muddle-headed.”

Muddle-headed.

Michael spoke next. “Rachael, what about this Adonis. Where is he from?”

“East.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“Hmm, bal... balcony.”

“It’s not working,” Uncle Tobias said, exasperated. “She’s getting the two mixed up.”

Which two? Her uncle was the one who was confused. She frowned again, totally annoyed.

Brent asked, “Did Adonis kiss you?”

And how. She smiled.

Uncle Tobias cursed under his breath.

“Father,” Michael cautioned, “just because he kissed her doesn’t mean they did anything more than that. They’re both hunters and know better than to take the relationship too far without her guardian’s permission.”

Yeah, they knew better.

“He disregards our protocol by seeing her behind my back. How long has this being going on? Just now? Or for some time? Hell, he forced his way into her apartment. Although I doubt she put up any resistance, if at all. You heard her. He’s stubborn like you. And she’s always admired you for it.” Uncle Tobias growled in disapproval.

“I would never have gone after a huntress without her guardian’s permission.” Michael sounded just as irked. “Despite whatever other faults I have, I respect the sanctity of marriage for our kind.”

Uncle Tobias said, “All right, you’ve made your point. But if he has been seeing her for some time, maybe that’s why she’s been so adamant about not finding a match with one of our hunters.” He didn’t say anything for a minute, and Rachael thought she could get some peace and quiet, but it wasn’t to be. “What else might he have done with her? He kissed her we know now, and she seemed to be pleased with the notion. But how far might he have insisted on taking the relationship with her? Was he the reason she didn’t want the serum? I suspect that’s the case. No matter what, if she has feelings for this out-of-stater, and he’s been seeing her behind my back for some time…” Uncle Tobias didn’t say anything further, but he sounded pretty hot about it.

Her chest tightened. It was her choice, ultimately. Wasn’t it? The huntress chose her mate... within reason. Was it unreasonable for her to want Adonis so?

“Do you think they really met at the library?” Brent asked.

She whispered, “Antiques.”

“She said he was reading an antique book when she bumped into him,” Curt reminded them.

“She spends some of her free time at the main library. It’s possible, Father,” Zachary said, although he sounded like he was trying to mollify his dad rather than that he believed it himself.

“How many hunters do you know visit the library?” Uncle Tobias asked, his voice hard.

The room grew quiet.

Now that her uncle wasn’t holding her wrist, Rachael turned on her side. How many hunters regularly, or even once in a blue moon, visited the library? None that she knew of. Huntresses, sure, mainly to take their children to enjoy the special kid’s programs. But hunters? She didn’t think any of them would be caught dead in a library.

“Rachael, where did you meet Adonis?” Uncle Tobias asked.

“Hmm, the balcony.” She took a deep breath. Hadn’t she already said so? Who was being muddle-headed?

“What did the vampire want with you on the balcony?”

“See Piaras.”

Uncle Tobias swore under his breath. “The bastard.”

“He doesn’t want her dead?” Michael sounded more than surprised.

“Hell, it seems he wants her alive. I’d always thought that Brent and Curt had chased off the murderer before he could effectively kill Rachael. But maybe the rumors about him marking her instead for his own dark purposes meant he intended to claim her after all,” Uncle Tobias said. “Although I’ve never heard of a vampire marking a hunter or huntress in that way. Or human either. If they want the human, it’s a done deal, right then and there.”

More pacing followed, the boards beneath the carpet creaking.

“Why? Why would he want her?” Michael asked. “I’ve never heard of a vampire wanting a huntress. Not in this region, anyway. Piaras is known to collect women, but according to his blood bonds, only those who are willing to be with him. Despite all of his murderous faults, he seems to at least have some decency in that regard. But the thing is Rachael would never willingly go to the murdering vampire. So what makes him think she will?”

“We didn’t know for sure that he was the one who murdered her parents until just before the night of the ball. He had to have framed the other ancient vampire for the crimes. What if he concocted some new story to encourage Rachael to see him?” Uncle Tobias asked.

“Like that he knew who her parents’ murderers truly were? That he would help her kill him? Seems farfetched to me. She wouldn’t be that naïve,” Michael said.

“But she’s wanted to hunt human vampires forever,” Zachary warned. “What if he’s offered her a contract to kill one of his own?” He shrugged. “Who knows what he might pull to get her to come to him willingly since Father won’t let her hunt them.”

Michael frowned at his brother. “I don’t believe she’d go to him, not once she learned he’s the one who killed her parents. You said she already asked you if it was so.”

Uncle Tobias made a disgruntled sound. “And how did she come to know this?”

Zachary cleared his throat. “Ferris mentioned the secret meeting to his brother out in the parking lot while the ball was in progress. Rachael heard him speaking.”

“And he told her? He wasn’t to say a word.” Uncle Tobias looked back at Rachael.

She blinked her eyes, barely able to keep them awake, but talk of Piaras piqued her interest. And now at least, she knew what the secret had been about.

“Ferris swore up and down he hadn’t told her anything. Ned vouched for him and said he hadn’t said a word, that Ferris was the only one who’d done any talking.”

“Then how did she know about Piaras?” Uncle Tobias asked.

“Adonis,” she whispered.

Everyone stared at her. She closed her eyes when they all seemed to be at a loss for words, and if they weren’t going to talk any further, she’d sleep. Until Uncle Tobias started in on her again. “What did Adonis say, Rachael?” Although he tried to keep his voice compassionate, his words were as sharp as the honed edge of a hunter’s sword.

A couple of tears dribbled down Rachael’s cheek. She’d kill Piaras.

“Rachael, what did Adonis tell you?” Her uncle patted her hand, his voice softened.

“Piaras did it.”

“Adonis is not from here. How would he have known?” her uncle asked.

Adonis was in so much trouble. How could she not help him?

“Piaras left sometime around the killings. Maybe he was afraid we would have waged a war against him and his people if we learned he’d killed her parents,” Curt said. “He didn’t have the numbers of recruits back then that he does now. At least not to fight all of us. We did wage a pretty good battle on those left behind, but what if Piaras was back east and this Adonis learned of his deeds?”

Michael gave his father a hard look. “Hell, when Piaras returned and began wreaking havoc in Dallas again, I wanted to wage a more aggressive campaign to destroy him and his people once and for all, but you wouldn’t allow it.”

“What if she’s been bitten?” Zachary asked, and Rachael recognized his attempt to switch subjects before Michael and their father got into it about how he ran the business again.

Uncle Tobias ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “She’s not been turned or she couldn’t stand the sunlight. Even so, if the vampire somehow got to her—”

“Damn,” Zachary said.

“What?”

“When I checked to see if she’d already left the parking lot the night of the ball when you told her to return home and dress properly, I found her wandering around the backside of the hotel. I asked her what she was doing, but she ignored me. She seemed kind of shook up.”

The mattress sank lower, and Uncle Tobias’s voice grew closer. A big hand grasped her shoulder and shook her gently. “Rachael, did the vampire bite you?”

She shook her head.

“Thank God,” Brent said.

“Still, I want the women to check her over, just in case.” Uncle Tobias squeezed her shoulder. “Rachael, what happened when you were with the vampire?”

“He... he wants... me.”

Michael swore under his breath. “Now what?”

“Rachael, Piaras wants you, right?”

“Hm-hm.”

“Not the other vampire.”

She didn’t respond. Why did she have to keep answering questions? Her whole body wearied with each passing second.

“The vampire who met you behind the hotel... “ Uncle Tobias paused. “The one who tried to get to you on the balcony... “

“He... he held my wrist.”

“Damn,” Zachary said again. “I should have known something was the... “

“Shhhh. Rachael, when he had hold of you, what did he do?” Her uncle’s voice was soothing, coaxing.

She raised her hand, though the effort was monumental, then dropped it to the mattress. “Zach.”

“I called out her name. I was concerned because I’d seen her leave the ballroom, but her car was still in the parking lot, and there was no sign of her.”

“You must have scared him off. Rachael, did he say anything to you?”

“He... wants... me.”

“For Piaras.”

She turned her head back and forth. Why wouldn’t they listen to her?

“She can’t mean the two of them want her. If Piaras desires her, no way would another vampire cross him. Not if he’s from here,” Michael said.

“You’re right. She’s confused. Have Trish and Mary come here. I want them to check her for bites. And have Dr. Stevens see to her after he returns from delivering the baby.”

“Yes, Father,” Zachary said. The door opened and clicked shut.

“What now?” Michael asked.

Uncle Tobias said, “We’ve got to keep her indoors at night at all times. If Piaras wants her now, he’ll make every attempt to have her.”

“He’s making war on the hunters in this region. Doesn’t he realize this?”

He’d made war on one pissed off huntress already. Doesn’t he know that?

“Maybe he thinks we won’t know what he’s up to until it’s too late. He might intend to do his disappearing act again, only this time with Rachael in tow.”

Curt cleared his throat. “I don’t understand this other vampire. I’ve never seen one as bold as him. My first thought when I saw him on the balcony with her was he wasn’t a vampire at all.”

No, a devilishly handsome hunter, full of life and sexier than any man she’d ever met.

“If not a vampire, then what? None of us could get a good visual on him with Rachael blocking our vision. But the fact he was on the balcony, and it seems beneath it earlier, then vanished when we were able to open the doors and come to Rachael’s rescue, indicates he had to have been a vampire. Although why he could have whisked her away right out from under our noses both times but didn’t is another mystery we need solved.”

The door opened again. Mary said, “You wished to speak to us?”

“Check her over thoroughly for any vampiric bite marks.”

Footsteps padded out of the room while others moved toward the bed. Then delicate hands grasped Rachael’s buttons and began to unfasten them. Rachael swatted at them.

Mary chuckled. “You’re worse than Trish’s twins when they don’t want a bath.”

Rachael wrinkled her forehead. “Quit it, Adonis. You shouldn’t... not when I’m sleeping.”

***

After they had changed into hunter attire, Adonis and his sister hadn’t yet reached the Suburban at their home when a black stretch limousine pulled into the carport. At once, Adonis’s gut twisted and although Danai was holding her own, she seemed to pale even more. “Go inside, Danai,” Adonis warned.

“He wouldn’t be paying us a visit unless he wishes to give us bad news,” Danai said, her voice hollow.

“Inside,” Adonis said quietly, trying to reassure her he would take care of it, that he didn’t want her to have to face the devil of a vampire again, if he could help it.

She bowed her head to Adonis, her face full of worry, then hurried into the house. The human host, dressed in a tux, came around to the side door and opened it for his master.

The walkway between the carport and the house provided the shade the ancient vampire needed to move about, the windows of his vehicle blackened for driving through the city in sunny conditions. Unfortunately, the windows were shatterproof, or Adonis would have attempted to break them when the bastard was flaunting the sun’s power over him on one of his numerous trips to the city.

So what the hell did Piaras want now?

Piaras glided out of the limousine—his usual way of moving, like a dark wraith—his fathomless black eyes darting from Adonis to the house and back to him again. “Is Danai fixing me a cup of hot tea? Or should we dispense with the chit chat?” He motioned for his human host to go inside the house.

Stiffening, Adonis immediately spoke telepathically in private with his sister, one of the advantages of being a vampire. “Danai, Piaras’s human host is on his way into the house. Watch him. If he does anything troublesome, you have my permission to kill him by any means necessary.”

“Thank you, dear brother. Your consent, however, is not needed.”

Adonis kept his smile to himself, pleased whenever his sister showed any mettle, when before she’d been turned, she’d been the most spirited of women he’d ever known, although since the change, she was a mere shadow of her former existence. His younger sister, Pasha, was equally as determined in getting things done. But her kind of spirit had always been the trying sort.

Piaras seemed preoccupied as he turned his attention to the south, possibly speaking telepathically to some of his minions.

“Your business?” Adonis asked, not to be kept waiting at the vampire’s whim when Adonis had grave business of his own to take care of. He didn’t care one iota that Piaras thought himself his master.

Piaras motioned for him to be quiet. Adonis fought the urge to leave the bastard standing alone in the carport, but he didn’t want to enter the house and have the devil vampire himself join him there, upsetting Danai any further. She always made a brave show of it when Piaras was in her presence, but—

“My business,” Piaras said, turning around and fully facing Adonis, his look more annoyed than usual, “is that I’ve learned from some of my human hosts—who have been following your progress, or lack thereof—that the huntress is back home with her uncle. It seems that you are the reason for this. Would you care to explain why?”

Adonis bowed his head slightly. “You wished her to come willingly. The negotiations are still ongoing. I’m to see her shortly and will soon have her just where you want her.”

The expression on Piaras’s face said he didn’t trust Adonis in the least, yet a small smile curved his lips. “Proceed then, hunter. Bring the huntress to me when the sun has faded from the sky on Friday, no later than that.”

By Friday? Hell, the bastard had moved the date up another two days. Could Adonis teach Rachael enough to be able to overcome Piaras? “I must have time to handle this right.”

“You have all the time you need, Adonis, until Friday night.” Piaras glanced at the kitchen window and said telepathically to his human host, but without channeling solely to him, Adonis also heard the order. “Come, we leave now.”

As soon as the limousine monstrosity peeled out of their driveway, carrying with it Adonis’s greatest enemy, Danai hurried outside to join Adonis.

“What did he want?”

Adonis ran his hand over her arm. “He’s moved up the deadline again.”

Tears filled Danai’s eyes. “We can’t free them in time, can we? Not with Rachael safely at her uncle’s house.”

“We go, Danai. Just as I said we would.” He opened the Suburban’s passenger door for her. “We will win this fight.” Or die trying.

“At one time I thought we might have a chance, but now…” Danai shook her head and stared out the window.

Adonis didn’t even want to consider the odds of this venture. They definitely weren’t in their favor.

Nearly an hour later, they reached a wooded area along a creek near to where Tobias’s main home was situated, and Adonis pulled the vehicle off the road. Her look anxious, his Danai wrung her hands and watched him.

“You’ll be fine. If you run into trouble, vanish and we’ll meet back home and plan something else.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll get through this. We have to.”

“Adonis, I really don’t think this will work. I know how much you still want to be one, but need I remind you that you’re no longer a hunter? The wanting will not make it happen.”

“We have no other options available to us. And with Piaras breathing down our necks, shortening the deadline even further, we have to act now.” He couldn’t emphasize the urgency any more than that.

She took a ragged breath. “As bad as the situation was before, I can’t see that it’s going to get any better.”

He agreed, but they had to make the most of their circumstances. “We’re in this together.” He touched her hand, then grasped, and squeezed.

She pulled away and tugged at her black turtleneck. “I haven’t worn hunter’s clothes since... since that day.” Her tone was forlorn, and she looked away from him.

“We don’t have any choice. If there was some other way, if I could get in without your help, I’d do it in a heartbeat. You know I would.” He let out his breath. “You look fine. Switch places with me, Danai. You’ll be a success.” Adonis hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but time was slipping away, and they couldn’t risk being seen parked here so close to the hunters’ development, sitting idly without purpose.

She let out her breath. “If Pasha had only listened to Father, we all wouldn’t be in this predicament today. Are you sure there’s no other way to reach Rachael? A cell phone number we can call?”

“No. I have to get inside their house. You’re the only possible solution to the problem. Danai, they’re not going to presume you’ve been turned. Not when you arrive in daylight, wearing huntress attire, acting very much like a huntress, as you once did. But if you go at night, they’ll suspect you or anyone else who turns up unannounced and unknown to them because they’re already concerned about Rachael.” Although he couldn’t help worry that Danai might give herself away out of nervousness.

And truly, if his sister didn’t do what Adonis said soon, the way she was wringing her hands and looking in the direction that Rachael’s uncle’s house stood, she’d end up talking him right out of sending her. He didn’t want her to be in any danger either, but he could think of no other way of keeping in touch with Rachael. Yet despite his compulsion to show that hunter, Gregory, that he had staked his claim to Rachael, Adonis instinctively had staged his misconduct to force her family to take the headstrong woman in for her own protection. Surrounded by her family, they could keep her safest in the event Piaras chose another vampire to force Rachael to go with him, no longer caring about her willingness. Adonis couldn’t have allowed it.

Danai stared out the windshield. “You’d better be right about this.”

Hoping the hell he was, he ground his teeth, exited the vehicle, and then climbed into the back seat of the SUV while she slipped into the driver’s seat.

After driving a mile through the expansive hunter’s domain, they arrived at the circular drive in front of the main house and parked behind several other vehicles.

She took a deep breath. “Looks like the hunters have a gathering planned.”

“And I intend to join them.”

She twisted her head around to look at Adonis, her lower lip dropped, eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly serious. Go, Danai. Be safe.”

She offered a curse under her breath, climbed out of the SUV, slammed the door, and headed up the front brick walk, her step less than sure.

Come on, Danai, show your buried strength. He wanted to telepathically encourage her, but he feared if he did, it would have the opposite effect, distracting her unduly instead, so he spoke silently to himself, praying she would keep her nerve. Neither was used to using telepathic messaging. It had taken them a couple of weeks to learn how to direct their messages to each other and not share their thoughts with every blasted vampire in range.

Hidden by the tinted windows, Adonis watched his sister’s progress, his heart thundering with concern for her safety. When she reached the door, she knocked.

If anyone attempted to do her harm, Adonis would be at her side in a flash, baring his extended canines, protecting her.

A blond-haired male with brilliant blue eyes answered the door. Michael, that’s the name Rachael had given. Her rogue cousin.

Michael’s brows lifted. Evidently he was surprised to see a female stranger visiting a hunter’s estate unannounced.

She spoke for a moment. He nodded, then shut the door in her face. She stood very still, hands at her side forming fists, her back unnaturally stiff, but she didn’t dare look in Adonis’s direction. Then a few minutes later, a woman Adonis didn’t know opened the door. Danai instantly relaxed her hands, although her back remained stiff. Again, Danai spoke. The woman looked over her shoulder into the house, then turned her attention back to Danai, said a couple of words, and shut the door again.

His sister tapped her boot on the porch, curled her hands again into fists and stared at the solid door. Maybe she was right. The hunters were wary of her and had good reason to be. If she was a human spy for Piaras, she could let a vampire in once she was offered entrance. She just had to convince them she was a huntress. Then they wouldn’t feel threatened. A huntress would never let a vampire into a house, after all.

The door opened again and this time Adonis recognized the gray-haired man standing there to be Rachael’s Uncle Tobias. Adonis’s neck muscles tightened. Tobias studied her with cold gray eyes, didn’t say a word for a moment, his silent demeanor meant to analyze and get the truth out of Danai without wasting his breath. She waited submissively as if she stood before their own father, anticipating his next question or move, respectful of his position.

Tobias glanced at the vehicle. Adonis watched him through the tinted windows, studied the older man’s reaction, trying to determine if he intended to harm his sister, or if she had secured an opening. Then Tobias’s eyes flicked back to Danai, and his expression stern, he waved for her to come inside. When she entered the house, Tobias again looked at the vehicle, then he closed the front door. Adonis prayed Danai would keep her wits about her and if she felt endangered in anyway, that she would vanish and reappear in the relative safety of their home.

Seconds after she disappeared, the door opened and several male hunters headed for the SUV. They’d search it. Time for a vanishing act. Adonis disappeared and reappeared in the woods surrounding the creek.

As soon as it grew dark, he could move about relatively unseen. And as soon as Danai could open a window for him, he could sneak into the house, although the hunter side of him wanted to be welcomed inside like Danai was. But no matter how he gained entrance, once he did, he had free access to Rachael anytime he wanted. He would teach her how to kill human vampires somehow and try his damnedest to keep his mind off everything else he wanted to do with that sweet body of hers.

***

When Gregory came for Rachael, he’d had to shake her several times before she was awake enough to realize she was wanted downstairs. More of an inquisition? She ran her hands through her hair and groaned, saw the look of lust in Gregory’s eyes and frowned.

“Go away, Gregory,” she said, annoyed. Why couldn’t they have had one of her cousins come and fetch her instead? Better yet, one of their wives?

“You have a visitor,” Gregory said cryptically, reading her every facial expression.

She was sure as groggy as she felt, she didn’t react as she might have, but just the same, she feared at once that Adonis, as arrogant as he was, had come for her. She licked her dry lips and swallowed hard, certain if she saw him in her uncle’s house, she’d give both of them away.

“Rachael, your uncle is waiting.” Gregory offered his hand to her, but if he’d been Adonis, he would have helped her up and not waited for her response.

She sighed and closed her eyes.

“Rachael,” Gregory said again, his voice annoyingly pleading.

Her cousins wouldn’t have allowed her to dawdle either. “Who is it?” she asked, pulling aside the covers, glad she was still dressed, minus her boots.

“A friend.” But Gregory didn’t act as though the person here to see her was truly a friend. He was fishing for answers.

Which meant so would her uncle. If Adonis got himself killed on her account…she swallowed hard again, and damn if Gregory didn’t take notice, again. Maybe he’d just think it was the medicine. She definitely didn’t feel herself yet.

After she pulled on her boots, waving Gregory away when he tried to assist because she was still not quite in control of her faculties, he helped Rachael into the hall. He seemed to be trying to decide whether to move her more quickly to appease her uncle, or walk at her pace as unsteady as she was. He finally relented and allowed her to walk slowly to the end of the hall and helped her down the stairs and into the living room.

The whole place crawled with family, her uncles Brent and Curt, her cousins Michael and Zachary, Ferris and his twin, Ned, and their wives, Mary and Trish. But Uncle Tobias was the one she paid attention to the most, his steely gaze fixed on her. If he was annoyed that she moved so slowly, it was all his damned fault.

She’d forgotten all about the visitor who wished to see her until Uncle Tobias motioned to Danai sitting on the largest blue velvet couch. When Rachael saw the dark-haired woman, her face pale, her eyes round, her hand clutching the gold medallion framing the emerald at her breast, Rachael’s lips parted and the blood drained from her face all the way down to her toes. The last thing she thought of before she swooned into Gregory’s chest was how they’d let the vampire huntress into her family’s home. And now all were doomed.

“Rachael!” Gregory lifted her off her feet. “I don’t think the... uhm, medication has quite worn off yet.”

Rachael’s thoughts blurred. By inviting the vampire into their home, none of her family would be safe again. Danai could let any of the bloodsuckers in... Piaras... any of them. And damn, Danai would let Adonis in. He was bound to get himself killed.

Gregory laid her on a couch opposite Danai. Mary quickly covered her with an afghan. Feeling hung over, Rachael stared at Danai, wondering what lies she’d told her family, and how Rachael was now just as implicated. Or would be once she vouched for her. And she had to, if she didn’t want the hunters to instantly murder the woman to protect the family.

Then she remembered why Brent had administered the drug to her. Oh, my God. What had she told her family about Adonis? Her heart beat out of control.

Uncle Tobias frowned at her. “Maybe you ought to rest some more. You don’t seem to be quite yourself yet.”

“Danai,” Rachael whispered, as if anyone would not be privy to their conversation. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you. When you called, you were crying hysterically. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for you.”

She had called Danai? She hadn’t remembered calling anyone. Adonis must have made Danai come to the house, knowing there was no way he could gain entrance without her help. The woman must have been scared half to death knowing what the hunters would do to her if they found out she was a huntress who’d been turned. Although Danai put on a good show, her gaze darted from hunter to hunter while the men stood in the room watching them. Hunter protectiveness, every one of them ready to defend the family, and Danai sacrificing herself for her brother and her cause. And Rachael? A total traitor.

Uncle Tobias motioned to Michael. “Where are our manners? Michael, get the young lady something to drink. And Rachael, too. She seems to need something to perk her up.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Michael asked Danai.

“No!” Rachael said.

“Not for you.” Uncle Tobias frowned at Rachael’s outburst. “You don’t need anything alcoholic at the moment.”

“Wine will be fine,” Danai responded.

Could daylight vampires eat and drink real food? She had thought vampires didn’t need food in their diets. Although the topic had never come up, and she’d never read anything in books on the matter.

She was pretty sure Adonis had said they bought blood. Maybe they only used it as a supplement. But Rachael’s skin prickled to see Michael’s interest in Danai. No way could he get tangled up with a vampire, like the way she, herself, was intrigued by one. Yet, he was twenty-nine with no hope of ever having a huntress as a mate, and this woman seemed perfectly eligible. Seemed being the key word. Rachael groaned.

Gregory leaned over and patted her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she snapped, irritated to high heaven that Adonis was making such a mess of her life.

Four of Rachael’s other suitors entered the house through the front door, and one acted as the spokesman, speaking to Uncle Tobias in private. Uncle Tobias nodded, and she wondered what that was all about.

Michael walked into the room with a glass of wine for Danai and orange juice for Rachael. Then he took a seat on the couch next to Danai.

Seemingly satisfied Danai was no danger to Rachael, Uncle Tobias motioned to the other men. “We have some things to discuss, then we’ll all be out for dinner.”

But before he could retire to the conference room, Mary caught his attention, leaned close and whispered something in his ear. The tips of his ears turned red.

Mary had one of those sweet heart-shaped faces that matched her sugary disposition. But the worry in her green eyes warned Rachael of more trouble. Both Uncle Tobias and Mary turned to look at Rachael. Mary had told on her. But what had Rachael done now? No doubt said something she shouldn’t have under the influence of that drug.

Uncle Tobias whispered something back to Mary. She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

Rachael cringed deep inside at the scrutiny her uncle gave her. Now what had she said or done?

Uncle Tobias motioned to Brent and spoke to him. Again both looked at Rachael. In fact the whole room full of hunters watched her. Whatever she’d done would be discussed next in the hunting conference room. She wanted to slip back to her apartment and bury her head. She wished tomorrow she’d wake and find it was all an unpleasant dream.

Gregory walked over to Uncle Tobias, and she knew he was dying to know what crime she’d committed. But her uncle shook his head at his query and made all of her suitors remain outside of the room while he and the other men walked inside.

She really must have said something bad for him not to want her suitors to know. Gregory watched her and she looked over at Danai who sipped her wine. The pretty dark-haired woman seemed to relax some.

But Rachael’s stomach muscles tightened. She knew it was only a matter of time before Danai let Adonis inside. And then the trouble would really begin.

When Michael opened the door to the conference room, he waved for Rachael’s suitors to join them. Gregory leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then followed the others into the room. Was he trying to show he didn’t care what was being said? He still wanted her no matter what?

She tried to rise from the sofa too quickly, but collapsed.

Danai hurried to her and helped her to stand. There were no others in the room, but still she whispered, “What did they do to you?”

“Gave me a truth serum to find out who came to see me on the balcony of the ballroom.”

Danai’s eyes widened and her skin turned like ice.

“Can you help me into the kitchen? I have to talk to Mary.”

“The lady who spoke to your uncle about you?”

“Yes. I have to find out what she said.”

“Do you think it wise?” Danai asked.

“I have to know what to expect.”

Danai helped her into the kitchen where Trish and Mary and five other huntresses prepared the evening meal, the aroma of the roast already permeating the air.

“Mary, may I have a word with you?” Rachael leaned against Danai for support.

Mary rushed to join her and grasped her arm gently. “You should probably lay down, Rachael. You don’t seem to be very steady on your feet.”

She helped Danai take her back to the couch. Rachael took Mary’s hand. “Tell me what you said to Uncle Tobias about me that upset him.”

Mary looked at Danai and took a deep breath. “It’s not for me to say. Will you be all right here? Or would you like for me to have one of the men return you to your room?”

Rachael frowned at her. “I want to know what you said to Uncle Tobias.”

“You know how he is. He runs the family. If he wants you to know, he’ll speak to you about it. If you don’t need anything else, I have to help the other women prepare the meal.” Mary kissed her cheek, turned, and scurried back to the kitchen.

Rachael fumed.

“Would you like to return to your room?” Danai asked.

“No.” How could all of her family talk behind her back like that? What had she said in front of Trish and Mary? Maybe she could wheedle it out of Trish, her cousin, Ferris’s wife.

“Is there a bathroom I can use to wash up?” Danai asked.

Rachael’s eyes widened. “You can eat our food?”

“Certainly.”

There was a lot more to Adonis and his sister than they’d revealed to her. Rachael motioned to the stairs, then leaned back into the sofa.

She wasn’t sure how long she dozed, but when she was conscious of voices floating around and nearby her, she opened her eyes and found the living room full of people again.

She sat up. As soon as she did, the room grew quiet.

Gregory hurried to join her, attentive as ever.

“Dinner’s nearly ready,” Mary said, giving an early warning.

Rachael stood, testing her legs before she took a step.

“Are you going to be all right?” Gregory held her arm to steady her.

“Yes. I just want to run upstairs for a moment.”

“I’ll go with you.” Danai crossed the floor, took Rachael’s arm, and walked with her toward the steps. “Are you still a bit shaky?”

“A little. I need to eat, then I’ll feel better.”

They climbed the stairs and walked into Rachael’s old bedroom, the only thing changed since she’d moved out, a new blue velvet comforter covering the bed. Pictures of seascapes still covered her walls and seashells decorated her dresser, from the last time she’d made a trip to Galveston Island. She poked her fingers into her leather purse, lying on the oak bedside table, and pulled a hairbrush out. But the sheer ice blue curtains at the window, shuddering in the breeze, caught her eye.

“Oh, Danai you can’t have.” She collapsed on the bed, staring at the open window, finally noticing the cool night air whipping into the room. But her blood was so hot, she barely noticed the chill in the air.

“Can’t have what, Rachael?”

“You let him in, didn’t you?”

“You have to help us kill Piaras. You know you do. Adonis said he’d go on the hunt with your men. He plans to prove he can be as capable as or more so than the others. He wants your uncle to accept him, and he needs to visit you freely to tell you the plan concerning Piaras.”

“He can’t, Danai. I don’t know what I’ve said about him to my uncle after I was drugged. He’ll be in great danger if anyone catches him in the house with me.”

“Truthfully, he’s in great danger no matter what he does. We all are. You, me, Adonis, and everyone who tries to protect you from Piaras.”

Rachael hadn’t considered that, and the thought forced a shiver down her spine.

The bell rang for dinner downstairs in the dining room, jarring her taut nerves.

“They’ll kill him,” Rachael whispered, and rose from the bed to leave the room.

“Not if I can help it,” Adonis’s deep voice said, as he appeared behind her next to her bed.

She spun around too fast and caught his arms before she sank to her knees to see Adonis standing before her, this time wearing a black turtleneck and jeans like his sister. Except a sword was belted at his waist instead of a dagger. God, he looked just like a hunter. Her heart ached to think he could be hers if Piaras hadn’t turned him.

“They drugged her, Adonis. She doesn’t know what she’s told them about you,” Danai warned. She truly sounded afraid for him.

He lifted Rachael into his arms and kissed her mouth with such force she had to gasp for breath. “Only good things, I’m sure.”

The tears came again. “I’m sorry,” Rachael whispered. “I think the medication’s made me weepy.” She was torn between being elated to see him and horrified her family would catch him with her.

His look not in the least arrogant this time, he smiled, warming her heart. “Seeing me has unsettled you, but in a good way.”

“I don’t want them to hurt you.”

Danai tugged at his arm. “Adonis, someone’s coming. They’ve called for the evening meal. They’ll grow concerned if she doesn’t go downstairs soon.”

He laid Rachael on the bed. “Tell them she’s not able to eat right now.”

Danai shook her head and scowled at her brother. “She must eat and you have to leave, now.”

The floorboards creaked in the hall, and Rachael cringed. Several footsteps headed toward her room. The footfalls belonged to angry males.

Chapter 8

“I really hate having to leave you like this all the time. Soon, I won’t ever again,” Adonis whispered, then kissed Rachael’s cheek while she lay in the bed, before her bedroom was overrun with hunters who would kill him if they found him in here with her.

Before she could respond to his gentle touch, he vanished. Seeing him disappear, wrenched at her heart. He was like a warm blanket snatched away from her on a blustery cold day. More than anything else in the world, she wanted his arms wrapped around her while she embraced him in return.

But when Michael, Zachary, and Gregory stormed into the room armed with swords readied, she was glad Adonis was safely away.

“Shut that window!” Michael ordered, then searched the closet while Zachary locked the window tight.

“What’s the matter now?” Rachael asked, irritation lacing her voice.

“Who opened the window?”

“I did. It was stuffy in here.” She locked gazes with Michael, not about to tell the truth. She couldn’t look at Danai to see her reaction, but she hoped Adonis’s sister wouldn’t believe she’d tell on her, even though Rachael should have—if she’d been doing what would naturally be expected of her to keep her own family safe.

“It’s freezing in here. We’ll have to have it nailed shut.” Michael lifted her from the bed. “You’re joining us downstairs. You need to eat. And Father is anxious about your being alone at any time.”

“Mostly because you didn’t come down when the bell rang for supper,” Zachary added, a peeved look cast in her direction.

“Danai is here with me. Besides, I would be fine if you bullies hadn’t drugged me.”

“If you’d told us the truth, we wouldn’t have needed to. And moreover, we only did it so that we’d know what we’re up against.” Michael jostled her down the stairs while Zachary and Danai led the way.

Gregory brought up the rear.

“I could have walked,” she protested after the fact. She wondered why Michael hadn’t given Gregory the honor of carrying her to the table instead. Then she noticed Michael’s interest in Danai again. He was showing off how protective, big, and strong he was.

It would have been laughable if the whole idea hadn’t been so tragic. Danai seemed interested in Michael, too, enjoying his masculine attentions, but a sadness dulled her dark chocolate eyes.

“You’re welcome to stay tonight with us, Danai,” Michael said, and seated Rachael at the table.

He quickly pulled a chair out for Danai, leaving an empty seat between Rachael and her so he could sit between the two women. “The women will stay here until we’re through with the hunt. But since you live on the other side of town, we wouldn’t want you to have to drive all that way so late at night.”

“I would like that.”

Rachael couldn’t help but groan. Danai was just like her brother, Adonis... a troublemaker. And then she wondered what the woman had said to get into the house so easily. What kind of a story had she concocted?

Rachael rubbed her temple and stared at her plate. How could she feel protective toward the vampire woman, but at the same time want her family to be safe? She shrank down in her chair. She was quickly becoming a total basket case under Adonis’s influence.

Her conscience told her to expose the woman, and let the hunters take care of her as they would have to. Danai couldn’t be allowed to let any other vampire into the house. But Rachael’s heart wouldn’t allow her to expose Danai’s true identity. Instead, Rachael had to hope Danai’s huntress sensibilities and her desire for Rachael to help them kill Piaras would keep the huntress turned vampire from doing anything to hurt Rachael’s family.

To Rachael’s left, Ned sat, and on the other side of him, Mary. She was surprised Gregory wasn’t seated beside her. Instead, her cousins were seated on either side. For her protection? She shook her head, annoyed.

Roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, asparagus, and salad were served, along with homemade rolls and wine. Noticeably absent were hunter children who stayed with other hunter families before their fathers hunted. The calm was necessary for the hunters to prepare themselves mentally for the task ahead of them.

Rachael studied the number of hunters—Ned, Ferris, Michael, Zachary, Gregory, the remaining five of her suitors, and four of Tobias’s cousins. Why the large turnout? They were going after some significant numbers of vampires to have such a crowd. And she wasn’t privy to what they were up to, as usual. She stifled a scowl as her skin prickled with irritation. She wanted to go, too, and she would, somehow.

She reached for her glass of wine.

Michael quickly snatched it away from her. She frowned at him, and he gave her a small smile. “Sorry, but the ladies shouldn’t have set a glass of wine at your place setting tonight. Not in the condition you’re currently in.”

Rachael tightened her hands into fists. Her “condition” was due to their drugging her. She couldn’t quash the resentment that filled every pore, that they had given the serum to her against her will.

Mary rose from the table. “I’m sorry, Rachael. I meant to get you water.”

Rachael hated being treated differently at any time and her blood heated. But then again, she was different. She was the only female who had wanted to hunt beyond her teen years. The others for the most part, were happy to settle down. Plus she was the only one who’d been marked by a vampire. And the only one ever to be under a vampire’s contract.

Steeling her back, she turned her attention to Uncle Tobias. “I want to go with you on the hunt tonight.”

Mary handed her a glass of water, then took her seat.

Conversation ceased. Many continued to scrape forks across plates as they dug into their food, but no further words were spoken.

Several pairs of eyes considered her as if she was the entertainment for the evening meal. Others looked at Tobias, waiting for his response.

He nodded. “Gregory said you wished to do this.”

Gregory watched her, but didn’t smile. She figured her uncle had said no to him. But at least Gregory had attempted to do her bidding. And for the first time, she felt something for him other than disinterest. Admiration, maybe for his trying so hard to please her. But Adonis had stolen her heart.

“I have to say no.” Uncle Tobias buttered a roll.

“But—”

“It’s not safe for you to go out at night now.”

She looked down at her plate of untouched food, trying to figure how to persuade him otherwise. She had no intention of being locked up in a hunter’s house every night for the rest of her life, hiding from Piaras. She faced her uncle. “If I were surrounded by hunters... “

He shook his head.

She tensed, unable to school her feelings. Her uncle was stubborn like the rest of the hunters. “You could use me as bait.”

Mary choked on her wine and coughed. Ned leaned over and patted her back.

Uncle Tobias lifted his wine glass. “We don’t use our huntresses for vampire bait.”

“He comes for me.” Rachael stood and motioned to some of the men and women who were close to her age, one of the women in particular, Lynella, a thorn in her side from the beginning. “Some of you taunted me while I was growing up. He’d come for me. The one who marked me. That’s what you said. Only we didn’t know who he was. Piaras. Let him come to me then, and we’ll kill him.”

Her uncle’s voice grew gruff. “I won’t use you like a lamb at the slaughter.”

“I’m not a lamb! I’m a huntress.”

“Sit, eat, Rachael. The medicine has made you... emotional.”

“Unruly, you meant to say.” She threw her napkin on the table. Before she made it two steps away from her chair, Michael jumped from his seat and grabbed her arm, detaining her.

“Sit,” her uncle reiterated. “And eat.”

She sat in her chair and stared at her food. She could be just as stubborn as the hunters. Tonight, she’d go on a hunt. Maybe not the one the others went on, but she’d go just the same.

She began to cut up her roast. Eating would give her strength, and she’d need every ounce of it to take down the worst vampire of them all. But after the meal, she was determined to learn how to hunt human vampires to ready herself for Piaras himself.

When she began working on her meal, the conversation started up again. The entertainment had ended.

She glanced up to see Gregory watching her. Was he the one who’d stay behind to make sure she was safe?

Retiring to bed following the meal was her plan. After that, she’d wing it. But she had to wait until the hunters left the house first.

Once she finished her meal, she stood. Again the dining room grew quiet, like a silent scene in a snow-filled winter landscape.

Uncle Tobias quit speaking to his cousin Brent and turned to her. “What is it now, Rachael?”

“I was going to retire to my bedroom.”

“Sit and wait for the rest of us to finish eating.”

Her blood heated. “I was going to lie down.”

He stood. Not a good sign. Then he walked around the table to where she was. “Come with me.”

He waited for her to comply, then she walked with him out of the room. The conversation renewed about idol talk, but she was certain after she and her uncle were out of earshot, the conversation would again center on her. Not to be conceited or anything, but controversy was always a preferable topic to the mundane.

After Uncle Tobias took her into his office, he motioned to a chair and shut the door. When he sat in his desk chair, and she was sitting opposite him, he said, “I’ve not been the best... father for you, I’m afraid, Rachael. But in truth, I do want the best for you. Seeing that you weren’t interested in settling down as young as most of our huntresses do, I allowed you to continue to hunt. Granted, not human vampires. I couldn’t let you…” He looked weary all of a sudden. “I couldn’t afford to lose you like I did my brother and sister-in-law. I owed it to the memory of them to keep you safe. And frankly, after having sons and nephews to keep in line, having a niece was refreshing.”

He shifted in the leather seat. “But it’s time for you to select a mate.” He took a deep breath. “However, this situation with Piaras must be resolved first. I hadn’t wanted to upset you with the details concerning who had killed your parents once we learned who had done the deed.”

She didn’t believe him. Like her cousin, Michael, she rebelled in a lot of ways. Her Uncle Tobias probably assumed she’d target Piaras by herself. And he was dead right.

“And, Rachael, until Piaras sent this vampire to bring you to him, we really hadn’t believed his marking you meant he’d attempt to claim you when you were older.”

As much as she wanted to believe Adonis was totally being honest with her, what if he really was the vampire’s pawn as much as she was? What had Adonis said? That Piaras couldn’t control him for the most part? Which part? The one where he was ordered to bring Rachael to him, maybe using any or all means available to him?

Rachael’s thoughts began to merge into a muddle.

Piaras had sent Adonis to deliver Rachael to him. That much seemed to be the truth. She rubbed her temple, trying to soothe the ache that stitched its way across it. What if his smooth talking seductive moves were all a show?

Well, truly, she didn’t believe they could be. But what if he had no real intention of keeping her for himself as he said, but only pretended he planned to kill Piaras? That in the end he couldn’t kill the bastard, any more than he could allow her to? Maybe not even consciously realizing it?

She took a deep calming breath. “How did you find out that Piaras was the one who’d killed my parents?”

“One of his bloodsuckers volunteered the information when Zachary had him cornered the night before the ball. The rogue vampire knew he was going to die, but he wanted the last word.”

“Had Piaras killed my parents when they were on a hunt?” But then again, only her father would have been hunting, she assumed.

“No. That’s what confused us. They’d had dinner with me that evening, but when they returned home, they never made it inside. He’d attacked them in front of their house. Your father defended you and your mother the best he could, but the ancient vampire still killed both of them.”

Rachael touched her shoulder, remembering being frightened to death because her father was fighting with a vampire, and her mother was holding her tight, but the vampire had been between them and the house. And so there had been no escaping him. That’s why she imagined Uncle Tobias had set up the housing development outside Dallas for hunters, exclusively for them and their families. Some lived on their own in different parts of the city, but many lived together as a protective force.

She sighed. For years, she’d had nightmares about the dark. Something evil lurked there, waiting for her... just as Piaras had hidden in the dark. Sometimes the scar on her shoulder burned during her nightmares, waking her. Even now when she had to force herself to explore the darkness, her heart would quicken as if she were attempting to outrun the devil himself, and her scar would prickle with apprehension.

“Why didn’t he just kill me, too?” she asked softly.

“We never knew. Some thought your Uncle Brent and Uncle Curt, who’d left my home later than your parents, heard your mother scream, and scared him off before he could take your life, leaving him only enough time to mark you. Others felt he scarred you on purpose and planned to return for you when you were an acceptable age. When your birthdays continued to pass without incident, we decided the notion he wished to return for you was incorrect.”

“Apparently not.”

“We thought maybe someone had taken him down also. He’d vanished from the area for several years. Rachael, I don’t want to lose you. And I owe it to your father, my youngest brother, to keep you safe as well.”

For the first time that she could remember, her uncle’s eyes watered. She swallowed, trying to keep her composure, then stood. When she walked over and gave him a hug, he seemed surprised at her action, his jaw dropping and his eyes round. “You’ve been the only father that I’ve ever truly known. My dad would have been pleased you raised me as well as you have.”

Her uncle’s gray eyes sparkled. He kissed her forehead. “But you must mind me, and allow me to take care of this the best way I think it should be handled.”

She had no intention of doing as he asked. She couldn’t live in fear of Piaras coming for her forever. And Adonis was right. It was an expected practice that hunters’ children would take down the vampire that killed their parents... although normally it would have been only the father who would die hunting a vampire. Traditionally the hunter’s sons would hunt the rogue. In fact, she’d never heard of a huntress doing such a thing. But being an only child, she’d have to avenge her parent’s death. She’d set a precedence.

The blood in her veins surged with vengeance, and she desired to find some balance in her life, to chase away the shadows that haunted her nights. To rid herself of the fear—of the devil vampire himself…Piaras.

Her uncle broke into her thoughts. “I’ve asked that Michael stay to watch over you tonight.”

She attempted to prevent her breathing from escalating too quickly. Michael would keep her under his thumb, she was certain, and at the same time, make his moves on Danai.

“But Gregory asked to allow me to have him remain behind instead.”

Rachael nearly quit breathing. Gregory was a milk toast around her, most of the time. She’d get around him somehow or another.

“All right, Rachael?”

Attempting a subdued appearance, she mutely nodded, afraid to speak and reveal her enthusiasm. Her uncle would be sure to think she was up to something. And change his mind.

“Then let us return to the meal, and when everyone is done, the hunters will leave. Afterward, you may visit with the ladies or retire to your room. It’s your choice. Although Gregory will be disappointed if you hide away in your bedroom.”

He rose from his seat, then paused. “I don’t want you to see this Adonis Cameron any further, however.”

She gulped.

His eyes turned hard. “I mean it. He’s not to get near you again.”

They walked out of the office. Her uncle would have to tell Adonis that then. No way was she going to convince the hunter turned vampire to stay away from her. Nor would she want it.

When they walked into the dining room, the conversation ceased. The dinner plates had been removed and most everyone sipped coffee while several were eating slices of chocolate cake—energy for the fight ahead.

She took her seat while her uncle sat in his chair. How could she sneak out of the house and participate in a hunt on her own? How would she find renegade vampires that needed to be terminated? Not all vampires were evil, after all.

Those were the questions that plagued her now.

***

As the hunters headed out to their vehicles following the meal, Michael lingered to say goodbye to Danai, and Rachael hated seeing the interest the two had in each other. Wringing her hands, Danai glanced at Rachael. Worried about Michael’s attraction to her? And maybe how Rachael would view it?

Rachael bit her lip. No way could she encourage the vampire to seduce her cousin.

To Rachael’s surprise and consternation, Danai leaned forward and kissed Michael’s cheek. Was it the vampire in the woman or the huntress that made her stick her neck out so? Hell, Danai was as bad as Adonis.

Michael’s eyes sparkled and his lips rose. Then he returned the kiss quickly against her mouth. Rachael groaned inwardly. Not a good sign. Already the mating ritual had begun. Michael walked outside and climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV.

Rachael prayed all her family and the other hunters would remain safe tonight.

Gregory closed the front door and locked it. Turning, he smiled at Rachael with a speculative gleam in his eye, but the interest he seemed to have in her didn’t have the same effect on her as Adonis did. “I thought we might spend some time alone together in the parlor,” he said.

Adonis would have suggested whisking her off to somewhere much more private than the parlor, and she would have embraced the notion. “I’m sorry, Gregory. After all that’s happened today, I’m exhausted. I’m retiring to my room.”

He clasped her hand in his, possessive, forceful, his voice deepening a bit with a hint of a threat. “I really want to talk.”

Casting him an irritated look meant to quell his insistence, she shook loose of him. “Later. Tonight is not the time.” Her raised voice caught the attention of Mary and Trish who both looked in her direction from the living area.

Gregory seemed to take the not-so-subtle hint finally and bowed to her slightly. Maybe because the other ladies were present, and he didn’t want to create a scene that might be mentioned to Uncle Tobias. “As you wish.” But his words were couched in hostility.

She assumed if she became his wife, she’d hear more about her actions from him later. But she had no intention of marrying him, now or ever.

She said goodnight to the other ladies and headed for the stairs with Danai. Mary and Trish came after her, and she instantly squared her shoulders, preparing for a battle on a new front.

Mary wound a shoulder length, dark brown curl around her finger. “Your uncle wished for you to stay with us a while.”

“I have no intention of sleeping on the couch, again.”

“All right. If you really are retiring to bed then... ,” Trish said.

“I am.”

“We’ll be up to check on you later.”

Great.

Rachael and Danai navigated the steps, then walked into her bedroom and shut the door. “Now what?” Rachael asked. She headed for the window.

“Lock the door,” Adonis said, making Rachael gasp, and she wheeled around to see him behind her.

Her heart beat wildly when he kissed her cheek. She didn’t wait for him to do anything else, but flung her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic embrace.

He chuckled while he squeezed her tightly against his firm chest. “You missed me.”

The way his dark eyes penetrated her with desire sent her whole body into hormonal turmoil. Yes, she missed him, although she needed to focus on business.

Danai locked the door.

“I want to hunt... to take down some human vampires before you deliver me to Piaras, but the other ladies are checking on me in a little while.” Rachael touched his dark hair still bound in a ponytail.

“Danai will tell them you’re still sleeping. They won’t realize you’ve ever left the room, if all works as planned.” He nuzzled his smooth face against her cheek. She loved the feel of a hunter’s face against her skin. Although the vampire had the same trait... unlike humans who grew a prickly stubble in no time. “It’s time to learn how to kill a human vampire.”

“I don’t have my sword.”

He reached down and placed his hand on the dagger at her waist, his fingers touching her, sending a spark of desire straight to her loins. “You’ll have to use a dagger on Piaras. He’d never let you get close enough if you were wielding a sword.”

She swallowed hard. She’d always used her sword on vampire dogs in an attempt to stay away from their wicked fangs. But she always wore a dagger, just in case.

He led her to the window, then he slipped his arm around her waist. He swooped out of the window with her in his warm embrace, then landed on the ground.

Clinging to him, she felt slightly dizzy.

He frowned as he hurried her to his SUV. “Your family is going to the eastern part of the city.”

“After Piaras.”

“They won’t find him there. But I’m taking you to the western side, just to ensure we don’t accidentally run into any of your family.”

After closing her car door, he appeared in the driver’s seat. He drove slowly along the drive, attempting not to make too much noise while leaving the estate that would alert those left behind.

“What about Danai? What if they discover I’m not in bed and treat her badly?” No way did she want her family to hurt Danai.

“She can always make a hasty retreat like I do. But of course if she does, they’ll know she’s not what she says she is. We’ll have to hope that doesn’t happen, for all our sakes.”

And then the hunt would be called off so the men could locate Rachael. She shuddered. She was certain her uncle wouldn’t make Rachael leave the family, like he’d done with Michael. But she’d be ostracized and remain with the family, which would be about the same kind of punishment or worse. “Where are we going exactly?”

“To a furniture warehouse. Four Rottweilers guard the place. Some of Piaras’s vampires intend to turn them. We’ll beat them to the building, and you can take care of the vampires.”

And if they got there too late? She’d be stuck putting down more killer vampire dogs. But then another worrisome thought occurred to her. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m going to terminate other vampires?” She couldn’t imagine Adonis wouldn’t feel something negative about her killing vampires.

“No. I’m not really one of them. Only Piaras has any tie to me. The others barely tolerate me. They didn’t like it that he turned a hunter and his huntress sister. It’s never been done before, as far as I know. We’re not considered totally loyal. If Piaras dies, they’ll have it in for both Danai and me.”

She couldn’t imagine how awful it must be for Adonis and Danai. The vampires wouldn’t accept them, nor would a hunters’ family willingly invite them to join them. The notion struck a chord of sympathy in her for them. Even though she sometimes felt like she didn’t fit in with her family, she was still very much loved. She wanted Adonis and his sister both to feel they belonged to a family again, as most hunters longed to be. “How did he turn you?”

He hesitated to answer her. She studied him in the dark, wishing she could see his facial expression. Was he upset at how they’d come to be here? Or was something else delaying his answer?

Something that could prove not in her best interests?

Chapter 9

Adonis turned down another dark road that Rachael recognized led to a warehouse district, her skin cold with anticipation, her heartbeat accelerating. She wished she could command it to beat more steadily, knowing Adonis could hear her anxiousness with his super enhanced hearing, just as she could if the blood wasn’t pulsing so hard in her ears.

“Before you hunt, you have to clear your mind of everything... anything that could distract you from your job.”

“Yes.” She knew this from her hunter training classes. The key was to be able to concentrate on only the menace before you, nothing else, allowing no other distractions.

“Emotions have to be buried.”

Emotions. Now that could be a problem. When faced with a dog that was ready to rip her throat out, she could handle it. But what if the vampire rogue smiled at her sweetly, no fangs extended, no threat involved? Then what? Would she react too late?

But Adonis was avoiding her question. “I know all this. What has any of this got to do with your being turned?”

Again, he paused before he spoke. She imagined the memory was painful. Did he worry she’d be thinking about it when she should be concentrating on killing rogue vampires?

“Not knowing will make it worse for me. I have a very vivid imagination, Adonis.”

He reached over and ran his hand over her fingers resting on the console. “My... sister had lost contact with her friend and came here looking for her. When we discovered her body, we investigated and soon learned Piaras was at the heart of the matter. He had murdered Pasha’s friend.”

“You sought revenge? You went to his estates and—”

He released a ponderous sigh. “I’ll tell you everything, Rachael.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Everything, but now is not the time.”

With her free hand, she touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Adonis. My uncle would have welcomed you into the family. I know he would have. We have one other that joined us from California. Some of my suitors and a couple of the women who married into my family came from other parts of Texas to ensure no one is too closely related. Had you only sought our help—”

He nodded and yet she sensed there was more to the story than he was willing to let on. He and his family must have stormed the estates and been caught off-guard... a rare occurrence unless they’d been so angry, they had not used enough caution. But then again, her father and mother had been caught off-guard, too.

She stared out the window. “Why did your sister’s friend come here?”

“She’d met some hunter and ran away from her family. Her family should have taken care of the matter, not mine. But since my sister had gotten involved, we couldn’t very well let her run loose on her own.” He sounded angry.

She wanted to soothe the hunter seated beside her, who had lost his identity in one foul meeting with Piaras. But Adonis wouldn’t want her pity. Yet, she had no idea how to comfort him, to show him it didn’t matter to her what he was.

“Is there anything else?” Not that what had happened wasn’t enough, but she instinctively knew he was holding back. Nothing he said had made her so emotionally unstable that she couldn’t complete her mission. What was he not telling her?

“I’ll tell you about all of it later.” His voice was shadowed with concern.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Was he more vampire than hunter now?

For an instant, a crushing panic filled her chest. What if he had gotten her away from her family and intended to turn her over to Piaras after all? Here in the dead of the night, in the darkened warehouse district where low light barely penetrated the gloom.

Maybe he wanted Piaras and his vampires to trust him, and this would prove his loyalty. Hunters wouldn’t truly accept him for what he was now. But if he could wreak havoc with hunter groups because he had been a hunter, couldn’t that put him in better stead with his vampire clan?

How could she be so trusting of a hunter, no—a vampire—who might very well be leading her to... to her death? Or worse, a life of servitude as Piaras’s mistress?

Her face grew hot. She chastised herself for being so naïve.

She touched her dagger. Could she use it on Adonis if need be? To protect her life, to prevent being turned? She thought she could. But the meal she had eaten curdled in her stomach.

But no, he seemed so sincere that his sister needed her help and meant what they said. She was certain her thoughts were running amok because of having to hunt her first human vampires. “My parents were caught off-guard, too,” she said softly.

Adonis pulled into an empty lot where a metal building sat squarely, covering a whole block, and shut off his headlights, then killed the engine. “Your uncle finally told you what happened?” His dark eyes indicated his apprehension.

Was he worried about how she felt? Or concerned she might not be able to handle the job now? She couldn’t shake free of the feeling of distrust that had wormed its way into the pit of her stomach.

“He said Piaras killed them in front of their home after my uncle had them over for dinner.”

“Why did Piaras kill them?”

She shook her head and took a stabilizing breath. “No one knows.”

“Where were you at the time?”

“Crying next to my mother’s body. He must have marked me, then taken off.”

He squeezed the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “But why? I can’t figure out why he wants you so badly.”

She vacillated between staying in the car and learning the truth and getting on with the mission.

“If he marked you, he’d want to claim you at the right time when you were an acceptable age.”

As his mistress. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

Adonis reached to take her hand, but she pulled back. His expression grew grave. “I was ordered to take you to him... yes. But I would never give you up to him. It is as I said. I’m taking you there because you can get close to him like no other hunter or huntress can. Together, we’ll kill him.”

He reached out to take her hand in his. She desired his touch, to confirm that he truly cared for her, but could he? Was a vampire capable of love? She’d always been told they weren’t. That they were only interested in fulfilling their sexual needs.

“Speaking about this right now is not a good idea. You have to have a clear head to fight the bloodsuckers.”

“Could the reason Piaras wants me be anything to do with my father? Perhaps he hunted someone Piaras cherished?”

“I’ve never seen him attached to anyone the month I’ve known him. The only thing I could think of was Piaras wanted to show your uncle how powerless he is compared to the vampire, despite the fact Tobias is the head of the hunter league here in Dallas.”

“That’s probably it.” Although it didn’t make the situation any less tenable.

Adonis squeezed her hand with reassurance. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes.” She had to be. She had to eliminate the devil vampire himself or forever be kept in seclusion, worrying he’d snatch her away from her family.

Several of her kind had tried and failed to terminate the bastard. But they’d used the usual hunter techniques, attempting to lure him away from his fortified estate and go in for the kill. She would go into the heart of his estate, at his request, but when she was ready, and on her own terms, she would terminate him.

“I want you to handle them on your own so that you’ll get the feel of taking care of multiple threats. But I’ll be nearby in case you need me.” He leaned over the console and kissed her lips.

When he pulled back, she wasn’t ready for the separation. She reached forward and pressed her mouth against his, making him smile. Then he took a ragged breath. “It’s nearly time for them to arrive. I need to get you in before that happens.” He climbed out of the SUV.

She couldn’t squelch the butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she exited the vehicle. “What now?”

He slipped his arm around her waist. “I’ll take you to that fire escape balcony up there. Then I’ll get inside and—”

“You’ve been invited in before?” She’d envisioned he would have to break a lock, and then she’d have to go inside to invite him in. But if the vampires were to be here to turn the dogs, they must have been invited in already. Maybe he’d been with them at the same time. He was one of them came to mind. A shiver crept up her spine.

“Earlier today, I paid the place a visit. I asked to see the manager and as soon as the foreman let me in, I apologized and said I was in the wrong building and left. Anyway, I’ll unlock the door from the inside and let you in.”

“How can the other vampires get in?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe a host let them in last night. I really am not sure.”

So he hadn’t been with them. For whatever reason, that gave her a small bit of relief, knowing that he didn’t chum around with them all the time.

After he alighted on the balcony with Rachael, he kissed her lips, his warm touch lingering a bit, then he pressed her mouth more firmly and moaned when she melted against him. Holding her face in his hands, he touched his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Did he worry whether she would manage on her own all right? Hunters didn’t take down vampire humans unless they’d been supervised for some time. Would he come to her aid if she needed him to?

As much as she wanted to do this, she couldn’t reassure herself she’d be fine.

Adonis kissed her forehead. “I’ll let you in.” Then he vanished.

She blinked. She’d never get used to him disappearing like that.

Within seconds, the door squeaked open, and with her heart beating pell mell, she walked inside. A narrow walkway, surrounded by a wrought iron railing, led to offices on the second level of the building. But in the center of the warehouse it was open air from the first floor all the way up to the high ceiling she guessed was about thirty feet high. She peered down. Crates were stacked like building-block towers all along the edges of the warehouse and extended several feet deep. A metal stairway led down to the ground floor.

A fraction of the building’s lights were on. In a restaurant, she would have considered it ambience. Here, it made the place appear sinister.

Adonis touched her hand and he raised his finger to his lips, warning her to be quiet.

“Where are the dogs?” she whispered.

“I’ll see to the dogs. I can use my abilities to make them sleep. I’ll be back for you after that.”

Again, Adonis disappeared. Her heart in her throat, she did breathing exercises to try and calm her nerves. Leaning against the railing, she peered down into the dimly lit warehouse, searching for any sign of the dogs, Adonis, or the other vampires, but didn’t hear anyone or anything. She listened silently, now barely breathing, trying to hear any sound indicating a vampire’s arrival. She envisioned Adonis would begin speaking to the vampires down below, then bring them to her. After all, they were supposed to turn the dogs, so the vampires would initially go to where they were. So she listened intently for their words, but then realized, Adonis and the bloodsuckers would most likely convey their thoughts telepathically. She hadn’t considered that. No prior warning for her then. It didn’t bode well.

Seconds later, she heard dogs growling. Evidently Adonis had found the Rottweilers.

But the flapping noise nearby set her nerves on edge. She yanked out her dagger. The hair stood at the nape of her neck. But she didn’t see any sign of anyone. And the dogs had grown quiet.

“What have we here?” an unfamiliar man’s voice said from above her.

She jerked her gaze upward. Standing on a ladder leaning against the wall and three feet higher than her, a man looked down at her. Approximately six-foot tall, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, the vampire’s dark eyes pierced her with intrigue. He wore a black cape and jeans, but an ice white shirt, opened far enough to reveal his pale skin.

She held her dagger ready but wished she had her sword. Now she wasn’t sure she could kill a human vampire. Not when he didn’t snarl at her with fangs poised for her destruction. She steeled her back. “Why don’t you come down and see?”

“I thought the warehouse owner only had dogs here to guard his merchandise. Who’d have thought he’d have a female security officer. And one as pretty as you to boot.”

He didn’t realize she was a huntress? That knowledge definitely gave her the advantage. Sure, why would he think a lone huntress would be waiting to terminate him inside a warehouse?

The vampire jumped down from the ladder with a springy half flying step and landed on the grating in front of Rachael. Her heart picked up its pace, and she tightened her grip on the dagger.

Kill her, turn her into his own kind, or maybe have some fun with her first. That’s what he was trying to decide, she assumed.

He glanced down at her dagger. “Guess the owner’s too cheap to provide you with a firearm. Or maybe you’re afraid of guns?”

He looked into her eyes, piercingly intense as though he tried to control her thoughts. And then what? Make her drop her weapon? Vampires liked the odds in their favor. Unarmed, mindless humans to do with as they wished.

But when he couldn’t control her, his eyes widened a bit. Realization dawning? He glanced back at her dagger, and his head jerked upward. “Huntress,” he hissed, his teeth instantly extending and bared at her.

Without a minute’s hesitation, she lunged at him. Plunged the ancient hunter’s blade between his ribs and into his heart.

Instantly, he wizened into a mummified figure of a man—like those entombed in ancient Egypt, dry skin clinging to bones. Then he collapsed to the floor. An ancient. She killed one all on her own.

Before she could feel any further exhilaration about his death and the fact she had the huntress skills to do this, a vampire hissed behind her. She whipped around to face a female this time. Her perilous canines already extended, bared at Rachael.

No surprise attack this time. Rachael charged forward, managing to strike the vampire with her dagger. But the blade struck into her chest and hit a rib, missing the heart. The creature screamed out, then grabbed Rachael’s shoulders and slammed her against the wall. Pain radiated through Rachael’s back, and she accidentally bit her lip. Blood trickled down her chin.

Rachael quickly shoved her blade into the vampire’s body again, but the weapon glanced off another rib.

The vampire hissed and grabbed Rachael’s throat and squeezed hard. Nearly out of air, Rachael thrust her dagger once, but not being able to see what she was doing, she again missed the heart. Leaning over, the vampire ripped at Rachael’s blouse with her teeth, tearing the fabric apart, exposing Rachael’s skin.

Rachael struggled to pull her dagger free from the vampire’s chest.

The vampire hissed, then sank her teeth against Rachael’s shoulder. Pain stabbed her as the wicked fangs cut into her. But just as quickly, the vampire pulled her canines out and released her grip on Rachael’s throat. Her eyes widened as she looked from Rachael’s shoulder to her face. Then she took a step back. The vampire’s strange action allowed Rachael to gasp for air. Her breathing ragged, Rachael lunged forward and jammed her blade into the vampire’s chest. This time the weapon struck the heart muscle.

The vampire cried out, shriveled up, and shrank to the floor into a heap of dehydrated skin and bones and baggy clothing. Another ancient.

Rachael held her throat and continued to pant to get her breath, her heart beating too fast. But suddenly voices down below, somewhere in another part of the warehouse, made her attempt to quiet her actions.

“You’re bringing her to me tonight, then?” a male voice said, his tone dark.

“Her uncle’s concerned for her welfare. I can’t help it that one of your other blood-bonds told the hunters you were coming after her,” Adonis responded, annoyed.

“You are the one who caused the hunters’ caution. I should kill you where you stand and send another for her.”

Piaras? Was it the devil vampire himself?

Rachael clutched the railing, wanting to confront the bastard, wanting to protect Adonis in the event the vampire meant what he said. Adonis couldn’t kill the vampire, but Piaras could easily kill the hunter. But she feared she couldn’t fight him either, that if she ran down the stairs, Piaras would grab her and take her to his lair and that would be the end of Adonis’s plans and most likely the end of Adonis and his family.

“She wouldn’t come willingly to some other vampire of your choosing. You know this,” Adonis said, so arrogant, so sure of himself. And she loved him for it.

Silence, pacing. Then a cruel chuckle. “Maybe an unwilling huntress would be more to my liking. Humans are a different story. But a woman like that…”

“You wouldn’t want her like that. That’s what makes her so desirable. That you can will a huntress to you that normally could never be approached.”

“We have a deal, Adonis,” the man said. Silence. “Where the hell are Sirces and Julia? They should have been here by now.”

Hoping the door wouldn’t make any creaking sounds, although when they had first opened it, it had not, Rachael pushed it ajar as much as she dared to and slipped outside into the cool damp night air.

Adonis and Piaras had a deal. Could Adonis be his own man or was he just Piaras’s minion? But then she considered the fact Adonis hadn’t turned her over to him, instead had said she was safe at her uncle’s place. He was buying her time to get away.

She peered down from the balcony outside the building. There wasn’t any way down except for the way a vampire traveled. A wrought iron staircase had been removed in part, probably to reduce the chance of break-ins. Dropping ten feet to the asphalt didn’t seem like a viable alternative. She’d most likely break a leg... or two.

She glanced back at the building. When Piaras discovered his dead vampire buddies, he’d know a hunter had been in the building and recently... too recently. Upon seeing a ladder extending to the roof, she headed for it. After climbing halfway up it, the door opened onto the balcony.

She paused for a second, then as carefully as she could, she hurried the rest of the way up to the roof, praying to God she could move as soundlessly as the vampires did.

“Julias, Sircus.” The man’s words were filled with regret. “There’s no sign of anyone here,” the same man said, his voice darkening with rage. “The hunter has to be in the warehouse somewhere.” Again there was a pause. “Or on the roof.”

“I’ll check it out,” Adonis said. He didn’t betray any hint of emotion.

“If you find him, save him for me.”

The door slammed.

In the next instant, Adonis stood on top of the roof.

Rachael didn’t move, afraid her footfalls on the rooftop would alert the vampire inside. “My God, Adonis. Was it Piaras?” she whispered.

Adonis moved in his silent way and pulled her close, his body stiff with tension. His gaze darted from place to place, trying to assess their dark surroundings. “Shhh, yes. I have to get you out of here.”

“But, can’t I kill him now?”

“Not here.”

“Why not? Are there others?”

“You’re not ready.”

He grasped her waist and held her even closer this time, his body protective and welcome. He transported her to the parking area, then settled beside his SUV. “Go home.” His voice was hurried, verging on panic. He handed her the vehicle’s keys. “Wait for me in the SUV or Danai can return you to the house. When Piaras and I have finished searching for the hunter, I’ll return to you.”

“But—”

“Go, Rachael, before he catches us together.”

He vanished without another word, making her heart skip a beat. Not waiting another second to be discovered, she slipped into the driver’s seat. What if Piaras learned of Adonis’s treachery?

She shuddered to think what would become of him. And for an instant, she wanted to go to him, to help him if Piaras tried to kill him.

Then her thoughts shifted to her uncle’s house. What if she couldn’t get into the house before someone found out she had left? Perspiration trickled down her forehead. Danai. She couldn’t be found out either.

Turning the ignition on, she shuddered as it seemed the whole world would hear the start of the vehicle’s engine. Then she rolled out of the parking area and once she was on the road, sped off, her thoughts shifting from being hopeful that Adonis could handle Piaras sufficiently, to concern about Danai’s plight.

Rachael couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman, who had no choice but to live the life as a huntress turned. If she could, Rachael would show her the kindness and friendship the woman deserved. She couldn’t even imagine not having another woman to share confidences with. Although come to think of it, Rachael couldn’t with Mary or Trish about the mess she’d become involved in of late either.

Rachael tore down the road, intent on arriving before anything bad could happen to Danai. The poor woman had already been to hell and back. Rachael had to ensure nothing else bad happened to her now.

But when a man stepped into the path of her car in the distance, his action forced her to slow down. Not a drunk, or a nut case.

A cool breeze flipped his long black hair across his face, the full sleeves of his silky ebony shirt billowing, his hands spread out as if he was welcoming her embrace. And then he smiled, his canines fully extended, his smile malicious, deadly.

Piaras.

Chapter 10

Adonis explored around the buildings for a few minutes, delaying the inevitable, giving Rachael a chance to get far enough away before Piaras left the warehouse.

When he didn’t think he could prolong the unavoidable any longer, he returned to the warehouse, thankful that Piaras couldn’t read his thoughts. Why in the world had Piaras decided to come here of all places and at this time of night? Adonis’s gut tightened when he thought Piaras might have grabbed Rachael so easily, but a guarded relief washed over him to know she was safely away.

When he saw no sign of Piaras down below, he quickly ensured the dogs were still sleeping, then returned to the walkway up above. Piaras stood with his arms folded, staring at the bodies of his blood-bonded relations, his expression dark. His long black hair hung loosely about his narrow shoulders, and Adonis wondered if Piaras had left his estate in a hurry as untidy as he looked. Had Sirces or Julia warned him about the huntress? What had made him come here, tonight of all nights?

Knowing Rachael could have so easily fallen into Piaras’s grasp, Adonis still couldn’t shake loose of the chill pervading his soul. When he’d seen the devil vampire himself loitering outside the building, checking out Adonis’s Suburban, he’d gone out to greet him, to stall for time, worried sick that Rachael might die at the fangs of the vampires without his help. Yet he could do nothing for her, not with Piaras here also. Nothing had gone as planned... except that she’d managed to kill the vampires and escaped relatively unscathed.

But she’d had a struggle, and been bitten, which indicated she wasn’t ready to take Piaras on yet. The smell of her blood stirred his bloodlust even now. She was just too vulnerable, but somehow he had to help her learn to take down another ancient, quickly.

Piaras crouched and touched Julia’s wizened chest, his ebony eyes studying her more closely. “The hunter was an amateur.” He motioned to the stab wounds. “Look at the number of times he had to strike Julia to kill her.” He glanced back at Sirces. “He must have caught Sirces unaware somehow.”

Adonis considered the dead vampires, his gut clenching with dread that Rachael had struggled so with Julia. He’d never have left Rachael alone to fend for herself if it weren’t for the fact he’d been distracted in another part of the warehouse, investigating what he thought was Julia and Sirces’s arrival. But seeing Piaras through the window had caused him even more concern. When Julia and Sirces arrived, they must have sensed Rachael nearby and had targeted her first instead of the dogs.

Piaras rubbed his pointed chin. “And yet if the hunter had just reached adulthood, why in the world did others not come with him to ensure he wasn’t overwhelmed with his mission?” He shook his head. “And how did he know about our people being here in the first place?”

He glared at Adonis. Tall and thin, Piaras didn’t appear to have the strength Adonis knew he could wield with that lethal body.

Piaras rose and met Adonis eye to eye. “I thought Sirces could handle this job. Julia was to ensure he took care of the dogs sufficiently.” He narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing here, by the way?”

“I didn’t know you’d be here. I wanted to make sure they handled the job all right. Julia doesn’t... didn’t like dogs at all. And Sirces seemed nervous about the job.”

Piaras stared at him and Adonis knew he attempted to find out the truth through a mind probe. Adonis could feel the gentle nudging at his temple, but wouldn’t let Piaras see into his thoughts.

Piaras finally nodded. “Apparently, they couldn’t handle the job. You saw no sign of the hunter?” The incredulous tone of his voice made Adonis wonder if Piaras thought maybe Adonis had seen the hunter and let him escape.

“No, he must have had some other way out of the building.” Adonis wasn’t afraid of Piaras. Lying to the vampire had become a way of business, but he was certain Piaras didn’t entirely trust him.

Adonis still wondered if there was some other reason Piaras had arrived so unexpectedly, but he couldn’t think of a way to ask without arousing suspicion.

“The hunters are conducting a raid on one of my homes as we speak. Did you know?”

“I’m not privy to hunter plans as I’m sure you are well aware,” Adonis said, his tone sarcastic.

“Yes, well, they’ll find plenty of vampires to kill, newly turned just for them. And none that were of any consequence to me.” Piaras looked down at the vampires’ decimated bodies. “But Sirces and Julia were different. Special.” He faced Adonis. “Bring Rachael to me by week’s end. I’ll wait no longer than that.”

Adonis bowed slightly, hating to even pretend to acquiesce to Piaras’s commands.

“And turn the dogs.”

Then Piaras vanished.

Adonis returned to the first floor and walked over to the sleeping guard dogs. Piaras wanted the dogs turned so when the workers arrived at the warehouse to their jobs the next morning, they’d rip the employees to shreds. That’s how Piaras worked. Then he’d use human hosts to confiscate any merchandise he wanted. He could have taken the merchandise tonight, while the dogs slept, but it wasn’t his way.

The police had listed Piaras amongst the top vampires they’d pay premium bounties to have terminated because of the terror hold they had on the city. But Adonis would kill Piaras for nothing, if he only could.

Adonis woke the dogs. The dogs suddenly scrambled to their feet, growling fiercely. When the human hosts arrived at the warehouse ready to steal the next morning and found the employees alive and well, how would he explain his actions to Piaras? Piaras would learn he should never have turned a hunter and his huntress sister.

Time to check on Rachael and his sister and make the next of their plans and hope to hell there weren’t any foul ups the next time.

***

As soon as Piaras realized that Rachael had no intention of pulling the Suburban over for a chat and would have run him right over with the vehicle that had to have weighed a ton, he bowed with an extravagant flourish, then vanished. Was Adonis already back at her uncle’s house? Or still at the warehouse?

Still shaken from the encounter with Piaras, and now that the adrenaline in her veins was fading away, her shoulder burned where the vamp had bitten her as if it was on fire. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pain, hoping Adonis was safe wherever he was at the moment, and that she wasn’t missed or that Danai was found out.

When Rachael arrived at Uncle Tobias’s house, two of the five hunter vehicles were now parked in the driveway again at her uncle’s home. Hell. They would know then that the Suburban had been gone.

She took a steadying breath and climbed out of the car. Had anyone checked on her to see if she was all right? Found Danai but no Rachael in the room?

She shut the vehicle door as quietly as she could. Her hand clasped tightly over her wound, she headed for her bedroom window and looked up. Closed, probably locked, and no way to get inside, unless she knocked on the front door.

Not an option. Not with her shirt torn and bloody, her lip bleeding and swollen, and the fact she was outside of the house…not easily explained. Any more lies would get her another dose of that truth serum, she bet.

Rachael searched on the ground for a pebble to throw at the glass to get Danai’s attention, if she was even there still. Voices spoken in the dark on the eastern side of the house caught her ear. She paused, then crouched in amongst the boxwood, thankful they were soft leafed, not prickly like the holly on the back side of the house. Her skin crawled as the men grew closer, the pain in her shoulder shrieking through her nerves.

“Tobias said it was as if Piaras knew we were coming. Not one of the vampires was difficult to kill. Our own teens could have easily done the job,” Brent growled.

She tightened her grip on her bloody shoulder, a shiver of anxiety trickling down her spine. They’d been misled. Her family had never miscalculated an attack before. She attempted to quash the concern that Piaras and his bloodsuckers would get the best of her family.

“So what happened? I thought Michael had it on good authority that Piaras would be there tonight,” Brent’s brother, Curt, replied.

“Don’t know. It was like we’d been set up. Either Piaras went somewhere else to strike at humans or perhaps at our hunters who were on other jobs tonight, or he stayed home. Now that we’ve brought Rachael to Tobias’s house for safekeeping, we assume Piaras will attempt to push us to our limit until we’re exhausted. Then he’ll get her when our guard is down.”

Great. And he’d inflict more damage on her own people, too. She just had to get to him soon. Killing the two human vampires hadn’t been too difficult. Plus, she didn’t feel she had the time to waste in practicing on terminating any more. Besides, she had killed two ancients. She had to go after Piaras.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Curt said.

“We can’t let it happen. Tobias has never gotten over her parent’s death. He thinks if he hadn’t had them over for dinner that night, they might not have died.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You know how he is. He’s taken it pretty personally.”

Disheartened that Uncle Tobias would feel responsible for her parents’ deaths, Rachael wished she could reassure him that it wasn’t his fault.

The window to her bedroom slid open. She ducked deeper into the shadows of the evergreen shrubs landscaping the front of the house, her heart thundering wildly. She glanced up at the window.

A hand touched her shoulder, but just as quickly, another clamped over her mouth to suppress her scream.

“Shhh,” Danai cautioned. She slipped her arm around Rachael’s waist and lifted her to the windowsill.

After Danai helped her inside, she gave her a half-hearted smile... the same kind of look she had given when Michael was with her, pursuing her as a male would who was interested in mating her. Sad and distant. But then she lifted her nose a little, her eyes focused on Rachael’s shoulder. Her gaze shifted quickly to Rachael’s, and Rachael knew the look. That Rachael couldn’t manage Piaras. That they were all doomed.

“I must leave,” Danai whispered. “Do you have some bandaging I can use on your wound? And your lip. You’ll need some ice.”

“Downstairs in the clinic the doctor uses for patching up hunters, but I couldn’t go there now. I’d be seen.”

“Do you have anything else?”

“Nothing but tissues I can wad up to use to stop the bleeding. But all the bandaging is either in the clinic or in the bathroom.”

“No one checked on you while you were away, thank heavens.” Danai folded a bunch of tissues and applied it with pressure on the bite mark. “It’s not too deep, penetrated cleanly, and should heal quickly.” Her touch was firm but gentle. “Some of the men returned, and the women, of course, wished to hear all of what happened. So they’ve been preoccupied. Your uncle hasn’t returned yet with Michael or your other cousins. But I think it’s best for me to leave and not remain here.”

Rachael was half worried that Danai would be found out or that Michael would grow too attached to her so she was relieved in part Danai wished to go. On the other hand, Michael would be upset Danai had left without word, and Rachael figured he’d question her mercilessly so he could locate Danai again.

“Did anyone say anything about your SUV being gone when we took it, Danai?”

“No one said a word about it. I listened from the top of the stairs. I think the men were so mad about the hunt tonight, their minds focused on that.”

Rachael took a deep breath. She’d been self-centered not to have understood how important her family felt she was to have tried to go after Piaras tonight to keep her safe and how angry they were that they’d failed. But then again, hunters rarely showed their feelings and how could she have known that’s what it was all about and not just some arrogant hunter pride?

Rachael squeezed Danai’s hand before she left. “What did you say to my family to get them to let you in?”

“I said we met in town, grocery shopping one day. We compared hunter daggers.” Danai showed hers to Rachael. Rachael touched the silkiness of the handle. “Pearl handle with gold trim. My father was the head of a family, too.” A smidgen of a smile returned to Danai’s lips as though the memory was precious to her. “The fact that my father served as the head of a hunter family seemed to impress your uncle.”

Rachael quickly snapped her gaping jaw shut. First, Danai didn’t have the superior attitude that some huntresses did whose fathers were the head of the League in their area. So she’d had no inkling that Danai’s father was the head of a family. Most hunter families had a real pecking order. Uncle Tobias’s sons’ positions were definitely elevated based on their close relationship to him. The same with Uncle Tobias’s brothers and the rest of Rachael’s cousins.

Although, Rachael had never told Danai or her brother that Uncle Tobias was the head of the family here either. She’d never put much stock in one’s place in hunter society. Who anyone was related to didn’t make any difference to her. But how could Danai and her family get into such a mess when their father had been the leader back home?

“I told him you and I had some things in common, like being the same age, and not wanting to settle down right away. I said my father tried to force me to marry a hunter that I despised, and I left. Once I arrived here, I never tried to hook up with a hunter family, because I didn’t hunt any longer. Breaking protocol with my own family would make me an outcast and unacceptable anyway in most hunter circles.”

“Did your father really try to force you to marry a hunter you didn’t care for?”

“Oh yes. I knew he only wanted to marry me because of my father’s position. He was professing he loved me all the while he was seeing someone else behind my back. From what I could gather, he intended to continue to see her after we were married. My father didn’t believe the hunter was capable of such a deception. I knew better. But I…well, I truly didn’t leave Florida for the reason I told your uncle however. When our younger sister took off after her best friend, my family followed, to locate both women and protect them. But of course, nothing went as planned.”

No, and if they had succeeded in returning the women unharmed, would Rachael have ever met Danai and her brother? Probably not. They would have left for Florida and never have crossed paths. “Do…do you still want to hunt?”

Her expression sad and distant, Danai shook her head.

But Rachael wondered if she was telling the truth. Maybe after the change, she couldn’t deal with it, not alone. On the other hand, what if they could hunt together? Possibly she could help Danai be more of herself again, if she liked to hunt. Or perhaps it was only wishful thinking. Even so, Rachael would love to have a friend like Danai to hunt with, if she was receptive. “Maybe…maybe we could hunt together?”

A flicker of interest crossed Danai’s face, but she quickly banked the look.

Still, if Danai was willing, the two of them hunting as a team might even be more effective. If they practiced together, they could probably perfect their skills and be as formidable as some of the males. She sighed. Maybe in the future, if they had a future. “Uncle Tobias believed everything you told him?”

“Yes. He said he was glad you had made a new huntress friend.” Danai sighed deeply. “Unfortunately, Michael was at once intrigued with me. I understand he was a renegade hunter. He sees me as a rogue also, unattached and totally available. And I believe your uncle approves if we begin…seeing each other socially.” She looked up at Rachael. “He wants me. His actions to impress me and show any others to stay away who might make the effort to pursue me were clear. I can’t ever see him again.”

Rachael wrapped her arms around Danai and gave her a warm embrace. “I would love to have you as a sister, if you’d let me.”

To Rachael’s surprise and distress, Danai sniffled.

“I’m sorry, Danai, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Danai’s expression changed swiftly to foreboding. “I wanted more than anything to have the life you have if the recent past could be changed in a flash. Marry a hunter and have children. Live your life fully with your huntress family. Give up this notion of avenging your parents’ deaths. And give up all thoughts of Adonis. He will lead you both to your deaths.”

Goosebumps trailed Rachael’s arms. Piaras had to die both to avenge her parents’ deaths and to free herself from him forever. She had no choice. And as for her feelings for Adonis, forgetting him was not an alternative either.

Car doors slammed in the circular drive down below and Rachael and Danai hurried to the window. “Uncle Tobias and my cousins,” Rachael said under her breath.

“Do as I say, Rachael. Marry that hunter, Gregory, who wishes to have you as a mate.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You can’t love my brother. Nor can he ever truly love you.” She didn’t say another word before she vanished.

Rachael stared at the place Danai had been as if the woman would magically reappear there any second now, but a knocking on her door made her gasp.

“Rachael?” Michael called out. He spoke to someone else in the hallway outside her room, “I know you said she was in her room, but you should have made sure.”

Rachael touched the tear in her blouse where the vampire had sunk her teeth and the wad of tissue that had stopped the bleeding. She jerked the bloody tissue off and threw it into the wastepaper basked. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped sufficiently. Then she yanked her shirt off and shoved it under her pillow. “Just a moment.” She pulled off one boot, then the other. Both clunked on the floor to her annoyance.

“Rachael?” Michael’s voice was hot. The doorknob twisted.

She tugged off her jeans and dashed across the floor to get her bag. Her skin tingled as she pulled the zipper open. She was certain everyone all the way downstairs heard every blasted noise she made and knew just what she was up to.

“Rachael!”

“I’m getting changed, Michael. Hold your horses.”

She slipped a nightgown over her head and swore under her breath. She’d forgotten a robe. And how would she explain her swollen lip?

The doorknob rattled. “Rachael, unlock this damned door!”

She strode across the floor and opened the door. “I forgot my... “ Gregory stood slightly behind Michael, and Rachael ducked behind the door. “I forgot my robe at the apartment.”

“Where’s Danai?”

So that’s who he really wished to see. She should have known. But he couldn’t fall in love with the vampire. She couldn’t allow it. “She went home.”

“Her car was here when we arrived.”

“She slipped out the back way.” She swallowed hard. She’d never had to lie so much in her life, and she hated every bit of it. “She was afraid... well, she’s just afraid of men right now. And I’m not properly dressed so let me return to bed.”

“You were getting changed.”

“I hadn’t changed when I laid down the first time. But I was halfway undressed when you began pounding on the door like a crazed gorilla. It’s way past time for bed. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.”

His eyes finally focused on her lips, then his gaze jerked up to hers. “What happened to you?”

“For heaven’s sake, Michael. When you pounded so violently on the door, I bit my lip.”

He hesitated as if he didn’t believe her, then he glanced at Gregory. “He wants to say goodnight.”

“I’m not dressed.”

Michael shrugged, then headed down the hall.

Gregory smiled. She frowned back. “My uncle would not approve of you being with me in my bedroom while I’m wearing a nightgown.”

“I’m standing in the hall still, and I can’t see the gown you’re wearing because you’re hiding behind the door. But I want to give you a goodnight kiss.”

He leaned over to kiss her, and annoyed that he was so presumptive after she’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t interested in him in anyway whatsoever, she shut the door in his face. A fist slammed into the door. She jumped back, not anticipating his flare of temper.

Instantaneously, a man chuckled behind her.

Her heart in her throat, she whipped around.

Adonis gave her a small smile. “That’s telling him,” he whispered.

“You shouldn’t be here either.” She spoke softly, but firmly and locked her door, then headed for bed.

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve wanted to do this forever.” He nuzzled his face against her neck, then stopped. Touching the area near her scar with a gentle caress, he whispered against her ear with a concerned voice, “Julia punctured the skin?”

Rachael motioned to a clock-radio. They walked over to the bedside table, and she turned the music on low to hide their whispered conversation.

“She did, but it should heal pretty quickly.” Rachael touched the bite marks and hoped so anyway. “Luckily, something made her stop and withdraw. She was distracted enough, I was finally able to strike her in the heart.”

“She could sense Piaras’s mark on your skin with her teeth. Undoubtedly, she realized you were Rachael. That’s why she stopped.” He tightened his grip on Rachael. “If she hadn’t and she’d killed you, he would have terminated her. We’re just lucky she didn’t broadcast your presence, or he would have known you were in the warehouse.”

“He pursued me, let me know he knew you helped me get away, although with the darkened windows, I don’t think he knew exactly who I was.”

Adonis cursed under his breath. “That’s why I couldn’t locate him in the warehouse at first when I returned. He seemed to suspect…sure, he’d seen my vehicle, then you drove off in it. He believes I helped a hunter escape. There will be hell to pay for it later.”

A frigid chill centered in her spine. Rachael rested her head on Adonis’s chest and wrapped her arms around his firm body. “What will happen now?”

He ran his hands down her back over the silky nightgown, slowly, methodically, tenderly, heating her whole body. Why could she give herself to Adonis so freely, while shunning a real hunter like Gregory? Was it because Adonis took what he wanted and didn’t wait for an invitation?

“Piaras needs me to get to you. So for now, he’ll tolerate my disloyalty.”

“What if he’d thought you’d killed the vampires?” She took a ragged breath, the realization he’d been so close to dying at the hands of Piaras a reality. “I’d never considered that he might suspect you.”

“He doesn’t think I can kill a vampire.”

“Oh?”

“He tested me. Had two threaten me, but I never attacked back. He believes he’s sufficiently cured me of killing vampires. And to foster this impression, I haven’t killed one since I was turned.”

She barely breathed. What if he couldn’t kill a vampire? What if she was all alone in this? Even if she could possibly terminate Piaras through some vast stroke of luck, she couldn’t possibly fight all the others who would protect their master. “Can you kill one, do you think?”

“They end each other’s lives from time to time. I don’t see that I wouldn’t be able to. But for now, I’m cautious.”

“Then you could terminate them as a hunter would again?” Her hopes that he could... well, that he could be a hunter with her family...

He kissed the top of her head, his strong, nimble fingers still working the tension out of her back. He was a master masseur, and she’d have paid him her yearly earnings to have him work his magic on more than just her back.

She looked up when he didn’t answer. His expression had turned contemplative. “Couldn’t you?”

“I don’t know, but tomorrow night when your family goes on a hunt, I’m going to beat them to it. Prove to them I should be part of the family. So I guess then, we’ll know for certain.”

“But if Piaras hears you’ve turned on your own kind... “

“They’re not my own kind, Rachael. You are.” His voice was touched with irritation. His sentiments indicated he wanted to be a hunter with all his heart. Why couldn’t he be one again, then?

She was certain he could with the way his hunter genes seemed to control him more than his vampire ways.

“Why didn’t you let me kill Piaras at the warehouse?” Was it that he worried she wasn’t ready yet to tackle the deadliest vampire of all?

He shook his head and held her tight against his chest. “You’d never have gotten close enough. Not with a weapon in your hand. When I take you to him at his estates, he’ll ensure you’re unarmed. I’ll have to slip a weapon to you afterward.”

“Your sister says I shouldn’t go after Piaras.”

He took a deep breath. “She knows we have no choice. What else did she say?”

Rachael reached up and pulled his hair loose from the leather tie that bound it. “I shouldn’t want you. That I should marry Gregory.”

“You mean, the man you just gave a nose job to?”

She chuckled and combed her fingers through Adonis’s dark brown hair, highlighted by the sun. She was quickly making an enemy of Gregory, her most avid suitor. “It’s a good thing the doors are solid oak or his fist would have gone right through it.”

“You can’t marry a man as violent as that.”

“So... you don’t give me permission.”

His fingers shifted lower on her back, to the tip of her tailbone. He pressed her against his groin. Was he advertising how much she turned him on? If Gregory had done such a thing, she immediately would have pulled away. But with Adonis, she wanted him to show her more... much more.

His hands slipped further down her backside as he leaned over. He cupped her cheeks in both hands, then squeezed. “I’ve told you already, Rachael Bremerton, you’re mine. No other hunter can have you.”

“My uncle doesn’t even know what you really are, and he already says I can’t see you ever again.”

“I can’t see you alone like this?” His hands swept down her body in light, teasing caresses, the heat from his fingers making her whole body tingle with need.

She knew she shouldn’t encourage him, wearing a filmy gown, nearly naked in his arms. What was there about him that made her behave so illogically? No hunter could have ever come this far with her, not without her permission. And here Adonis wasn’t even a hunter... not any longer.

She pulled his shirt out of his pants and slipped her hands around his back, tracing her fingers over his toned muscles.

“Can I do the same with you?”

“Absolutely not. You still have your pants on. If you pull up my nightgown... “

He chuckled, deeply seductive. And without another minute’s hesitation, he swept her up into his arms as if he were crossing the threshold on their wedding night and carried her to the bed. She wanted him, whether it was prudent or not. He’d kept her safe from Piaras when he could have easily turned her over to him and freed his family. He’d taken her on her first hunt, when her own family would never have allowed her to go, trusting she could do this.

She was willing, eager even to take their relationship all the way. Adonis’s heated gaze slid her down to her nightgown skimming her ankles. But when his gaze returned to hers, he seemed hesitant. She raised her brows and offered her hand.

“Join me,” she whispered.

Chapter 11

If Adonis joined Rachael in her bed, would the bloodlust take over as it had when she first had him under her spell? He ground his teeth as if doing so would keep them at bay.

When he didn’t readily accept her invitation, she pulled the comforter back and climbed in between the sheets. Her blue eyes sparkled, anxious, watching to see what he would do next.

He turned off the lamplight. In the dark, he could still see her watching for him, wondering if he’d join her. He closed his eyes. His conscience told him he needed to keep them both safe. He had to return home and leave her be. For now.

But his heart or maybe his other head won the battle, and within seconds, he’d stripped off his shoes and trousers, then slipped between the sheets with her, forcing her to move over.

“Does your mouth hurt?” he whispered.

“No. You can kiss it and make it feel better.”

His body pressed against hers, molding to all her curves, and his mouth captured her lips in a blistering kiss. She slid her hands down his back, warming his insides, but she stilled her touch when she reached his naked butt.

He gave her a smug smile. “The only way I sleep.” And then he nuzzled her cheek and was rewarded with a kiss to his lips.

He avoided her shoulder, the drops of dried blood that Julia left behind when she bit into Rachael’s shoulder, calling to him to lick them away. But tasting her blood would be too much of a temptation. He wasn’t sure he could control the bloodlust then. Even now, his teeth itched to extend while he breathed in her heavenly scent, touched her soft skin, and felt her warm body move sensually against his while he kissed her mouth.

Reaching down, he lifted her gown over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her nipples were already peaked to perfection, and he leaned down and kissed each. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, holding on as if for dear life.

He took a ragged breath, trying to restrain his overwhelming need to take her sexually as a hunter would, and make her his own forever by turning her as a vampire would. Her own breathing grew as rapid as his, and her skin moistened with perspiration as he continued to work his body against hers. It would have been so easy to slide inside her hot, wet folds. And part of him wanted to with a fever that couldn’t be quenched. Yet part of him wanted to do the honorable thing and have her uncle’s approval first. But she was Adonis’s, and no one would decide this for them. Only Rachael’s desires would he consider.

He nudged her legs apart with his knee. And she spread her legs, offering herself to him without reservation, a hunter turned.

Wishing he had greater strength in wanting the best for her, he groaned and touched her breast, working the nipple between his fingers. “I want you so badly, Rachael. I’ve never wanted anyone this intensely.”

“The feeling is mutual.” She tenderly stroked his back.

“You don’t know how frustrating it is for me to see some docile hunter like Gregory try to stake claims to my mate.” He licked her nipple and sucked on the tip.

Her voice was ragged as she said, “He doesn’t know I’ve been claimed.”

“I’ve already told him so once. When I advised him to leave your apartment, he knew he’d lost the game. You’ve chosen me, no other. Your actions whenever you’re with me reveal this to me, and to anyone else who’s seen you with me.”

He nuzzled his cheek against her soft neck. “Your cousin Zachary knows it, too. And those who saw us on the balcony together have a pretty good idea. The only thing is they haven’t put the two people together. If they do, they’ll know they can’t ever keep us apart.”

She touched Adonis’s cheek. “Gregory said my uncle would never allow me to marry an out-of-stater.” She frowned. “What am I saying?” She took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t allow me to marry a... a—”

“I won’t let anyone else have you.” He couldn’t make love to her. Not yet. The hunter side of him demanded he attempt to get her uncle to accept him first. Still, he snuggled against her, his erection pressing against her mound as his legs slipped between hers, but he wouldn’t join her, just yet, and instead wrapped his arms securely around her. “You’re mine, Rachael, for as long as we both shall live.”

When he didn’t make a move to take her, she opened her mouth to speak.

A slight rustle in the bedroom made him turn. Instantly, his shirt flew into his face. He cursed under his breath.

“Adonis Cameron, what do you think you’re doing?” Danai scolded, her voice hushed but angry, her fisted hands resting on her hips. “I’ve waited half an hour for you to return home. And here’s where I find you? Charming the clothes off the huntress?”

He could have strangled her for the intrusion. Trying to control his temper and keep his voice low, he whispered in anger, “Return home at once, Danai, before you rouse the whole house.”

She folded her arms. “To get you to leave her alone, you’d better believe I will.”

A soft knocking on Rachael’s door followed. “Rachael? Rachael, honey, are you all right in there?” Mary called from the hallway.

Adonis jumped out of bed and grabbed his clothes off the floor. Danai pulled at his arm. “Come on, Adonis,” she whispered.

“Rachael?” Mary called out louder this time.

“Just a minute!” Rachael peered into the darkness. “Adonis, can you toss my nightgown to me?” she whispered.

Footsteps headed toward the room. Heavier ones belonging to a man.

“What’s the matter?” Michael asked Mary.

“I thought I heard voices in there. Rachael’s got her music on, but I could have sworn I heard talking.”

A pounding on the door followed. “Rachael, open up,” Michael demanded.

Frowning, Adonis leaned down and kissed Rachael’s lips. “I’ll be back.” He handed her gown to her, then vanished.

Her heart racing, Rachael slipped the gown over her head, then climbed out of bed. She hoped the hell neither Michael or Mary would see how flustered she was.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her raw nerves—tried to appear as though she’d hadn’t just being laying naked with a vampire—and yanked the door open. “What now?”

Michael stormed into the room and shoved the light switch on, then checked the window.

Mary led her back to bed. “You don’t have a robe?”

“I forgot it at home.”

“I thought I heard you speaking to someone. I was concerned.”

Rachael pulled the covers to her chin and glared at Michael who turned his attention to her. Facing Mary, she smiled. “I was talking to myself.”

“When I talk to myself, it’s usually because I’m riled over something Ned has said or done. Were you upset about something?”

“Of course. I’m still furious about the way my uncle and the others treated me earlier. Why wouldn’t I be mad?” She hated lying, but in her heart, she couldn’t betray Adonis and his sister.

Mary took her hand. “Your uncle’s really worried about you. He says Piaras won’t quit until he gets you. Uncle Tobias told Ned and the other men he’s certain he’ll succeed, too, if we’re not ultra-careful about making sure he has no way to reach you.”

“I can’t remain locked up always.”

“That’s what he’s worried about.” She turned her attention to Rachael’s shoulder.

Rachael quickly pulled her hand free from Mary’s and reached up to make sure her gown covered the scar and the fresh bite marks.

She glanced over to see Michael looking at her shoulder. She should have taken acting classes. Every action she took made her feel guiltier than before. If they discovered she’d been bitten...

“What’s wrong, Rachael?” Michael asked, his tone of voice worried.

“Nothing.” She dropped her hand to the comforter.

“Does it bother you at times? I’ve heard that someone who’s been marked can sense the presence of the one who did the scarring when they’re nearby.”

She crossed her arms. “Now how would you know that, Michael Bremerton? No one we’ve even met, human or otherwise, was marked first.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Did you feel anything about the one who came to you on the balcony?”

“I was stunned when he appeared. I distinctly remember having reached for my dagger at one point and—”

“Damn.”

She raised her brows. “I’m not a fool. I know they’re dangerous.”

“Deadly. I didn’t know you’d try to defend yourself. Father had said you didn’t react to the vampire much. Like he’d cast a spell over you.”

“You know they can’t do that to a hunter.” She smoothed out the comforter over her legs. “I want to see Adonis Cameron as a marital prospect.”

Michael blew out his breath. “That’s like asking to date the vampire on the balcony. Father won’t agree.”

She didn’t want any other hunter... only Adonis. Could she live with him, being the way he was? Could they have normal hunter children, or would they be mixed? She sighed deeply. Could even trying to have a child with him be a fatal endeavor for her or her unborn child?

She hadn’t any idea what she was getting herself into with him. And worse she couldn’t even begin to sort out the flurry of feelings she had about the whole mixed up mess from the burning desire to be with him every second of the day and night, to excessive worry and frustration that she wasn’t making the right choices.

What if her uncle could see fit to allow Adonis to marry her, could Adonis hide what he was from her family forever? But worse than any of the questions plaguing her, could she live without him?

“I want him as my mate.”

Michael’s face turned red. “Father won’t approve. This Cameron fellow has been seeing you behind his back, without the family’s approval. God knows how he’s manipulated you into wanting him.”

“He wants to join the family. He intends to prove to you what a powerful hunter he is. Having an experienced full grown male join the family is always desired. Why can’t he be given a chance?”

Michael shook his head. “Father wants you to marry Gregory.”

“It’s my choice, damn it! I get to choose. If I kill Piaras... “

She quit speaking as both Mary and Michael’s mouths dropped open.

She’d really blown it now. They probably guessed she’d want to go after Piaras, but she’d never in a millennium wanted to say it publicly to them. “I meant to say if we kill Piaras and I’m free to seek a mate, I want it to be Adonis. I won’t marry any other hunter. He has my heart and I have his.”

Mary cleared her throat. “You’ve met him once and you feel this strongly for him?”

“It’s like we’re soul mates. We’re drawn to each other. I can’t explain.”

With a disgusting look, Michael studied Rachael. “Whatever’s sifting around in that brain of yours concerning Piaras, forget it. You’re not going after him. And as for this Adonis, don’t get your hopes set too high.”

She folded her arms. He sounded like her older brother, which he wasn’t. Or a father. And he wasn’t that... either!

Michael combed his fingers through his blond hair now resting unbound over his shoulders. “If this Cameron guy had been honorable, he would have come to my father and asked his permission to see you. Instead, he must have something to hide by seeing you behind our backs.”

If that wasn’t the truth. Her cheeks grew hot, just thinking about why Adonis had to sneak around. Adonis would have been honorable, seeking the privilege to see her through her uncle’s good graces, if he had not been turned. He was a respectable hunter—with a vampiric touch of devil in him—one hell of an irresistible combination.

Michael wrinkled his brow. “Have you considered he doesn’t want to marry you at all? Maybe he’s a rogue who already has a mate he left behind on the east coast. Have you thought about that?”

“He doesn’t,” Rachael said softly.

“Then why does he sneak around to see you?”

“He didn’t sneak around to see me. Why do you have to make him sound so... so bad?”

“His behavior isn’t honorable for our kind. He should have asked Father for permission to see you.” Michael paced the floor, stopped and faced her. “How far did he go with you, Rachael?”

“What?”

“From what you told Mary and Trish, he was working on having sexual relations with you.”

Rachael’s cheeks burned as if she’d been lying on a beach in the noonday sun too long. She took a deep breath. “He kissed me.”

“Yeah, and more,” Michael said, his voice hot.

Her brows rose. What in the world had she said to Mary and Trish?

Although she and Adonis shouldn’t have been so intimate with one another when he was a vampire, she loved every blessed moment she’d spent with him. “We kissed.”

“That’s why we gave you the truth serum earlier.” Michael turned to Mary. “Tell Ned you’re sleeping with Rachael tonight.”

Mary’s lips curved up in a surgery sweet smile. “Why don’t you tell him yourself, Michael? He may not be willing to give me up for the night.”

Michael frowned at her. “Then Trish. I don’t care. Lynella. But one of the women must sleep with her tonight.”

Rachael shook her head, her stomach muscles tightening in annoyance. Lynella was like a shoe that rubbed on a blister... someone that irritated the hell out of her. No way was she sharing a bed with that witch. “Not Lynella. I’d rather sleep with Gregory.”

Mary chuckled.

Michael scowled. “Mind what you say. If he learns you feel that way, he’ll say you’ve offered your hand to him.”

Rachael’s brow furrowed in anger. “I’m not marrying Gregory. I want to wed Adonis.”

Mary swallowed hard. “You can’t say that, Rachael, unless your family approves, and you’ve been seeing him for a good long while. He’s... well, he’s made you desire him in a... “ She glanced back at Michael, who waited to hear what she had to say.

Mary turned her attention back to Rachael and frowned at her, then patted her hand. “Your uncle is right about this. And what if Michael’s right? What if Adonis does have a huntress back east that he left behind?”

“He doesn’t.”

“You’ve talked about this?”

Rachael frowned. Of course she hadn’t talked to him about it. He didn’t have anyone else. She just knew he didn’t.

When Rachael didn’t say anything in response to Mary’s question, Mary nodded. “Back east is a big place. Where exactly back east did Adonis come from?”

Rachael fidgeted with the comforter. “I don’t know.”

“Well, see? You don’t know anything about him.”

Rachael’s brows rose. “He’s a great kisser.”

Michael swore under his breath.

Rachael smiled.

***

When Adonis reappeared in his own bedroom, his clothes still tucked underneath his arm, he found Piaras sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed the same as he’d been earlier at the warehouse only now his hair was tied back. Cursing under his breath at the sight of him, Adonis scowled at the vampire he despised most, sitting in his bedroom like he belonged there. The vampire’s black eyes widened when he considered Adonis’s state of nakedness. He threw his head back and laughed.

Adonis dumped all but his trousers on the floor, then jerked them on.

“Danai!” Piaras hollered to the house as she wasn’t in the room, “you could have let your brother finish his business with the woman, first.”

To be dragged away from the huntress of his dreams, then return to the vampire of his nightmares...

After belting his trousers, Adonis grabbed his shirt and thrust an arm into a sleeve. “I take it you wished to see me, and your business wouldn’t wait.” The venom dripped from his words. If he could have succeeded, he would’ve ripped Piaras heart out with his canines in an instant, right then and there.

“Sophie has offered herself to you several times and yet you still seem to prefer human females to a vampire.” His eyes narrowed as if he considered Adonis might have been with Rachael. “You remember what I told you about the huntress?”

Adonis refused to respond to his taunt.

“Just remember what I’ve said. I wouldn’t want you to fall head over heels over my huntress.”

“Her uncle is allowing hunters to pursue her now. If she makes the mistake of allowing one to get too close to her, I can’t be held accountable.”

Piaras stood. “Then you’ll have to make every effort to turn her over to me pronto, before any of them have a taste of her first.”

No one would have a “taste” of her but Adonis, as far as he was concerned. “Why do you want her so badly?”

“You’ll know the answer to that question when you bring her to me. From the sense of frustration in your voice, I’d say you hadn’t fully satisfied your interest in your lady companion. Once I tell you what I wish of you, return to her.” He raised a black brow. “As to why I sought you, Dominique has said a hunter named Michael Bremerton has a contract on her. Kill him for me.” Piaras cast him a conceited smile and vanished.

Hell, Rachael’s cousin.

As soon as Piaras was gone, Adonis stormed through the house. “Danai!”

Chapter 12

Angry beyond words, Adonis stalked to Danai’s bedroom and scowled at her as she left her room. “Damn it, Danai. You could have told me Piaras was waiting for me here.”

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of time. Not with Rachael’s family pounding down her door. So what did the bastard want this time?”

“For me to kill Rachael’s cousin, Michael.”

Danai grabbed the wall, and her knees buckled.

“What’s wrong?” He grasped her arm and led her to the living room.

“Nothing.” But for his words to mean nothing, why did her body tremble?

“He means something to you?” Adonis asked, his voice arched with incredulity. He sat her down on the couch and took a seat beside her.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her sharp tongue didn’t disguise her feelings toward the hunter.

He realized at once he’d sent his own sister into a den of male wolves... all eligible bachelor hunters, any of whom would be interested in a huntress for a mate. “There’s a shortage of huntresses here.”

Giving him a dirty look, she pushed her long hair behind her ears. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He eased back into the black velvet sofa, smiling inwardly. It was the first time since they’d been turned she’d shown any interest in a man. Maybe if she felt the same way toward a hunter as he did for Rachael, Danai would understand his need to have Rachael for his own. Then maybe, she’d lighten up on him. Although he couldn’t permit any real relationship between his sister and Michael, considering what she was now. Adonis didn’t believe the hunter would overlook that fact like Rachael did with him. “You feel something for him?”

“Of course not.” She looked down at her lap and wrung her hands.

He touched her hair. “He’s interested in you.”

“As you so aptly commented, a shortage of huntresses exists here.”

Despite wanting her to understand his longings for Rachael, Adonis groaned. His sister couldn’t fall into the same cursed trap he was in with Rachael. “Great. I’d never considered that a hunter from Rachael’s family would target my own sister.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t mean you’re not attractive or desirable enough. I just hadn’t considered it is all.” He took her cold hand and held it. “Piaras expects me to kill Michael.”

She nodded and sniffled.

He put his arm around her shoulders. “Now you see how I feel about Rachael? Longing to be with one of our own kind again?”

“They’re not our kind. Not any longer. If Michael, well, if any of them knew what we really were, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill us.”

Adonis wasn’t sure his sister was right. If one of them could care about them the way Rachael did, maybe they could convince the others to accept them for what they were. “Rachael doesn’t feel that way about us.”

Danai wiped away tears.

“She didn’t speak ill to you, did she?”

“She said she’d gladly be like a sister to me.”

Rachael’s words warmed him. He knew she was the one for him. “See?” Then his voice turned bitter. “Why did you go and tell her to give me up for that lame hunter, Gregory?”

“He wants her badly. Throughout the meal he barely ate. He watched every move she made.”

“She’s a prime candidate for a mate. He’d want her, whether he loved her or not. And hell, wasn’t that hunter who enticed Pasha’s friend here named Gregory Devine on that damned Hunters-for-Love dating site? What if this is the same Gregory that’s after Rachael? Meghan would never have gotten tangled up with Piaras and gotten herself killed if she hadn’t rendezvoused here with the bastard.”

Danai’s eyes widened a little. “I…I never thought this Gregory might be the same one. No one ever said his last name. But if he was…” She swore under her breath. “We wouldn’t have gotten into the mess we’re in now either.”

“Yeah, well if it’s the same guy, I’d like to tell him what I think of him. I bet Tobias doesn’t know what the bastard had been up to either. He entices a huntress here away from her family, gets her killed, and then plots to take another for his mate only a month later. If he’s the same one.” Adonis ran his hand over Danai’s arm while she leaned against him. He hadn’t seen her so affectionate since she’d been turned. Had Michael had that effect on her? “What about Michael? How did he act toward you?”

“He sat next to me at the meal and invited me to stay the night.”

Adonis moaned. “Great. So do you want him, too?”

She stiffened her back and tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “There you go being asinine again. We’re not hunters anymore, Adonis. When will you realize that?”

“We’re not bloodsuckers either, Danai. Not in the way the others are. Turning us didn’t change the way we were, except that we have to supplement our blood occasionally.”

“And the fangs, remember? Can you control them when you’re having a hot and heavy moment with Rachael?”

“It’s difficult, but with practice... “

Danai shook her head. “We’re damned for all eternity. We’ll never be true vampires, and we’ll never fit in hunters’ circles again. We get really pissed off, and the teeth extend. We can’t help it. No matter how much we want to fight these new instincts, cursed abilities, whatever.”

He sighed deeply. “Perseverance is the key. If you want anything badly enough, you can have it.”

“You mean Rachael?”

“Rachael has chosen me as her mate. I won’t give her up to any.” He stroked his sister’s hair. “What about you and Michael?”

“There is no Michael and me.”

“Then I can kill him.”

A sob escaped Danai’s lips. Adonis squeezed her tightly. Michael seemed to have melted the heart of ice Danai had developed once Piaras had turned her. “I have no intention of killing Michael. Piaras is the one I want.”

“But if you don’t do as he orders... “

“We’ll figure something out. If Michael doesn’t leave his uncle’s house, I can’t get to him. Piaras doesn’t know I can enter the house freely. And I’m certain his minions wouldn’t go anywhere near Tobias’s estates. Or possibly, you could take Michael somewhere else, hide him away until I’ve taken Rachael to Piaras and we’ve killed him.”

“You won’t hurt Michael?”

“What do you think?”

She hugged him firmly. “But you can’t have sexual relations with Rachael. Why were you and she naked in bed together? You’re going to get yourselves killed.”

“I want her anyway I can have her. Don’t you feel something for Michael like that?”

“Adonis, you won’t return to her tonight, will you?” Her avoidance of his question made him realize she felt something more for Michael, too. He and his sister were definitely treading on thin ice in both the vampire and the hunter worlds.

“Go to bed and I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll come up with a plan for Michael.”

***

At first, Adonis stayed at home, pacing across his living room, thinking about Rachael sleeping alone, envisioning the way she felt naked beneath him, her skin like velvet, her body pliable and eager to please. But then he recalled the hasty reason for his departure…Michael’s arrival. Had Rachael gotten into any further trouble? He had to know if she was all right and hoped to hell when he returned, he wouldn’t find a hunter in her bed, waiting for him instead.

He vanished and arrived back at Rachael’s room, but when he drew nearer the bed, his blood heated to see the dark-haired figure sleeping next to Rachael. He moved closer to the person and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a woman, her small face nearly buried under a head of dark curls. He hurried to Rachael’s side of the bed.

How to wake her without startling her and consequently waking the other sleeping beauty was now the question. He brushed his lips softly against Rachael’s. She stirred, her lips curving upward. He smiled and pressed more firmly.

Her eyes opened wide and her hands grabbed at him in a defensive posture. He held her hands still, his mouth kissing hers to keep her quiet. Their actions awakened his uncontrollable longing for her all over again. The ache in his groin doubled when she flicked her tongue against his mouth.

Awake, she was pleased to see him again, thrilling him to no end.

He whispered in her ear, “We must talk.” He pulled at her hand to get her to come with him.

Very carefully, she climbed out of bed and walked cautiously with Adonis toward the bedroom door. The floorboards creaked and she paused. When her sleeping companion didn’t stir, Rachael opened the door and walked into the dark hall.

After closing the door behind her, Adonis led her down the stairs and into the parlor. Furnished with three couches, a coffee table and several end tables, the room seemed to serve quite a number of guests at one time. He closed the door and led her to a sofa by the window, farthest from the door.

After he sat her down on the velvet sofa, he joined her.

“Adonis,” she whispered. Just the way she said his name, lovingly, longingly, stirred his loins all over again.

He pressed his lips against hers and she kissed him back, lips soft and greedy for more. Her hands groped at his freed hair, her touch feeding his need to touch her back. He kneaded her shoulders, rousing her, the musky smell of her revealing she was ready for him. He needed to work out his plans with her, a way of meeting her uncle and getting him to agree about allowing Adonis to hunt with them. But her intimate touch made him lose his thought processes entirely.

He lowered his hands to her breasts and massaged them through her silky gown, firm, full, the nipples hardening to rigid points. She moaned and leaned back into the couch, enticing him to take his fill.

“Rachael,” he said hoarsely. He’d never wanted a woman so completely and her actions only furthered his desire to fulfill his raging lust for her. He nuzzled his mouth against her soft throat, her light floral fragrance tantalizing him more. “We’ve got to talk.” Talking would be the only way to cool his libido.

She swallowed hard and tugged at his shirt. “Make love to me. I want you and you want me. I already told Michael. He’ll tell my uncle. I don’t care what happens now. I told him I wouldn’t marry anyone but you.”

Adonis leaned away from her. She’d gone against her family, her own kind, and promised to give herself to a hunter turned vampire forever. She’d chosen him despite what he was. “But—”

She placed her fingers against his lips. “I want you, Adonis. No other man will do. You’re right. We’ll leave here and live somewhere else if we have to. But I won’t live without you. Forever, I’ve felt like an outsider, different. You’re the only one who has ever made me accept the way I am, who doesn’t look at my scar, and then turn to me with forced sympathy or concern. And you helped me to take down two ancient vampires.”

“But I wasn’t there when you did it, Rachael. I hadn’t protected you like I should have.”

She touched his chest. “You protected me from Piaras, made sure I didn’t have to face all three of them. Without your help, I would never have proved to myself that I could fight them and win. You gave me a piece of my life back. I’m no longer terrified of facing them.”

She would give up her family and her way of life to live with him.

Suddenly he felt selfish. He wanted her for all eternity. But now was not the time to satisfy his sexual craving. He pressed his body against hers and hugged her tightly. Just feeling her warm, soft body securely wrapped in his arms would have to satisfy his burning need tonight.

“I couldn’t be happier that you’ve selected me. But we should wait.”

“I don’t want to wait.” She squirmed under him. “You don’t already have a mate, do you?”

He chuckled. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

“Michael.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve never had a mate.”

“But you’ve been with women before.”

“It’s an accepted practice that the hunter is well versed in—”

“You’re not shy, are you?”

He had to squelch the urge to laugh out loud and combed his fingers through her golden curls. “We’re in the parlor of your uncle’s house. If the lady who was sleeping with you discovers you’re missing from your bed, she’ll sound the alarm. And when they find you lying naked on the couch in the parlor in the throes of passion with a—”

She tugged at her gown locked between them. “I don’t have to remove it.”

Time to change the subject. “Rachael, how did you tell your family we met?”

“At the main library. You’d run into me while reading a book on antiques and knocked a bunch of mystery books out of my hands. Then I left my library card on the counter by accident. You found out where I lived and brought it to me. And you invited yourself in for lunch.”

He smiled at the thought of Gregory’s red face when he told him to get lost. Adonis touched her breast again, possessively. “Tell your family you want to get some books at the library.”

“But... “

“I want to meet your uncle. You can invite me to the house, and I can ask to see you as a hunter should a huntress he wishes to pursue.”

She slipped her fingers under his shirt and touched his nipples.

He knew he shouldn’t want her, shouldn’t take her, but the battle raged on when his body readied itself for action.

“I’ll kill Piaras before he ever touches me.” She wiggled beneath Adonis, stirring him up, squirming to unpin her legs from beneath his. With her insistent action, she soon freed her legs and spread them apart. Before he could stop himself, he slipped between her legs, his groin pressing hard against her mound. He knew then, he was losing the battle.

Already light perspiration covered her skin, her breathing had grown rapid, and her eyes had darkened. She was a seductress, having the power to control him greater than any vampire could rule a human. Yet if she were to rule him for the rest of his days, he’d give in to her charms, without reservation.

She arched her back encouraging him to fill her with his desire, his need throbbing with urgency. Then she yanked at her gown again, attempting to expose herself to him. He gritted his teeth, trying not to spill his seed in his pants with the way she rubbed against him.

“Rachael,” he murmured, his hands locked onto her long curls, dangling over her shoulders, his lips mouthing her throat. “Hunters don’t use protection when we take a huntress. She’s meant to be ours forever. She’s to carry our offspring, to keep our kind alive.”

Rachael slipped her hand between them and ran her fingers along his zipper, her touch making his erection jump.

He groaned.

“Don’t you think I know that? Hurry up, Adonis, before Trish misses me.”

He’d given it his best shot to convince her not to go through with it. But his burning desire to have her, wreaked havoc with his knowledge that he should wait.

She unbuckled his belt, then yanked his zipper down.

Her fingers touched the length of him, nearly drawing him over the edge. He hesitated only briefly, the longing to take her for his own, overwhelming any caution he might have. He tore his trousers off and jerked her gown up exposing the triangle of golden curls between her legs. She smelled sweet and musky, ready for his penetration. “We’ll do this right, next time.”

She smiled. “Is there a better way to do it?”

“Yes, without pressure and with a lot more foreplay.”

His voice was dark and gruff when he touched her swollen nub, then slipped his fingers inside her. Warm and wet she was definitely physically ready, but what about mentally? He pulled her gown higher, exposing her breasts, then molded them in his hands. Leaning down, he traced his tongue over the tip of one, firmly aroused. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers over his hair. Concern about getting caught forced him to move more quickly than he wanted.

He captured her face in his hands and drove his tongue into her mouth, forcefully, demanding attention. She responded, touching hers to his, but when she reached down to grasp his butt, he couldn’t wait any longer. If he entered her now, he feared he would lose himself should she change her mind. The ache for her had intensified to an excruciatingly sweet pain. “I’m not sure I can stop, if you change your... “

“Please,” she pleaded. “I love you and want you to make love to me. And I know you want me, too.”

He kissed her mouth again, nipping at her bottom lip, then thrust his erection between her legs, into her tight channel. She gasped and he quickly withdrew.

“Are you all right?” he asked, kissing her cheek.

“You’re so big.”

He smiled. “You’re so tight, but you’ll get used to me.”

She yanked at his hair draped over his shoulders. “Hurry, Adonis.”

Worried he’d hurt her, he was reluctant to push as far as he could, not tonight, not with everything going against them.

She reached down and pressed his ass, pressuring him to enter her. He slipped back inside her slowly, stretching her to accommodate him, and then he thrust deeply. Again she gasped and he tried to ease out, but she locked her arms onto his backside.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned.

He chuckled and her lips turned up in response. Beguiling was what she was. A temptress. He nuzzled her neck as he thrust deeply, her body stretching around him in a feminine silky grasp. He fought the bloodlust that centered in his teeth, eager to extend.

She thrust her pelvis at him move for move as he ground against her. And then he couldn’t hold back any longer. His teeth extended as he neared his peak. Her body shuddered around him as she spoke his name in a whispered siren’s call. Touching his teeth to her throat, he battled the urge to sink them into her exposed vein. And then his seed spilled inside her. He clenched his teeth, the climax nothing like anything he’d ever experienced... like sailing around the world on a glassy sea—no rough edges, just pure silken delight. He knew the pleasure he felt was only due to the love he had for Rachael.

They let out their breaths in unison. Tiny shivers racked her body and the spasms she had, gripped him with satisfaction.

“I love you, Rachael, and no one can ever keep us apart,” he promised as his mouth sought to kiss hers again. He’d never erase the vampire in him, but he was whole again, completed by the love he shared with her.

When he tried to withdraw, she held on tight. “I don’t want you to ever let go of me, Adonis. Never let me go.”

“You’re mine now, Rachael. I should have waited. But, now I have to meet with your uncle and get his permission for me to see you.”

“And if he doesn’t give it?”

He kissed her lips. “You’re mine anyway.”

“You’ll allow me to hunt, won’t you? Even after we have children.”

“I wouldn’t want you injured—”

“You’re not like the others, Adonis. If I want to hunt further... “

He smiled. “You’re not like any other woman I’ve ever known. But if you choose to hunt, I insist I go with you.”

“It’s a deal.”

The sound of footsteps headed for the parlor. Adonis jumped off Rachael and grabbed his pants. Damn, he still hadn’t told her about Michael and the contract Piaras wanted him to carry out. “The library, tomorrow.”

“I love you,” she whispered back and yanked down her gown.

He didn’t have a chance to respond as the door to the parlor opened with a squeak.

Chapter 13

Mary and Trish entered the parlor and flipped on a light as Rachael sat up on the couch and pretended to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”

“My God, Rachael. We were about to sound the alarm that you’d vanished.” Trish folded her arms.

Mary took a deep breath. “Trish came and woke me. And Ned’s getting dressed right now. He’ll be rousing the others as we speak.”

Rachael rolled off the couch and tugged an afghan off the arm. “Trish kept talking in her sleep. It was quieter down here.” She pulled the afghan around her shoulders and walked toward them. “How does Ferris put up with it?”

Trish frowned at her. “He’s never said anything about me talking in my sleep. And you shouldn’t be running around the house half naked with three of your suitors staying here the night.”

When they walked out of the room, Rachael said, “I forgot my robe. Tomorrow I want to return for it. And I want to go to the library to get some more books.”

Lights turned on suddenly in the living room as they made their way to the stairs. Ned wrinkled his brow. “You found her, I see.”

“Sleeping in the parlor. She says I talk in my sleep.”

Ferris bolted down the stairs and shook his head.

“Your wife can return to your bed.” Rachael strode toward the stairs. Gregory appeared at the top. She paused, then ran up the stairs. “Night all.” She hurried past Gregory, then walked into her room and closed the door.

A few minutes later, the door opened again. Rachael climbed under the covers as Trish rejoined her in bed.

Trish scolded, “If I talk again in my sleep, nudge me. I’ll quit. But you’re not to leave the room again until it’s light out.”

Rachael’s body felt the afterglow of Adonis’s loving. Her whole body was thoroughly warm and loved. And for the rest of the night, she’d relive his having been with her. She was determined that no one would keep them apart permanently. Not with the way she felt about him. He was hers forever... only now she really had to force her uncle’s approval.

And hope no one found out what Adonis and his sister truly were.

***

Early the next morning, Rachael walked into the kitchen where Trish, Mary and Lynella busily prepared the morning meal. The conversation that had filled the room suddenly ceased. They’d been talking about her again.

She guessed she was the only one in the family stirring things up at the moment. It hadn’t been too long before that Michael had been kicked out of the family after he took down a vampire Uncle Tobias hadn’t wanted him to target so soon. The vampire was a rogue, ruthless and deserved to die, but Uncle Tobias had the final say, always, as to whom they hunted and when the hunting expeditions took place, concerned that his hunters would always be a success. That none of them would die. Michael was sometimes too hot headed.

The tongues wagged for months about Michael’s rogue exploits once he left the family. It was good to see him with his family again, only she wished she hadn’t been the reason.

She pulled a coffee mug from the cupboard. “So what’s being said this morning, ladies?”

Lynella leaned back against the island counter, folded her arms, and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know why you believe you’re so special that you think you can dictate to your uncle which man you will marry.”

Rachael smiled. “Well, your husband is truly a dear, and if he wasn’t already taken, I’d have asked for his hand instead.”

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that,” Trish warned as she shoved a cookie sheet covered with biscuits into the oven.

“Nonsense. Everyone knows what a hunk he is. And kind and considerate, too.” Unlike his wife, the witch.

Lynella tilted her chin up. “Michael says you want to marry this Adonis Cameron. The men are having a council meeting about it as we speak.”

Rachael glanced back at the hall that led to the room. Her temperature instantly elevated several degrees. She wondered why she’d seen no sign of any of the men this morning.

Lynella smirked. “Your uncle won’t allow you to marry an outsider. Gregory and some of your other suitors are quite adamant about it.”

Rachael tucked a piece of hair dangling against her cheek behind her ear as she attempted to calm her growing upset.

Mary stirred sausage links in a frying pan. “We don’t know what Uncle Tobias’s decision will be, Lynella. Quit trying to incite hard feelings again.”

“Do you ladies need my help?” Rachael asked.

“You can set out water and juice glasses,” Trish said.

“Will do. Be back down in a moment.” One meal Rachael never ate was breakfast. She wasn’t about to start now.

She dashed up to her room, grabbed her purse, and headed for Trish’s room. In there, she found the car keys to Ferris’s vehicle. Without hesitation, she hurried out of the house, and jumped into her cousin’s car.

Her cousin would be furious. Her uncle would be angrier. Still, she wasn’t going to play along with the family rules any longer. She meant business and she wanted them to know it. She’d marry Adonis, or not marry ever. More than anything, she was important to the family in providing new offspring. And she would—Adonis’s—she hoped.

She took a deep breath and drove toward the city. She’d never agreed to a time to meet Adonis at the library. Maybe he’d meant to meet her there anytime. Sure, he couldn’t be assured when she’d arrive there.

Nearly an hour later, she arrived at the main library. White marble steps and Grecian columns welcomed the patrons into the three-story building. She ran up the steps, and once inside, crossed the floor to the library computer to search the card catalogue for mystery books.

A hand touched her shoulder. A trickle of fear spread through her body. She whipped around to find Adonis, his eyes sparkling with mischief, his dark hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail. He smiled. Her heart warmed and she smiled back, her gaze taking in every bit of him.

The turtleneck he wore fit snugly against his chest, showing the contours of his muscular body. Instantly, she thought of how they’d touched on the sofa, their bodies partially naked, moving erotically against one another.

He glanced down at her navy turtleneck. Already the tips of her breasts tightened. “You’re glad to see me.”

Pulling him against her body, she kissed his lips.

And he responded hungrily, but then tried to separate from her eager embrace. “Where are your guard dogs?”

She led him toward the basement of the building where periodicals and genealogy reference materials were maintained. “I sneaked out of the house on my own. Uncle Tobias was having one of his council meetings concerning whether or not I could date you. It’s supposed to be my choice. I’m not letting him take it away from me.”

Looking up at Adonis, she found his brow wrinkled with concern.

The room was empty of patrons, and she took his hand and led him to a table. “Don’t worry. I’m not giving you up.”

“You were supposed to get permission to come to the library. How are we to get your uncle to agree to my seeing you now?”

“Listen,” she said, her tone exasperated, “what if they had said no to my coming to the library? Then what? I wasn’t going to be stopped.”

“If I met you here by accident, maybe they’d be more agreeable. Now they’re going to think we met on purpose, that I’m still trying to see you without your uncle’s permission.”

“I told Michael you were my soul mate that I couldn’t stay away from you.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He didn’t say anything, but he did tell my uncle that I wanted to see only you and that’s why they’re having the meeting this morning. He thought you’d gone too far with me.”

Adonis’s lips curved up.

“You know, there’s something dark and sinister and totally sexual about the way you smile. You hooked me.”

He let out his breath and sat down next to her at the table. Taking her hand in his, he rested it against his crotch. “That’s what you do to me, Rachael. You’ve had me stirred up like this since the moment I met you.”

He was hard and ready for her all over again, and she wanted him, too. If she could have returned to her apartment, or his home... but she couldn’t. She had to think sensibly. She wanted her family to find her at the library, talking sweetly to the man she wished to marry. Then they’d be more agreeable to welcoming him to the house, she hoped. “You mean, you wanted me even when you caught me in the shadows of the hotel the night of the ball?”

“You stood out among all the women at the ball.”

She laughed. “Yeah well, that’s because I was the only one dressed like a huntress and not as a ballroom debutante.”

He shook his head. “No. I wanted you the moment I saw you.”

“I wondered if you were going to rip out my throat, or kiss me, until my cousin interrupted us.”

“You have no idea what I wanted to do with you that first night.”

But she did know he wanted her because of the way he touched her. Every action he took with her, showed how he hungered for her. “I couldn’t believe how bold you were to stand in view of all the hunters on the balcony without flinching once.”

“I’m afraid it’s a compulsion. A madcap desire to show the others that I wanted you for myself.”

“My family will think of looking for me here eventually. But I wondered if we could go to your place for just a short while and—”

“No.”

“No?” She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. Did he not want to make love to her again, until her uncle sanctified their relationship?

Wrapping his arm around her, Adonis gave her an embrace. “Piaras can enter my home freely at will.”

“During the day?”

Adonis rubbed his smooth chin, then smiled. “You’re right. I have my SUV here. We can run to my place, then return here in a little while.”

He stood, then pulled her chair out for her. Footsteps on the stairs announced someone was making their way to the periodicals room. They both paused as Rachael held her breath. When an elderly, gray-haired man appeared, Rachael took Adonis’s hand and squeezed. “Not one of my relatives,” she whispered to him.

They headed for the stairs and ran up them. But as he took her to the front door, Gregory’s car pulled behind her cousin’s. Her heart thundered. Of all the people to find them together, Gregory would complicate issues worse.

“It’s him, isn’t it? His name wouldn’t happen to be Gregory Devine, would it?” Adonis asked, evidently recalling what the car looked like when Gregory took her from her apartment.

“Yes. How did you…why do you ask?”

Adonis’s expression turned chillingly distant.

She reached down and took his hand in hers for reassurance. “He’s bound to make a scene. I’d hoped it would be one of my cousins who found me here with you instead.”

“What’s taking him so long?”

“He’s probably calling my family to let them know that he’s found my car, or rather my cousin Ferris’s car.” She dragged Adonis to one of the bookshelves and quickly pulled out three mystery books. “Maybe you can grab a book on antiques.”

Before she reached the card catalogue to locate antique books, Gregory exited his vehicle with a cell phone to his ear, catching her eye. Panicked, she hastily walked away from the long windows, towing Adonis with her. She couldn’t settle the panic filling her. She walked through the library, then stopped.

Adonis pulled her close. “They can’t keep us apart, Rachael. I’d take you home with me and bring you back later, but it’s better if we confront this issue now.”

“He’ll make a terrible scene. I’m afraid he’ll blow his top. He’s been on the verge the last few times I’ve rejected him.”

Adonis smiled. “Yeah, well, I’d know just how he feels, had I been in his shoes. I’m one lucky hunter, believe you me.”

The door opened and she turned back to look. Gregory walked into the library, his blond hair neatly pulled back, and he wore a blue t-shirt and denims that accentuated his blue eyes. But he paled in comparison to Adonis and his dark brown hair and eyes.

As soon as Gregory turned and saw her with Adonis, the look of utter disbelief crossed his face, then a dark shadow fell across it. He focused his wrath on Adonis and stormed toward him.

Although Adonis was fully prepared to meet him head on, Rachael quickly walked in front of him. Her cousins would undoubtedly arrive sometime soon, depending on where they were at the time Gregory had called them. One of them would have to drive Ferris’s car home, as she assumed Gregory planned on taking her home to her uncle’s place once he found her.

“Step aside, Rachael.” He spoke to her, but glowered at Adonis the whole time.

“This is a library, Gregory. Get a grip on your temper.”

His stormy blue eyes pinned her, then he handed her his car keys. “Wait for me in the car.”

“My cousins are coming for me. Isn’t that so?”

“I’m taking you home,” he growled. “And Casanova can take a hike. Your uncle won’t permit you to see him any further.”

Adonis touched her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze, sending a spark of electricity down her spine. Gregory’s cheeks reddened as his eyes narrowed. Adonis leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You know where to meet me.”

She took a deep breath, met his gaze, and then turned to Gregory. “I’ll wait for you in the car. But behave yourself or I’ll take you off my list of suitors so fast you’ll... well, just watch yourself.”

With a heavy heart, she walked past the two men, hoping they wouldn’t kill each other in the interim. She hurried out to Ferris’s car, jiggling Gregory’s car keys between her fingers. After she climbed into Ferris’s car and drove off, she thought she saw Michael’s vehicle when she turned the corner. Thank God. Maybe Adonis could convince Michael he wanted to see her as a marital prospect and stop the impending fight.

She turned down another street, then headed for Kismet’s Antiques and hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long before Adonis returned to his home. Then again, she wasn’t sure what would happen next. The situation was just getting worse and worse.

She parked around the corner from Kismet’s like she’d done before, then dashed for the store. More than likely her relatives would look for her at her apartment next. They wouldn’t have any idea she’d come back here. Unless Zachary was suspicious about her being at a Vietnamese grocery story around the corner from the antique store and tied that in with her story about the antique book Adonis was supposed to be reading at the library.

Then she wondered if Danai had told Michael where she lived. If she gave this place as her home, they might end up looking for Rachael here. She took a calming breath and opened the glass door. A bell tinkled overhead. She hadn’t remembered hearing it before.

The dusty air tickled her nose, and she fought the urge to sneeze. She glanced at the counter and saw no sign of Danai. Who was managing the shop?

She walked deeper into the poorly illuminated store, the lighting as antiquated as the merchandise they carried. Shelves cluttered with old junk filled every wall and extended into the room like arthritic fingers. “Danai?”

A shuffling in a room off the main one caught Rachael’s ear. Even though it might have been Danai moving some boxes around, she figured Adonis’s sister would have answered her when she called out. Fearing some kind of trouble, Rachael pulled the dagger from her sheath and dashed toward the room.

Shoving the partially closed door aside, she peered into the even darker room. Attempting to fight her fear of the dark, she ran her hand over the wall and tried to find a light switch. She hated being disadvantaged in lightless places.

“Rachael, no!” Danai’s desperate cry filled Rachael with heart-wrenching foreboding.

Footsteps ran toward her. Before she could discern if the sound belonged to friend or foe, or escape from the impending trouble, a blunt object struck her in the temple, erasing all doubt. Instantly, her mind blackened.

***

Adonis crossed his arms after Rachael left and faced a scowling Gregory Devine, the bastard who’d gotten Adonis and the rest of his family into this fix with Piaras. Trying to keep his fangs under control was the main problem now though. Whenever he was provoked, they extended just like the hair on his neck would stand when highly agitated. He’d only more recently been able to get his canines under better management. But as possessive as he was toward Rachael and the contempt he felt for the hunter who had lured an innocent huntress away from her family, which led to her premature death, was enough to make Adonis lose control.

“Where were you when Piaras murdered Meghan Tanner?” Adonis knew he shouldn’t bring it up, but he had to, to find out what had happened, and why his family ended up in such an unholy mess.

Gregory’s eyes rounded. But then they narrowed, and instead of addressing the issue, he poked a finger into Adonis’s chest. “You stay away from Rachael.”

Not the thing to do.

Adonis clenched his teeth, fighting to keep them from extending, his jaw tightening in anticipation. “I have every intention of seeing Rachael, Gregory. As a huntress she must make her choice for her mate, freely. If you feel you can’t measure up, it’s your loss. But you will explain to me how you neglected to protect Meghan.”

Gregory touched the dagger at his waist.

Adonis narrowed his eyes. “That’s not the way to win Rachael’s heart, believe me.”

Thinking better of it, Gregory fisted his hands on his hips. “Tobias won’t allow you to see her. I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but... “

Adonis smiled.

Gregory pulled his dagger out.

“Gregory! Sheathe your weapon! Now!” Michael ordered, rushing into the library, while Zachary and an older man Adonis didn’t recognize, followed slightly behind him.

“Gregory!” the older man said, as Gregory wouldn’t back down.

Michael grabbed Gregory’s arm and pulled him away. He turned him over to Zachary who escorted him outside the building. Would they notice Rachael was gone now?

Once Gregory was out of the way, Michael turned to Adonis. “I’d have reacted the same way if I’d been pursuing Rachael and some out-of-stater disregarded hunter protocol like you’ve done and was seeing her on the sly.”

“I met her here at the library. I didn’t mean to breech your family’s rules. But I do wish to seek Rachael’s hand in marriage.”

“You might think up another story. Zachary confirmed that Rachael’s tale wasn’t in the least bit truthful. She hasn’t checked out a book in over a week. My uncle is of the opinion you shouldn’t see her again.”

“She was doing research. She doesn’t always check out the books.” Adonis lifted a brow. “And how do you feel about her seeing me?”

Michael turned to the older man who nodded.

“This is Curt Bremerton, one of Tobias’s cousins. He and I believe you might be able to help us to kill the vampire who threatens Rachael’s life.”

“I have every intention of protecting Rachael.”

Michael shook his head. “You’ve seduced her. I doubt your mind’s totally concerned with protecting her. But she’s told me she wants you. Just the fact you two were here together... “ He paused. “Where is she?”

“Gregory gave her the keys to his car.”

Michael took a ragged breath. “I believe she may listen to you while she’s not paying the rest of us any mind.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect her. But more than that, I want her to be my mate.”

Michael let out his breath. “You may be the one to finally make her settle down.”

Gregory and Zachary stormed back into the library.

“She’s gone!” Zachary shouted, his face red with fury. “I was trying to talk sense into Gregory when he noticed her car is gone... well, rather, Ferris’s car is gone. And she’s got Gregory’s car keys, too.”

Which probably infuriated the hunter more.

“Where did you send her?” Gregory charged at Adonis with blood in his eyes and readied fists. “He whispered something to her before she left!”

Michael grabbed his shoulders and held him still.

“Where’d she go? If you want us to trust you have her best interests in mind, tell us where you sent her,” Curt asked.

Adonis was torn. If he told them what they wanted to know, they’d realize he’d meant to rendezvous secretly with her further. If he didn’t enlighten them, they’d never trust him.

“I own an antique shop on Main Street.”

Zachary’s mouth dropped open. “You’re the man who saved her when the armed robbers held up the grocery store.”

Curt shook his head. “She’s seen him more than the one time.” He started toward the door, then turned to Adonis. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll meet you there. My vehicle’s out back.”

Michael followed Adonis. “I’ll ride with you.”

They didn’t trust him. Could he blame them?

When they reached the back parking lot, Michael abruptly stopped and stared at the SUV. “Danai drove this vehicle.”

“Yeah, she did, and don’t you get any ideas about her.”

“The two of you are related?” The awe in Michael’s voice amused Adonis. One big happy family.

“She’s my sister and extremely shy around men. Anyone who messes with her has to answer to me.”

“She told you about me?”

“Yeah.”

As they climbed into the SUV, Michael took a deep breath. “What did she say?”

The lion of a rogue hunter seemed like he’d shrunken into a kitten when it came to a huntress relationship. Despite the tragic irony of the situation, Adonis was amused to see a hunter of his caliber taken down a notch. “She said you seemed interested in her. But we have a problem.” Greater than any Adonis could discuss though.

“What’s that?”

“While hunting, I learned Piaras has a contract out on you. Seems you have a contract on some vampire named Dominique.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. So if you want to be around long enough to see my sister further, you’re going to have to lay low.”

“That’s not possible.”

“You’re going to make all our lives harder, believe me.”

“You mean, Danai likes me? She said so?” Michael stared out the windshield. “She barely spoke to me, but when she kissed my cheek so faintly, I thought maybe there was hope.”

“She kissed you?” Hell, what had gotten into his sister? And she gave Adonis a hard time about Rachael!

“Ahem, yeah, well, I know I should have gotten permission to... “ He faced Adonis. “I guess we’re kind of in the same boat.”

“You kissed my sister?”

Michael folded his arms. “I suspect you went farther than that with my cousin.”

Adonis raised a brow. “If you wish to see my sister, I give you permission.” And hoped to hell things didn’t get out of hand, more so than they had already.

When they arrived at the shop, Adonis prayed Rachael wasn’t waiting for him, naked in his bed. That would take one hell of a lot of explaining.

Instantly, Adonis smelled blood when he walked into his shop. With his acute vampire sense of smell when it came to the iron scent, he recognized it at once. He stormed through the store and headed straight for the storage room. His head pounded with worry while he pulled his blade from its sheath at his waist.

Chapter 14

Unsheathing his sword, Michael ran after Adonis into the antique shop. “What’s wrong?”

“Danai should be managing the counter. She’s not here.” He couldn’t let Michael know he could smell blood from half a mile away.

Car doors slammed outside and Zachary, Gregory, and Curt entered the store.

Adonis hit the light switch in the storage room for Michael’s benefit. Several boxes had been knocked down from shelves. Either one or both of the women had put up quite a struggle.

Michael leaned over. “It’s Rachael’s dagger.” He lifted it off the floor.

Adonis busily examined the blood on two of the boxes, guardedly relieved to find it wasn’t Danai’s or Rachael’s. He knew his sister’s blood... had smelled it for the first time when Piaras had bitten her after he’d turned Adonis. And now the scent of Rachael’s blood when Julia had bitten her would forever be imprinted on his mind. “Any blood on the dagger?”

“No. Apparently, Rachael wasn’t able to wound anyone. But if she removed her dagger from its sheath, she was worried about her safety. What did you find?”

“Fresh blood.”

Michael’s face paled.

Adonis couldn’t reassure him the ladies hadn’t been hurt here. Not without raising questions he couldn’t very well answer.

Gregory, Curt, and Zachary listened at the doorway.

Curt asked, “What’s happened?”

“Danai is Michael’s sister. It appears one or both were accosted.”

Adonis headed for his house. “Stay here.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Gregory followed him to Adonis’s irritation.

The other men joined in.

He had nothing to hide, in fact the place looked typical of a hunter’s home with ancient weapons displayed on the walls of his living room and bedroom. But he didn’t feel comfortable having the hunters enter his home without checking for the women first and finding out their condition.

“Danai!” Adonis hollered, storming through the living room.

“Oh, Adonis!” she cried out from her bedroom.

Adonis and Michael and the others ran toward her bedroom. When they bumped into each other trying to get through the doorway, her mouth dropped open.

“Michael,” she said under her breath.

Adonis looked at her blood-stained lips, then at Rachael lying unconscious in Danai’s bed. He crossed the floor as quickly as humanly possible, grabbed Danai and hugged her to his breast and whispered in her ear, “Go wash up, quickly.” She nodded, tears in her eyes.

The other men hurried into the room and moved close to the bed.

Michael was examining the blow to Rachael’s head. “Rachael,” he called to her.

She moaned, her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open.

Adonis knelt beside her. He caressed her uninjured temple. A discolored and raised knot swelled on the left side of her forehead. “Rachael.”

She reached for his hand. An all-knowing look passed between Michael and Adonis. Adonis and Rachael were meant to be together, if they could only convince her uncle and get rid of Piaras in the meantime.

When Danai returned to the room, Michael stood, then crossed the floor to her, and took her hand in his. “What happened?”

She swallowed and looked at Adonis as if waiting for his permission to speak. He inclined his head slightly.

“I couldn’t see who they were.”

Adonis knew she had, as she’d evidently gotten the best of whoever had battered Rachael. The blood on Danai’s lips meant she killed them, or had torn them up pretty good. And for her to have done so, went against everything she believed in. Neither of them had bitten a human with their fangs since they’d been turned. Danai had to have been desperate.

He kissed Rachael’s forehead. His sister must have been protecting her.

“What happened?” Michael prompted again. “We found blood in the storage room.”

“I stabbed both of the men. They ran out of here, fearful for their lives. I half carried Rachael in here, but I was afraid to call for an ambulance. Hunters take care of their own.”

Curt touched Rachael’s shoulder. “Rachael?”

She gripped Adonis’s hand.

Curt folded his arms. “We’ve got to get her to Tobias’s home. Dr. Stevens will see to her.”

Gregory drew closer to the bed. “I’ll take her to the car.”

Ignoring him, Adonis lifted her off the mattress. “Lead the way,” he said to Curt. No one was carrying his mate anywhere... especially a hunter who assumed he still had a chance with her. And the same damned one who’d gotten him and his family into such a bind. He was certain Meghan’s death could be directly attributed to Gregory’s failure to protect her when she arrived.

“I want you to come with us, Danai,” Michael said, tugging at her to go along with them. Adonis glanced back at him, and Michael added, “If it’s all right with your brother.”

“I would approve of such a move.” His sister and Rachael would be safer at Tobias’s estates for now. Still he had to learn from Danai what had happened. “Michael, I’d appreciate it if you drove my vehicle.”

Danai frowned at Adonis. She apparently didn’t care for his matchmaking effort, but he had to have her help him keep Michael safe. Plus, she needed further protection. And he figured Michael would be the best one to chaperone Rachael and him. Someone from her family would be expected to. But he figured she’d give him the devil later about involving her with Michael.

Everyone played musical vehicles as Zachary drove Ferris’s car and Curt drove Michael’s truck. Gregory joined Zachary and slammed the door to Ferris’s car. Michael helped Adonis into the backseat with Rachael. He seemed disappointed when Danai had already taken her seat on the passenger’s side without waiting for him to help her like a gentleman would.

Once they were all buckled in, they followed the other vehicles back to Tobias’s estates.

“What happened?” Adonis asked Danai again, now with fewer onlookers present.

“Two men attacked me in the storage room. Rachael arrived and heard us. She came to save me. But... the... one struck her.”

“Were they humans? Human hosts?”

“I... I don’t know.”

She did know. If she’d killed them with her fangs, or had even just bitten them, she could taste the difference between those who allowed the vampires to feed off them for the sexual pleasure they derived from it and humans who did not. Host’s blood was thinner than unaffected humans. She was worried her answer might give him and her away to the hunter family.

“I told Michael that Piaras has a contract out on him. I’d hoped he might lay low, but he doesn’t want to.”

Danai looked over at him. Michael glanced at her and reached over and patted her hand.

Would he do it for Danai?

She swallowed hard. “I... I don’t want you to get hurt, Michael.”

He quirked a brow at her, then grinned.

She quickly looked out the window.

Danai had made his day. Adonis couldn’t believe how one little statement from her had affected the rogue hunter to such a degree. Sad state of affairs when a woman could bring a man to his knees like that.

Rachael moaned and squirmed her head in Adonis’s lap.

“Rachael?” He ran his fingers over her hair.

“Da... Danai,” she said, her voice shaky and hollow.

He kissed her cheek. “Danai’s all right. We’re going to your uncle’s house now. Michael’s driving.”

“Michael?” She raised her hand to her head and groaned.

“Your cousin, Michael, yes. Shhh, just take it easy, honey. Doctor... “ He paused as he couldn’t think of the name of the hunter doctor the family used.

“Stevens,” Michael offered.

She shook her head and moaned. “If he... examines... me... “

Adonis raised his brows. His heart rate increased when he grew concerned as to what she might say. He gently covered her mouth with his hand. “Shhh, Rachael,” he whispered in her ear. “He’s only going to check out the bump on your head, nothing more.”

She burrowed her cheek into Adonis’s groin, and he stifled a groan. “Danai,” she whimpered.

Danai unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned around the passenger seat. She grasped Rachael’s hand firmly. “I’m all right, Rachael.”

“They... they were hurting Danai,” Rachael said, her voice strained. “They... “ She touched the tender spot on her head, then she grew quiet.

Adonis felt her pulse in her wrist, his own beating too rapidly. If Danai hadn’t killed the ones who injured Rachael, he’d finish the job.

“What’s wrong?” Michael’s voice was on edge while he tried to see what was going on and watch his driving at the same time.

“She’s passed out, but her pulse rate is... well, it’s slower than normal, but she’ll be fine.”

Danai refastened her seatbelt.

Adonis stroked Rachael’s cheek, then ran his hand down her arm. She sighed deeply and squirmed in his lap again.

He’d put them both at risk last night. He chided himself for having taken her like he did, despite her insistence and willingness. Hell, any encouragement on her part would have sent him over the edge, but he should have had more backbone and fought the temptation.

Then he considered how he’d wanted her again when they met at the library. He floundered between wishing he hadn’t sent Rachael to his shop, and wondering if her arrival there hadn’t saved Danai’s life. He had to know what happened. Before he could ask his sister telepathically, Rachael’s hand moved to her waist, and she touched the sheath where her dagger had been. He took her hand and held it.

“It’s all right, Rachael, you’re safe. Michael’s got your dagger.” He didn’t know how much she could understand in her confused state, but he wanted to reassure her that no one could harm her or Danai.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

“She’s semiconscious. She was trying to find her dagger.” Her cousin had the hearing of a cat. With the rumble of the car on the highway, and Rachael’s soft, raspy voice, Adonis wouldn’t have thought anyone in the front seats could have heard her hesitant words.

He swore to himself. And would he put two and two together? Michael seemed worldly. There wasn’t much he could put past him. Except that Adonis and his sister were vampires.

Then a shiver of worry trailed down his spine. Since Rachael was injured and Danai had witnessed what had happened, Tobias would question Danai. She’d been so full of life, so confident, a spunky huntress like Rachael until she’d been turned. Now she was a shell of a woman, living in the shadows of life. Would being around all of Rachael’s hunter family shatter what little bit of comfort she drew from existing quietly in the background, an observer, not a participant in life any longer?

She barely ate enough to keep herself alive, and he often fought with her to get her to eat more. Yet she couldn’t really die, just grow more and more emaciated.

Neither of them had totally adjusted to their new lifestyle. But Adonis wasn’t accepting it at face value either. If he could, he’d turn his life around and push forward like he would have done before Piaras got hold of him. And now with Rachael to care for...

Rachael squirmed and raised her hand to her head again and moaned. “Da... nai.”

He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and rubbed her shoulder. “Danai’s sitting in the front seat. We’re driving to your uncle’s house. Michael’s with us.”

Shaking her head, she groaned. “They’ll get us.”

“You’re safe, Rachael. No one’s going to get you.”

She squeezed his knee with her hand. “Danai.”

“No one’s going to get my sister either.”

She quieted again and slept the rest of the way to the house. He’d wanted her awake, to hear her voice, but her confusion disturbed him. Would the concussion cause a permanent memory loss? Not once had she mentioned his name. Did she remember who he was?

He couldn’t shake the terror snaking its way into his system with the thought he’d have to start all over with her again. What if she thought Gregory was now a suitable marital prospect? What if she learned he was a vampire again, only this time was terrified?

When Michael pulled the SUV to a stop behind Ferris’s car, several hunters hurried to the door. Once they’d opened it, one carried Rachael from the vehicle. As soon as Gregory managed to take her from the other hunter, Adonis hurried after him intent on getting his mate back.

Michael rounded the SUV and grabbed his arm. He obviously saw the intense hunter mating instinct and wanted to short fuse the situation before Rachael was injured further. “My father will wish to speak to you.”

His blood boiling with jealousy, Adonis watched as Gregory carried Rachael into the house.

Michael turned to Danai. “And he’ll want to find out the details of what happened in your store, if you wouldn’t mind telling him, Danai.” His words were spoken in a gentle manner when he talked to Adonis’s sister. With Adonis, he was all hunter, protective toward his cousin, and of the family’s dating protocol.

Adonis spoke up. “I wish to stay with my sister when Mr. Bremerton questions her.”

“Of course.”

The three of them walked toward the house, while Curt and Zachary joined them. Tobias glared at Adonis, his gray eyes as stormy as a typhoon at sea.

Michael said, “Danai saved Rachael’s life. I thought we could go to the conference room and discuss this and other matters.”

Adonis took Danai’s hand and waited for Zachary to lead the way. He noticed Michael glancing down at their hands, and he imagined he wished he could comfort Danai instead.

Adonis couldn’t believe that he intended to prove himself worthy as a hunter to the family, and instead, his sister did so by saving Rachael’s life.

Michael shut the door. Tobias motioned to the seats around the room. No one was singled out. Everyone just took a seat where they felt comfortable. Danai sat beside Adonis and Michael took a seat on the other side of Danai. Curt, Zachary, and Tobias sat opposite them.

Tobias gripped the arms of his leather chair, then interlocked his fingers into a fist and rested them against his mouth while he continued to glare at Adonis.

Adonis waited for the questioning to begin. His sister looked paler than normal. Reaching over, he rubbed her back.

Tobias stood. “What happened, Curt?”

“Rachael met Adonis Cameron at the main library. Before Michael, Zachary and I arrived there, Gregory said Adonis told Rachael to leave. When we questioned him about it, he told us she’d gone to his antique shop.”

Tobias raised his hand. “For what purpose?”

“She wished to visit me,” Danai said, her voice whisper soft.

Adonis’s sister had saved his butt. He definitely owed her one. Of course, he had no intention of killing Michael either, and maybe she figured she owed him for it.

However, he figured Tobias didn’t believe a word of it, nor did any of the others in the room. His thoughts shifted to Rachael. Was that jerk of a hunter still with her? Or would the doctor have made him leave?

Tobias studied Danai for a moment, then he looked back at Curtis. “And then?”

“We found her unconscious after Danai had rescued her from... “ He paused and waited for Danai to help him out.

Danai glanced at Adonis. He nodded. Whatever the truth was, it had to come out for everyone’s safety sake. She faced Tobias. “Human hosts. Piaras’s converts.”

Tobias cursed under his breath. “How in the hell did they know Rachael was going to be there?”

Danai shook her head. “They didn’t.”

“My God,” Michael said. “They were after you, Danai, and Rachael startled them?”

Adonis’s heart nearly stopped. Piaras was getting desperate. He was taking Adonis’s sister as part of the bargain to ensure he brought Rachael to the vampire leader. The human hosts must not have known they had Rachael in their grasp, they were so intent on taking Danai back to Piaras.

“She stays here with us for her own protection,” Michael said, before his father could speak.

Tobias cleared his throat and frowned at Michael.

“If you say so, of course, Father.”

“She’ll sleep with Rachael. Hopefully Danai won’t disturb Rachael’s sleep like Trish did.” Tobias considered Danai. “Would that be acceptable to you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to the human hosts?”

“I wounded them with my hunter’s dagger. If it hadn’t been for Rachael distracting them, I wouldn’t have had a chance.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and Adonis reached over and squeezed her hand. She gave him a tentative smile.

Tobias said, “Michael, could you take Danai and get her something to drink? She must be pretty worn out from her ordeal.”

He shifted in his seat. “I wish to stay in here when you speak to Adonis, if you would permit me to.”

Tobias raised a brow. “Very well, Zachary then—”

“Can you have Curt take her?” Michael hurriedly asked.

Tobias frowned slightly. “Curt is one of the elders in our group. I want him to stay. If you don’t wish to take the young lady out of the room, Zachary will.”

“I could stay,” Danai offered.

Adonis knew she wished to diffuse the situation between Tobias and himself. He figured, too, she wasn’t comfortable with any of the other hunters yet, and Michael was about the only one she’d want to go with.

“No.” Tobias offered a small smile on Danai’s behalf and cleared his throat. “Hunter’s business, you understand.”

“Yes,” she said so demurely, she couldn’t help but win Tobias over.

Zachary rose from his chair. Being an eligible bachelor, too, he was most likely intrigued with Danai, but his older brother had already made his interest in her known, and bucking him would be a losing proposition. Plus her words already had shown she’d have rather stayed where she was than go with Zachary.

Michael stood and helped her from her chair. “This won’t take very long, Danai.” He walked her to the door and gave Zachary a look of male domination.

Not to be cowed by his brother, Zachary grinned at him, then led Danai away.

Michael shut the door.

Adonis said, “I’m sorry, but my sister is very shy around men, and Michael seems to be the only one who has managed to bring her out of it a bit.”

“Being a hunter, you must know then how hard it was for Michael to give her up to his younger brother, who also seeks a huntress for a bride. But it seems he wishes to speak on your behalf.” Tobias turned to Michael. “If this has anything to do with your getting to know Danai better and Adonis’s allowing it, you’ll have no word in these other pressing issues.”

“It doesn’t.” Michael straightened his back.

“All right then. First, Adonis, I understand you wish to see my niece. Why have you not come to me about this before?”

Chapter 15

A knocking on Tobias’s conference room solid oak door made the hunters all turn to see who it was, giving Adonis a bit of a reprieve.

A gray-haired man wearing gold-rimmed glasses poked his head into the room. Of slight build, and small stature, Adonis imagined that’s why he’d become the family doctor, and most likely didn’t hunt. Dr. Stevens spoke to Tobias, his voice calm, but concerned. “Rachael is conscious, groggy, but rebellious.”

Adonis smiled inwardly. It was a good sign.

“She needs to remain calm. I was going to administer a sedative, but before I do, she’s asked repeatedly to see Danai and her brother.”

Adonis’s spirits lifted. She remembered him. He had every intention of making her remember every detail of him again, if she hadn’t, to stir her memories, arouse her craving for him...

“For her peace of mind, will you permit it, Tobias?” Dr. Stevens asked.

Tobias’s lips thinned. He hadn’t even given Adonis permission to see his niece yet, and now he was being forced to allow him to attend to her in her bedroom of all places. And the silence seemed interminable.

Finally he said, “Michael will take them to see her. If Danai likes, she can stay with Rachael.” He turned to Michael. “But we have unfinished business after that.”

“Yes, Father.” Michael jumped up from his chair, clearly interested in rescuing Danai from Zachary.

Adonis rose and bowed his head slightly to Tobias in thanks. “I thank you for your concession.”

“I only do it for Rachael’s sake.”

And begrudgingly. But would he also allow Adonis to wed Rachael? Then what? Could they live as a hunter turned vampire and a huntress amidst a family of hunters, or would they have to leave and start anew?

He bowed again, then hurried out of the room after Michael and the doctor. Michael headed for Danai who sat in the living room with Zachary. His brother’s leg nearly touched Danai’s and Michael’s face reddened to see the close proximity. But she only had eyes for Adonis.

Adonis shook his head at her, relaying the message that the questioning wasn’t over yet. “Rachael’s asking for us.” He walked over to the couch and offered his hand to her. She quickly accepted it. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Michael still glaring at Zachary.

Adonis led Danai up the stairs after the doctor, and Michael followed close behind them.

When they walked into the room, Rachael’s eyes were closed. The comforter rested under her chin. Her curly blonde hair was tangled over her shoulders, and she almost looked angelic.

His expression filled with scorn, Gregory sat next to the bed. No wonder Rachael had been agitated. Danai squeezed Adonis’s hand in warning to make sure he kept his cool. Already his blood stirred. The air in the room had turned electric, and the intense look in Gregory’s blue eyes, shards of ice daggers, his lips thinned into an angry line, meant before long the two of them would play out the scene between them, one the winner, the other...

Adonis took a calming breath, then turned his attention back to Rachael and walked over to the bed. He touched her cheek. Her skin soft like a rose petal, begged him to kiss it. “Rachael?” he said, gently, not wanting to disturb her if she was sound asleep.

Her brilliant blue eyes fluttered open, making his heart quiver.

“Oh, Adonis.” She spoke more clearly now, her voice full of enthusiasm to see him. She fully recognized him and his spirits soared. She squeezed his hand, then seeing Danai, she reached out for hers. “Danai, you’re both all right.”

The doctor readied a needle. “I told you they were fine.”

Her eyes widened and her voice sounded panic. “What’s that for?”

Did she think they were giving her truth serum again? Adonis crouched before her, and held her hand, rubbing her arm to relax her.

“Something to help you sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” The tone of her voice quickly switched to anger.

Adonis knew he shouldn’t do it, not without Tobias’s permission or with so many onlookers, but Rachael was his, and he would have been remiss as her mate not to comfort her properly. He kissed her cheek and nuzzled his face against hers.

Gregory rose from the chair, knocking it over with a clatter, and started to make his way around the end of the bed.

The doctor quickly grabbed his arm with a jerk and pulled him back. “If you don’t behave, I’ll give the sedative to you.”

“Do it!” Rachael said, she scowled, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Gregory glared at her, shoved his fists into his pockets, then remained where he stood.

“Danai is staying with you. You need to rest.” Adonis whispered into her ear for her benefit only, “We have work to do.”

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Danai chimed in, smiling.

“And you, Adonis?” Rachael looked up at him with soulful eyes.

He wanted to hold her whole body against his in a loving embrace. He attempted to smooth away the wrinkle creasing her forehead. “If your uncle permits me to.”

She tried to pull her covers aside, but he grabbed them from her and covered her back up, making her stay put.

“I want to speak to my uncle,” she curtly blurted out.

Michael cleared his throat. “I’m speaking on Adonis’s behalf, Rachael. But I’ll only do it if you stay in bed and mind what the doctor says.”

She pouted her lips. Then a devilish smile curved them. She pulled Adonis closer. When he was in reach, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a weak embrace. He squeezed her tightly back. She melted to his touch, warming him through and through.

“Okay,” the doctor interrupted. “It’s time for you to sleep for a while.”

“Come back and see me soon, Adonis.”

Adonis wasn’t sure Tobias would allow it, but he nodded to give her peace of mind. If Tobias wouldn’t allow him to see Rachael, he would do everything in his power to change his mind. He was determined to have family sanction, if he could have it, but if not...

Before leaving, Adonis gave Gregory a look of domination.

Michael nudged him to leave. “We have business to take care of.”

Gregory retook his seat by the bed, giving Adonis a superior look. But the hunter wouldn’t stay there for long, if Adonis had any say in the matter.

Already Rachael’s lids were halfway shut. She closed them and gulped when the doctor injected the needle into her arm. Danai held her other hand and caressed it.

Michael motioned to the hall. Adonis pinned Gregory with another dagger of warning as Gregory mirrored the expression.

Then Adonis followed Michael back to the conference room. Tobias had to know his niece was in love with him. Tobias couldn’t deny Adonis’s seeing her.

Zachary quickly hurried to join them.

When they walked into the room, Curt and Tobias ceased speaking and took their seats. When everyone else was seated, Tobias began again. “My question was why did you not ask my permission to see my niece?”

Adonis stiffened his back. “Rachael didn’t want me to.”

Tobias raised his brows. Adonis was sure Curt, Michael, and Zachary disbelieved him just as much as Tobias did, but Adonis had told the truth... in part.

Tobias folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Explain why.”

Adonis never took his eyes off Tobias. It would have been a show of weakness. Just like with Piaras, he’d never back down. “She warned me you wouldn’t want her to see a hunter who wasn’t from here, an outsider like me.”

“Where are you from exactly?” Tobias’s expression remained hard, disbelieving, in part. And yet his voice betrayed he was softening his stance. She’d had her uncle pegged and he knew it.

“Panama City, Florida. The rest of my hunter family was massacred, except for my parents and two sisters.”

Zachary let out his breath. “Two sisters in the same family!” Then he paused. “Is she unmarried, too?”

Tobias cut him an angry look. “Let Adonis tell the story. Why did you come here? Why not settle somewhere else?”

“My sister came here. Not Danai, my youngest sister. Pasha came here looking for her huntress friend who had run off to be with a hunter her parents didn’t approve of. When she hadn’t had any word from Meghan, she pleaded with my father to allow him to find her. He refused to give her permission to go. She did anyway.”

He looked down at the floor for a moment, trying to contain his anger. He had to keep telling himself that sometimes things had to be the way they were, there was no going back and changing the past. But the knots bunched in his stomach, and he took a deep breath to settle his fury.

This time he didn’t look at Tobias, but at the wallpaper behind him, the colorful floral pattern blending on the silk paper, calming his thoughts. “As soon as we realized Pasha had left to come here, I planned to go after her. My father said no. We would both go. As head of the hunter family he shouldn’t have. It was my place to go. But he wanted to find her, too.”

Adonis interlocked his fingers together and squeezed hard. “We arrived here, but we were too late. When we found Meghan, she’d been dead for several days, her throat torn out by a vampire. We found no sign of Pasha. But several days later, a cousin called, on the verge of death. The rest of our family had been attacked by the local vampire family. They were massacred. Not one survived. My father, well, all of us, were shocked. If we’d stayed in our hometown maybe none of them would have died.”

He paused, not being able to go on any further for some time.

Finally, Tobias asked, “Your parents and Pasha—what has become of them?” His voice had taken on a fatherly tone to Adonis’s surprise.

He met his gaze and shook his head. “We found out Piaras had taken Pasha prisoner. My father was out of his mind with grief over the rest of our family. He charged onto his estate with the rest of us trying to stop him. We were all doomed from the beginning.”

Again, he hesitated. If he wasn’t careful he’d tell more than he could and risk having the hunters who scrutinized him and his story, kill him right then and there. “Only Danai and I made it out of his estate.”

“Piaras killed your family, then?”

“We don’t know.” He hoped they couldn’t tell he was lying. “Danai and I have been planning for a month how we could infiltrate his estate and locate our family, killing Piaras and his cohorts in the process.”

His eyes widening a fraction, Tobias cleared his throat and leaned forward. “You know the layout of his place?”

“Yes, in detail. We were able to get inside, then searched for Pasha for some time, before we were caught. I mean, before human hosts realized we were in the house. We killed several of them, but we were overwhelmed and Danai and I escaped.”

“You know your family is most likely no longer alive.”

They were, but only at Piaras’s whim. He wanted Rachael, and he’d use them as his leverage. Only now he seemed to worry about Adonis’s loyalty, and tried to take Danai as a hostage, too.

Michael spoke up. “That’s why he went after Danai. Because he figures she and Adonis will try again to free their family.”

“I have to agree,” Curt said.

“We have to help get her out... I mean them,” Zachary blurted.

Michael rubbed his chin, then turned to Adonis. “But Danai said she came here because she didn’t want to marry a hunter. That she was alone.”

“We knew of your hunter circle here, of course, but not before disaster struck our own family. Our father wanted Danai to remain behind. Well both she and my mother. But he’d wanted Danai to marry a hunter of his choosing, not hers. She’d been fighting him for some time over it. The bastard had been seeing some other huntress behind Danai’s back. If Danai hadn’t come with us, my father would most likely have made her marry him before we left. So by leaving there, she avoided the marriage. Our mother wouldn’t stay behind, not if her whole family was leaving. So we came here as a family... small as it was.” And having left Florida, they’d survived another vampire massacre.

“We didn’t wish to impose on your good will at first, but then I overheard one of Piaras’s minions saying Piaras was going after a huntress named Rachael Bremerton. He hoped Piaras would be in better spirits once he had the huntress in his clutches. I didn’t expect you to welcome us, but I made it my duty to protect Rachael in a way to get her returned to your home so that you could keep her safe until I could bring Piaras down.”

Adonis couldn’t tell if Tobias believed him, but he looked and seemed to be pondering the possibility. The man wasn’t a fool. No hunter could lead a League of Hunters who was and Adonis figured the man wouldn’t swallow his whole story. But hopefully enough to satisfy him.

“Jeez,” Zachary finally said. “We have to help them.”

Curt shook his head. “They’re most likely dead, like Tobias says. Piaras and his blood-bonded relations don’t keep hunters alive for their amusement.”

“But you seem to think they’re alive still, don’t you?” Michael asked, sounding hopeful.

“A vampire I had cornered one night said Piaras still held them, just waiting for me to try to enter his estates again as if it were some bloody damned game. So yes, I have to hope they still live.”

His expression grave, Tobias spoke to another concern. “You said a hunter had encouraged one of your huntresses to come here. Do you know who he was?”

“We discovered the site Meghan used to meet him. Some hunter dating site on the Internet. Hunters-for-Love, was what it was called. The hunter’s name was Gregory Devine. Meghan Tanner was the huntress’s name.”

Silence consumed the room. Tobias stared at Adonis as if he couldn’t believe it. Then he said, “You have proof?”

“You can go to the site administrator and learn the truth yourself, sir. That’s what my father did.”

Tobias leaned back in his seat, then he addressed Zachary. “Check into it after the meeting.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And how do you feel about this?” Tobias asked, his voice quiet, as if he were a psychiatrist, judging a hostile patient.

“How would you feel if a hunter lured one of your huntresses from her home, encouraged her to travel miles away, and then didn’t protect her in an unfamiliar place once she arrived? If she hadn’t come here, she would still be alive. If we had stayed at home, we might have prevented the massacre of our family. If Pasha hadn’t insisted on coming after her friend, she and my parents would not now be hostages of Piaras. So how would you feel if your family had been torn to shreds all because one hunter had targeted a huntress for his own, without obtaining the permission of her family or his, and then neglected to protect her?”

“We will check into the matter further. None of us were aware of this.” Tobias let out his breath. “We have a raid planned tonight. Will you join us?”

The invitation Adonis was hoping for. But would he be able to kill a vampire? He had to prove he could be a good addition to the family and particularly a suitable mate for Rachael.

“Yes, I’m honored that you’d invite me. Can I suggest a house to hit?”

Curt slapped his knee. “Damn, Tobias, I told you he’d be a help to us.”

Tobias stiffened his back. “We had already planned on raiding a place on 1st Street.”

The place wouldn’t yield half the rewards that the one Adonis had in mind would. “May I make a suggestion?”

“By all means.”

“One on Fifteenth Street. I’ve monitored the house for several nights in a row. Several of Piaras’s blood-bonds lure fresh meat there nearly every night. They’re renegades, every one of them. It doesn’t matter the age of the victim, or whether the host dies in the process. The vampires who use that house are ruthless.”

Frowning, Tobias rubbed his chin. “I’ll have to discuss it with the others.”

“Of course.”

Tobias studied Michael for a moment, then said to Adonis, “Before consulting Michael first, I believe he wishes to see Danai socially. Since you seem to be the only one left in the family who could sanction this, what have you to say about it?”

“I’ve already given him permission. But I realize others will wish to seek her hand. I have to deny this to them. Emotionally, she’s drained right now. She’s not been eating well. Maybe Michael’s attentions to her will help. But I think it unwise to have others pursue her at this time.”

He noticed Michael’s chest swell with pride. But would that feeling turn into something ugly if he learned the truth about Danai?

“And Pasha?” Zachary asked, his voice hopeful.

“Pasha is a wildcat. If we can even free her unharmed from Piaras’s claws, you might not be interested in her.”

Zachary folded his arms. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Later, Zachary,” Tobias warned. “We have no idea what’s become of the huntress.” He stood.

“And Rachael?” Adonis asked, standing.

“I don’t like it that you’ve been seeing her behind my back. And Curt has said she’s seen you several times, not just the once as we’d assumed. However, while she’s recovering, I’ll permit you to see her.”

Michael stood. “She loves him, Father. It’s evident in the way they act toward each other. If you want her to marry—”

Tobias motioned for his silence. “After she’s recovered, I want Adonis and her chaperoned at all times.”

Adonis didn’t want to wait to marry her, but he knew for now, he still had to prove his loyalty to the family. “May I see her now?”

Tobias nodded. “Michael, call the rest of the family together for a hunters’ meeting.”

Adonis said, “If you won’t be needing me... “

Tobias shook his head. “See Rachael. We’ll have lunch in a bit and work out the details of the night raid. Also, I’d like for you to get together with my cousins, Curt and Brent, and give us detailed descriptions of Piaras’s estate.”

“Will do.”

God it felt good to be part of a hunter family again. If only he could keep up the charade sufficiently.

Adonis strode toward the door, not waiting a second longer to make his way to Rachael’s room. He heard Michael say to Tobias, “I told you he’s in love with her, Father.”

Tobias didn’t say a word, as Adonis slowed his step to hear his response. Although Tobias didn’t agree, he didn’t disagree either.

Adonis hurried up the stairs. Before he made it to the second floor, Michael dashed up them.

“My father thinks you’ve influenced me by using Danai as fish bait.”

Adonis raised his brows at Michael. He’d never have called his sister fish bait.

Michael’s face grew flushed. “I mean... well, that went really well. I meant to say—”

“I know what you meant to say. You and I understand each other perfectly.”

“Zachary’s dying to know about your other sister.”

Adonis shook his head. “She’s as petite as Rachael and Danai, but feisty. The one who reins her in will have a time of it.”

“And you don’t think Zachary stands a chance?”

Adonis glanced down the stairs. Zachary listened to them, his all assuming interest evident in his perked up brows and widened eyes.

“She likes the rogue type.” Adonis headed for the door of the room.

“He’d do anything to please her.”

“She’s twenty-four and a total terror.”

Michael smiled.

Adonis frowned at him. “You’re not having a change of heart, are you?”

“No. I have enough fight in my work. I’d prefer my social life to be a bit calmer.”

“Danai’s got a lot of spice, too. She just isn’t really sure of herself right now.” Adonis knocked on the door.

Danai opened it and smiled shyly at Michael, then walked back over to the bed. “She’s been asleep.”

Michael motioned to Gregory, still sitting beside her. “We have a hunter’s meeting.” He speared Gregory a look that could kill. If Michael knew the full extent of what Adonis’s family had suffered, he probably would have wanted to murder Gregory himself then and there.

Gregory jerked a thumb at Adonis. “What about him?”

“Go, now, Gregory. Adonis will visit with Rachael for a while.”

Gregory rose from his seat. “Tobias didn’t say he could—”

“He’s allowing him to pursue Rachael.”

Gregory swore under his breath and headed out of the room.

Michael patted Adonis on the shoulder. “I thought I’d have liked Gregory as a brother-in-law although he didn’t think much of my rogue behavior. However, I can see now, his temper could get the better of him. You have much more control in that regard. And if what you say is true about the dating site…” Michael looked over to see Rachael sleeping. He cleared his throat and spoke again to Adonis, “See you downstairs in a bit.”

He shut the door on his way out.

Adonis turned to Danai. “I want you to leave us.”

“No, Adonis. We’ve managed to get this far with the hunter family. We can’t spoil it now by any one of them finding you making love to Rachael in bed.”

He folded his arms. “She’s injured. Why would you think I’d do such a thing?”

“If you woke her now, she’d invite you right in. And you very well know it. Despite your best intentions, you’d not be able to resist her. Here I’d thought you’d charmed her, and come to find out, she’s the one who’s captivated you.”

He frowned at his sister, then walked over to the bed and kissed Rachael’s cheek. She licked her lips and sighed deeply. Yeah, that angelic look had charmed the pants right off him.

He sat down on the bed next to her, took her hand in his, and turned to Danai. “What happened to the two of you?”

“Two of Piaras’s human hosts arrived while I was unpacking boxes in the storage room. I didn’t hear them until it was too late.”

“But your strength is vastly superior to humans. How did they manage to—”

“They’d gotten hold of one of our daggers and held it to my throat. They said Piaras had given them permission to kill me if I didn’t go quietly.”

She swallowed hard. “I heard someone enter the shop. Your idea of adding the bell to the door was a good idea, except while I was busy banging around in the back, I hadn’t heard it ring the first time. Of course, I didn’t know who had entered the shop when it rang when Rachael arrived. Halfway expecting you, the men kept a tight grip on the dagger and me. But when Rachael tried to turn on the light in the storage room, one of the men headed for her. The other loosened his grip on me, and that’s when I had the advantage.”

“You killed them?”

“Yes.” Tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t want to. Not like that. Unarmed it was the quickest thing I could do.”

He rose from the bed and pulled Danai from the chair. Hugging her soundly, he said, “You did what you had to, Danai. Think nothing more of it. I can’t have lost you, too. And your quick action saved Rachael.”

She wiped the tears from her face. “I took Rachael to the house first, then came back and carried the bodies out to the dumpster. When the police find them, they’ll suspect Piaras has been in the area again.” She looked over at Rachael. “I take it that Tobias gave you permission to see Rachael.”

“Yes.” He kissed her on the top of the head, then walked back over to the bed, and sat down beside it. He touched Rachael’s cheek. “Tobias is waiting for me to prove myself to him before he gives permission for much else.”

“Well, you should expect that. He’s seen the other eligible hunters hunt. He hasn’t any idea how you can handle hunting. Or even the way you and Rachael interact with one another.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even know if I can hunt vampires now.” His body tensed with the notion. He’d been one of the best. Could he kill them now that he’d been turned? He thought so, but maybe Piaras’s test proved he really was incapable of killing a vampire. Even Danai had only killed human hosts, not blood-bonds. “But as far as Rachael and I interacting with one another... “

“What did you tell Tobias about us?”

“The whole story, except about how we were turned. I think he was pretty sympathetic about our misfortunes. Zachary, Michael’s brother, wants to see Pasha, if we’re able to free her unscathed.”

She snorted. “That’d be the day. He doesn’t know her like we do. And Zachary doesn’t seem very, well... “

“Rogue like.”

She whispered, “But Michael—”

“Said he wasn’t interested in getting mixed up with a woman like that. He prefers them quieter.”

She frowned. “He doesn’t know what he’d get into with trying to know me.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better practice keeping those canines tucked away and that temper of yours under control. Tobias asked about the hunter who had lured Meghan here. I had to tell him it was Gregory Devine.”

“Good, then Tobias and his people can deal with the bastard. I can’t believe I said that Rachael should marry the monster.”

“I agree.” Adonis leaned over the bed and kissed Rachael’s lips. She stirred. He pressured her mouth harder.

Danai cleared her throat. “Let her sleep, Adonis.”

“I want to speak to her in private before mealtime.”

Rachael’s eyes fluttered open, then she smiled. “Adonis,” she said groggily and pulled at his sleeve. “You’re safe.” She sighed. “I had the worst nightmares.”

“We’re fine, Rachael,” Danai said. “Thanks to your arrival, you distracted the human hosts, and I was able to break free.”

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Rachael asked, her voice soft.

“Yes. I had to protect you. They were after me, not you. They planned to kill you, not realizing you were the one Piaras wanted.”

“Thank you, Danai.”

He’d halfway expected her to ask further about how Danai had killed the men, but was either too tired, sedated, or didn’t want to know the ugly details.

“Is my…my uncle allowing you to see me now?” Rachael asked.

Adonis smiled. “Yes. He can’t keep us apart. I keep telling you so.”

Footsteps approached, and then Mary opened the door. She motioned for Adonis to leave. “Curt and Brent expect you downstairs to draw up the plans of Piaras’s house.” Her eyes narrowed. “What in the world did you say to Tobias to get him so riled up about Gregory?”

Chapter 16

“Adonis!” Michael hollered from downstairs, interrupting the chance for Adonis to explain what was going on with Gregory.

What had happened now? Rachael was dying to know.

Adonis leaned over and kissed Rachael’s lips, but she wasn’t satisfied with his light touch. She grabbed his arms and pulled him against her body, smothering her mouth with his. “So you won’t miss me,” she whispered against his cheek, wishing she could be alone with him again.

“Later,” he said, hushed against her ear, promising sweet wickedness. He seemed reluctant to leave and finally gave her another heart-warming hug and left to join the men.

Mary frowned at her. “Rachael Lee Bremerton, I know you’ve lost your heart to him, but really, you must try to control yourself around him. The other bachelor hunters were mad enough that Gregory staked his claim to you early in the game first, but—”

“I’m not interested in the others.”

Mary sat down on the bed beside her. “I know. But you really must control your actions with him. You’re putting him through an awful lot of agony and... “

Danai chuckled.

Mary whipped her head around. “Oh, my goodness, Danai, you’re so quiet and Rachael’s un-huntress like behavior toward your brother disturbed me so, I’d forgotten you were there.”

“Don’t mind me, ladies,” Danai said, softly, her mouth still curved up.

“Do you want to stay with her, Danai? I was going to help the ladies make lunch.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Mary gave Rachael another look meant to chastise her for her behavior, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

“What did Adonis say about Gregory? The man is already incensed enough about Adonis courting me. Do you know what has happened now?” Rachael asked Danai.

Danai explained how Gregory was involved in her family’s downfall—the hunter dating site, how the hunter hadn’t told Tobias or anyone else about Meghan or her death.

Rachael swallowed, but her throat was dry, hardly believing one of their own hunters was to blame. Hell, not just one of them, but Gregory. And here he had let Meghan die, intentionally or unintentionally, and then sought to make Rachael his mate. Without ever coming clean about this other matter. And only a month after Piaras had murdered the huntress. What had Gregory said? For four years he’d wanted to court Rachael. So had he given up on her finally? Or had he been involved in the dating site for a long while, pretending he was really only interested in her? If she had her computer here…

She sat up in bed. Her brain grew fuzzy, and she held her head.

“What are you doing? Do you need something?”

“I have my computer at home.”

“You can’t go to your apartment, Rachael,” Danai warned.

She frowned at her. “I know that. I wanted to go to Mary’s room and use her computer.”

“For what…oh, to see if you can find out more about that dating service.”

Rachael thought of how awful it would be not only to have been turned by the vampire, but for part of her family to live under the constant threat of death, or worse. “Have you seen your family recently?”

“A week ago. They were holding up fairly well.”

“If I’d known, I could have convinced my family to raid his place.”

Danai shook her head. “Outsiders who come into another hunters’ region and get themselves into a mess like this without apprising the local Hunter League what’s going on, are on their own. But then Piaras made it clear that he wanted you. You were the key to everything. When Adonis desired having you for his own, and you wanted him in return, everything changed. Adonis became determined to keep you safe at all costs. And, too, your uncle wants Piaras terminated for threatening to take you for his own. If it hadn’t been for your part in all this, your uncle may very well have never gotten involved. Plus you must remember, if your uncle knew about Adonis and my unusual condition... “

“You’re so much like my own family, I forget sometimes that you’re different.”

Danai’s smile was the brightest Rachael had ever seen. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone could ever say to me.” Then she sighed raggedly and ran her hand over Rachael’s shoulder. “Adonis wants to prove to your family that he’s capable of hunting vampires. But we’re not sure he can. Neither of us has killed one since we were turned.”

Rachael stared at Danai. “But if he can’t and the other hunters see this, he’ll be disgraced, turned out.”

The same sadness filled Danai’s eyes.

“He can’t go then.”

“He has to. They’ve invited him. He’s already told the others he’s going. He can’t back out now.”

“What if the vampires recognize him? What if—”

“None of us know what will happen tonight.”

Rachael pulled the covers aside and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Are you ill again?”

“I want to use Mary’s computer and then I want to be with Adonis.”

“You shouldn’t see Adonis until after the hunt... if all goes well.”

He couldn’t fail or be injured, or worse, never return. She clenched her teeth. “If not?”

“I can’t say, Rachael. Things haven’t gone well for Adonis and me lately. I would hate to even speculate what will happen tonight.”

“I want to see him.”

“It’s best that you don’t. He’s going to be pretty keyed up about the hunt. He doesn’t need any distraction.”

“That’s all I am to him now? A distraction?”

Danai gave her a wicked smile. “Totally.”

***

When it was time for dinner, Adonis sat next to his sister at the meal while Michael sat on the other side of her. Because of his sister being so thin, he’d insisted she come to dinner instead of staying with Rachael as she’d wanted to do. Trish remained with Rachael instead.

Michael plied Danai with food to Adonis’s amusement. He was doing a much better job of getting her to eat. Did she want to please the hunter, or was she having a difficult time saying no? He wasn’t sure, and it really didn’t matter as long as she ate well.

His thoughts shifted to Rachael, and the wealth of worry her expression had shown. He’d assured her the best he could that he’d be fine during the hunt, concerned that in Trish’s presence the woman might wonder if something more was wrong.

The stairs creaked and he expected to see Trish bringing Tobias some news concerning Rachael. Instead, Rachael walked toward them dressed in hunter’s clothes. He raised his brows and hurried out of his seat as Trish shook her head and helped Rachael across the living room. Adonis joined her before she got much farther.

Rachael attempted a small smile. “I wanted to eat with you.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Much.”

He didn’t believe her, but lifted her into his arms and carried her to the table.

Looking displeased, Tobias frowned at her.

Dr. Stevens motioned to her with a wave of his fork. “If she’s feeling well enough and she’s hungry, that’s a good sign.”

Trish snorted. “Right.”

Adonis stifled a smile. Rachael couldn’t stay away from him, any more than he could stay away from her, whether she was hungry or not. Although because of the pained expression in her eyes and the way she winced when he lifted her in his arms, he imagined her head still hurt from the blow she’d taken. But hopefully her arrival meant overall she was feeling better.

Brent moved his plate so Rachael could sit next to Adonis. After Mary brought her a plate of green beans, roast ham, and mashed potatoes, the conversation renewed.

Adonis heard none of it as Rachael slipped her hand onto his lap and caressed his thigh with a gentle touch. He lost his fork and several glanced up to see what the matter was. His face grew hot.

Rachael quickly removed her hand from his lap, and her own cheeks reddened. She poked her fork into her ham.

Although the conversation had renewed, everyone observed his behavior with Rachael, and he had every intention of playing his cards right—at least in front of her protective hunter family.

Uncle Tobias watched the way that he and Rachael behaved toward one another as if he were judge and jury. But then again, if Adonis had a daughter, he’d feel the same way toward any hunter who might pursue her.

Rachael toyed with the napkin in her lap and continued to poke her fork into her mashed potatoes, her face too pale. Reaching over, he squeezed her hand. She looked up at him, a smile softly playing on her lips. But she didn’t look well.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, her skin silky soft.

But she suddenly tightened her grip on his hand. “Can you take me back to bed?” Her whispered words were panicked and her brow knit in a tight frown.

“Are you ill?”

“A little.”

He nearly knocked his chair over, trying to stand.

“What’s wrong?” Tobias asked, half rising from his seat.

“Rachael’s feeling ill.”

Tobias quickly gave orders. “Michael, take her up to her room. Mary, would you join her please, if you’ve finished eating?”

Michael lifted Rachael in his arms. She smiled at Adonis. I love you, she mouthed.

Adonis waited until Michael reached the stairs before he retook his seat. If Rachael had pretended to be sick so that he could be alone with her briefly, her ruse didn’t work.

But when Michael returned to his seat, he said to the doctor, “She’s throwing up. I guess she wasn’t really ready to eat.”

The doctor laid his napkin on the table. “If she’d listen to me, my job would be so much easier.” He headed out of the dining room in the direction of the stairs.

***

Her legs shaky, Rachael returned to bed with Mary’s help. “You shouldn’t have acted so familiar with Adonis at the table, Rachael.”

She groaned and laid her head back on the pillow, the nausea twisting her insides into knots, her head pounding with vengeance. “Really, Mary, my head is killing me.”

Dr. Stevens walked into the room. “That’s why you were supposed to stay in bed. Of all the family, you have always been my worst patient.”

She halfheartedly smiled.

He gave her a couple of pills. “Take these. If the nausea continues, we’ll try a shot.”

He padded out of the room.

“You’re wearing him out.” Mary sat in the chair next to the bed. “I can’t believe you put that poor man through so much agony.”

Rachael wrinkled her brow. “Dr. Stevens?”

“No, Adonis. When he dropped his fork, I had to punch Ned before he laughed out loud.”

Rachael’s face burned in embarrassment.

“The man has to have nerves of steel,” Mary teased.

Rachael had never been attracted to any man like she was with him, but keeping her feelings for Adonis hidden in front of her family, would be a monumental task. She hadn’t realized how much everyone would take notice of her actions, as innocent as they’d been and misconstrue them for something else. Although her actions hadn’t always been totally above reproach with Adonis. She guessed that’s why she felt guilty when her family lightheartedly rebuked her this time.

Mary’s blue eyes sparkled. “Hunters and huntresses notice actions. It aids us in reacting quickly in times of danger. Since everyone was curious anyway how the two of you’d get along, most watched you, but Uncle Tobias seemed surprised. For that matter, none of us have ever seen you act so... well, out of character. Adonis always seems so concerned about you. That doesn’t go unnoticed.” She took a breath. “Of course, I’m sure all of us figured you feigned sickness to be alone with Adonis. That’s why Tobias didn’t allow Adonis to do the honors and instead had Michael carry you to your bedroom.”

“Bathroom.”

“Yes, well, I guess we were all incorrect in our assumptions.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Mary snorted. “Rachael, you have provided more entertainment at the last couple of meals than we’ve had in a month.”

Trish walked into the room. “I thought when you punched Ned so he wouldn’t laugh, Ferris would burst out laughing himself, Mary. But seriously, Rachael, Mary’s right. You must keep your hands off certain parts of the hunter’s anatomy, even as innocently as you might have meant it, until Uncle Tobias says otherwise. Although, it may be a good thing. Tobias is probably considering how many children you’ll have with Adonis... and soon.”

Mary chuckled. “And because Adonis has more girls in his family than most do, I heard Tobias talking to Brent earlier today that maybe Adonis would father more girls.”

“Yes, and the prospect that both Michael and Zachary might now have huntress partners has really made Tobias look on Adonis more favorably.”

“Zachary?” Rachael asked.

Trish patted her leg. “Yes. He’s interested in Pasha, the one Piaras has imprisoned.”

“We have no idea if we can even rescue her.” Or if she was unscathed, Rachael wanted to say. What if his younger sister had been turned as well?

“They’ll do all they can to rescue her and their parents,” Trish said.

“When?”

“Tomorrow midday, if all goes well tonight.”

Not only did Rachael have to be perfectly well by then, she prayed Adonis would be all right tonight on the hunt. What if something terrible happened to him? What if Danai was right—nothing had gone well for them—would the same bad luck befall Adonis tonight?

The hunt wouldn’t be over soon enough, and she prayed Adonis would be the greatest hunter success her uncle had ever witnessed. If only luck were on his side this time.

When the vehicle doors began to open and shut, her heart stopped. She knew it wouldn’t start beating again, until she heard Adonis had returned from the hunt, not only victorious, but safe and sound.

Chapter 17

Before it grew dark that night, Adonis and ten hunters parked several blocks away from the house they’d raid. His thoughts focused on Rachael. He couldn’t blow it now. He had to prove to her family he was a hunter worthy of joining them. Even now, he could visualize her blue eyes filled with concern for him. He couldn’t shake the feeling he could so easily lose her with one wrong mistake. If a vampire claimed he was one of them and the hunters believed him, or if Adonis found he couldn’t kill one...

He shook his head. As his grandmother used to warn... don’t borrow trouble needlessly.

As soon as Tobias exited his SUV, Adonis bowed his head slightly in reverent greeting. “I’ll make my way inside the house and open all of the windows on the bottom floor around the sides and back of the house. I’ll let you know when I’ve succeeded.”

Michael grabbed his arm. “I’ll go with you.”

Adonis hesitated, trying to think of a reason to dissuade Rachael’s cousin. Michael’s wanting to help him touched him profoundly. He was like the family Adonis had so recently lost. But he couldn’t chance Michael finding out about his vampiric ties to Piaras. “No. I’ve been staking this place out for days. Only one hunter sneaking in should do the trick. I don’t want to alert them.”

To Adonis’s relief, Tobias agreed. “Go ahead with your plan.”

Adonis bowed, then headed down the street. After ducking down another street, and then once he was out of sight of the hunters, he vanished. He reappeared in the hallway leading to several bedrooms and an office on the first floor of the two-story colonial home.

Classical music from the living room drifted to his ears. The piano and harp tunes lulled the human hosts into a relaxed state before the vampires sucked the blood from their throats. But these weren’t human hosts who gave their blood for the sexual pleasure they derived from it. Some wished immortality and would be blood-bonded tonight. Others were targeted to supply Piaras with blood bonds who had special skills. Some were way too young.

Adonis had to ensure that the innocents were set free. The rest had to be killed. If one told Piaras that Adonis was involved in the killing of the vampires, no telling what he’d do to Adonis’s family.

His back stiff with tension, Adonis headed for the door to the first bedroom. The idea he might not be able to kill played in his head like a broken movie reel over and over again. When he pulled the door open, the sound of a man and woman groaning and moaning in heated rapture in the middle of a curtained bed caught his attention. Ignoring them, he slipped silently to the window.

He slid the window up, making no sound. The chilly temperature outside was the same as inside. Hopefully, they wouldn’t notice any outside noises before it was too late.

He made his way to the next room... an unoccupied office. He pulled the drapes aside, then eased the window up. Movement outside in the dark caught his eye. The hunters scurried into the shadows of the night. Only Adonis, like any other vampire, could see them as if he had night-vision goggles, except his vision made it appear as clear as a cloudy day.

He hurried out of the room and walked across the hall. After pulling the door open, his heart stopped. A teenage female human host smiled sweetly at him. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, and petite stature immediately made him think of a younger version of Rachael.

She started to unbutton her pink silk blouse. She wasn’t a blood-bond yet and way too young around fourteen or so, he guessed. He met her gaze and willed her to leave the house. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the window. Then he yanked the window up and helped her out.

Gregory caught his action as he hovered in a hedge nearby. Great. How could Adonis explain that he convinced a potential blood-bond, not to go through with it? Would it matter to the others that she was too young? The girl walked off in a daze.

Several hundred yards from the house, Curt grasped her arm, examined her for bites, then let her go.

Adonis swore under his breath. He’d never be able to explain what happened to the girl. Only a vampire could put them into a trance like that. And a vampire wouldn’t have let her go. Unless... Curt and the other hunters suspected Adonis had killed the vampire that had put her in a trance. Yes, that would be the story if any asked. Hopefully, he’d manage to kill one before the lie could be found out.

Adonis moved out of the room and headed for a bathroom. The window was big enough to permit access. He shoved it open. When he left the bathroom, another female human host caught his eye, standing demurely in the hall. She curled a strand of dark hair around her finger. She’d already given blood and appeared groggy, but there was no blood staining her lips.

She tilted her head up at him.

He escorted her out through the same bedroom where the young girl had been. The scene replayed, only this time Michael helped her through the window, inspected her, then sent her toward Curt. “Now?” Michael asked, his whole body tense with hunter expectation.

“No, not quite yet,” Adonis said, hushed.

He left the bedroom and stalked down the hall to the next room, another bedroom. This time, he wasn’t as lucky. A redheaded male vampire was busy drawing blood from a woman’s throat, but when Adonis opened the door, the vampire turned and hissed at him for the interruption. Adonis recognized Cramer, an ancient vampire totally loyal to Piaras.

Adonis bowed quickly and left the room, shutting the door on his way out. He waited a moment, his heart palpitating way too fast, pounding against his ribs. Would Cramer think it odd Adonis was here when he hadn’t blood-bonded humans since he’d been turned? There wouldn’t be any other reason for him to be at the house.

Cramer suddenly appeared in front of him and smiled, his lips bloodied. “Adonis. This is a change for you.”

“I thought Piaras was here. I wished to speak to him about my sister.”

“Ah, Danai. He missed her today. And how did that happen? He’d sent two of his most trusted human hosts for her, and they vanished.”

“He already has my younger sister and my parents. He doesn’t need Danai to have my loyalty.” He wasn’t going to explain about the missing hosts. He figured Piaras would assume Danai got the better of them.

“But you haven’t brought Rachael to him. He thinks maybe you’ve changed your mind about giving her to him. He even jokingly said you helped a hunter escape his wrath after the man killed Julia and Sirces.” Cramer gave him a calculating smile as if to say he was in on the joke. “Did you?”

“Do you really think Piaras would have allowed me to live had he thought that seriously?”

The vampire tilted his head to the side with an all-knowing arrogant expression. “He has mysterious ways sometimes, allowing a traitor to remain in his midst, toying with him until the time is right to terminate him. Having existed over three hundred years, he likes to play high stakes games. But you did not answer me about the woman.”

“She means nothing to me, like my family does.”

“Good. That’s what Piaras will like to hear.”

Footsteps approaching from down the hall made the two men look toward the poolroom. Gregory rushed forward with a sword clutched in his white-knuckled grasp. Cramer hissed. But the hunter charged Adonis with darkness in his expression.

So focused on Adonis, the idiot hunter didn’t see the real threat.

Cramer grabbed Gregory by the throat and slammed him against the wall. Adonis whipped out his sword and jammed it into the vampire’s heart. The vampire hadn’t time to cry out as his body wrinkled into a shriveled mummy and dropped to the floor. For an instant, Adonis was numb, not believing he could truly kill one of them, but relief filled his soul after that.

Gregory collapsed to his knees, coughing and hacking, trying to catch his breath.

Michael ran up behind Adonis. “The others are all in place,” he whispered.

“Let’s finish this then.”

Michael looked down at Gregory. “Are you going to be all right?”

He nodded, tears in his eyes.

Adonis headed for the other bedroom where he had heard a vampire having relations with a human host. But this time Adonis felt confident. He had killed a vampire. He knew now he could do it. He stood a chance at being a hunter again.

When he walked into the room, the sounds of passionate lovemaking had silenced. Had the vampire heard what had happened in the hallway?

Adonis jerked the curtain aside. Her mouth covered in blood, a woman screamed, but the vampire was no longer there.

A hiss met his ear. Adonis swung around to meet the threat.

For a second, the vampire gaped at Adonis and seemed confused. The vampire’s blond hair was tangled loosely about his shoulders and his chest was bare. “Adonis?”

“Bertrand.” Adonis thrust his sword deep into the vampire’s chest.

He had no love for Piaras’s vampires, every one of whom was loyal to Piaras and his evil doings. None of them would assist him in freeing his family, and any would have brought his head to Piaras on a platter if they learned of his treachery.

Screams and cries filled the house. Brent ran into the room as Adonis pulled his sword from the vampire’s shriveled body.

With his sword, Brent quickly disposed of the blood-bond hissing at him and baring her fangs as she scrambled out of the bed.

“Are you ready to leave?” Brent asked Adonis.

Adonis gave a terse nod and headed out of the room. Although he’d have made a much quicker exodus if he could have managed unseen.

The hunters made sure all the rest of the blood-bonds and vampires were dead. They gathered their men to ensure everyone was unhurt and rushed for their vehicles.

Gregory cursed, his throat still raspy from the vampire nearly crushing his windpipe while he walked in front of Adonis and spoke to Michael and Curt. “I tell you, he’s joined them in a cause against us! He was speaking to the vampire, and he told him he was trading Rachael for his family.”

Michael shook his head. “Shut up, Gregory. If it hadn’t been for Adonis, you wouldn’t be croaking out a sound. He saved your life tonight. Admit it. And hell, after what you pulled with the huntress from his family, he would have been justified in letting you die.”

Adonis hadn’t been sure that Gregory had overheard his conversation with the vampire. But when Gregory charged at him with the sword, Adonis grew concerned he had heard the whole blasted conversation. Then again, Gregory was angry enough about Adonis’s successfully pursuing Rachael, he considered that might have been the reason for Gregory’s unbridled act of revenge tonight.

Although no one would totally believe Gregory’s accusations, still any doubt would make Adonis somewhat suspect. Would they think he’d lure the hunters to Piaras’s estate, just so he could free his family? Would they realize that’s why he could sneak into a blood bonding party without any problems? That he and his sister could escape unscathed from Piaras’s place? The other hunters who were more cautious might be concerned, even though several were pretty hot that Gregory had gotten a huntress killed through his own damned fault.

Scowling at Adonis, Gregory shook his head. “Adonis killed the vampire because he saw you coming, Michael. He knew you’d realize he was one in league with them otherwise.”

“Adonis could have let the vampire finish you off first,” Curt sarcastically said. “Then he could have killed the vampire.”

Michael yanked the door open to Adonis’s SUV. “I was behind Adonis, out of his vision. He couldn’t have known I was coming. As soon as the vampire grabbed you, Adonis didn’t hesitate to skewer the redhead. If he were in league with them, he would have waited a few seconds more. And believe me, you wouldn’t have been around to tell us about it. Be a hunter, and thankful to the one who saved your life. After the hell you’ve caused him and his family, you ought to appreciate he didn’t let you die in there.”

The men all climbed into their vehicles and the long drive back to Tobias’s estates began as Adonis took the wheel of his SUV.

Michael, Zachary, Ned, Ferris, Curt, and Brent rode with Adonis this time. At least he’d garnered the respect of the closest members of Tobias’s family. He was certain Gregory was still raving to Tobias about Adonis’s tie to the vampire in one of the other vehicles.

“That was one damned good hit,” Michael said.

“Six ancients killed in one house and Adonis managed to cut that number by a third on his own.” Curt chuckled. “Your instincts were right when you said Adonis could help us, Michael. Now that we have the layout of Piaras’s place, we should have no trouble overwhelming him, unless he chooses to vanish again, like the coward he was before.”

“You’ll make a great addition to the family,” Brent added. “Too often we get young hot headed hunters who want to make an impression and kill everyone in a blood-bond house. Even innocents like the young girls you sent out to us. So good job.”

Adonis hadn’t expected all the praise as hunting was just a job, but it felt damned good to be a hunter again, as part of a team, working together to rid themselves of the evil in their midst. He almost felt good enough that he could forget the hated vampire side of him. Not that he didn’t like some of the new abilities he had. But working around hunters made the abilities a curse if they appeared at the most inopportune times.

The hunting party grew close to Adonis’s antique shop when an eighteen-wheeler pulled between them and the car in the hunter convoy ahead of them, effectively cutting them off.

His voice filled with concern, Curt said, “Turn around, quickly.”

Adonis recognized the maneuver, separate the end of the convoy from the others and pick off the occupants. He whipped the SUV down another street.

Michael called ahead to the others on his cell phone. “We’ve been separated from the convoy. Yes, Father.” He clicked off his phone. “They saw, and they’re doubling back.”

“You know this area, Adonis,” Curt said. “Is there anywhere safe to go?”

“Not my place. The human hosts have already been inside. They could have invited Piaras in any time.”

Another eighteen-wheeler pulled in front of them. “Should we make a stand?” Michael asked.

“No, not until we have backup,” Curt replied.

Adonis turned the car. Michael called in their location again.

A warehouse came into view. One of Piaras’s. Adonis took a deep breath. “Tell your father they’re corralling us into the warehouse on 22nd Street.”

“One of Piaras’s?” Brent asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah. I’ve noticed activity here before, but without a family to back me up, I haven’t been able to hit it. The warehouse appears to be used to store Piaras’s contraband after he kills humans and plunders their businesses and estates.”

But tonight, it would be used to eliminate a vehicle full of hunters. Only, the vampires didn’t know that Adonis was driving the vehicle and could lead the other hunters to their location. In their view, they’d isolated one of the hunter vehicles, and the others would never be able to locate them in time.

A pickup truck slammed into the tail end of his vehicle, propelling him toward the open warehouse. He attempted to turn, but two more wedged him in. He jammed his brakes on. The squealing of tires and burning of rubber filled the air.

Curt said, “Our men are right behind us.”

Adonis glanced into the rearview mirror. Tobias and his entourage barreled down the street behind them.

The pickup stopped pushing once the SUV was inside, then it backed up, but one of the hunter’s pickups rammed him in the rear, propelling him into the frame of the warehouse entrance.

Now the human hosts couldn’t close the warehouse doors and effectively cut the hunters off from the rest.

Zachary said, “What are we waiting for?”

A vampire dropped onto the hood of Adonis’s vehicle.

“That,” Adonis said, then yanked his sword out from its sheath, and he jumped out of the SUV.

Before the vampire could react, astonishment was evident in his expression to see Adonis with the other hunters. Adonis stabbed him in the heart before he could give Adonis away. Adonis had never realized how much the vampires trusted he was one of them. And yet, they hated him for being a hunter turned. Now he gave them good reason.

Instantly, aging to a white wrinkled raisin, the vampire collapsed on the hood.

Human hosts charged across the cement floor with steel rods and swords while Adonis’s blood heated. The vampires were letting their minions do their dirty work. But the speed and agility of the hunters were too much for the human hosts, and once they’d laid them to rest, the vampires attacked.

Although the vampires could have easily vanished and sought safety, it wasn’t their way. In the heat of battle and as conceited as they were, they knew they’d win and would never back down in a fight. Still, the hunters vastly outnumbered them here tonight and were just as arrogant a breed, having every intention of winning the battle, too.

The vampires drew swords from sheaths hidden beneath their cloaks and charged the hunters. The razor sharp metal struck with a clatter and clang against metal, but a sword wasn’t the way they’d kill their intended hunter victim here in Dallas. The sharp weapon was the teasing foreplay they’d use before they ripped a hunter’s throat out.

Then a human host standing high above on a stack of wooden crates beaded a dot of red light at Michael’s temple. Adonis’s blood chilled. He was too far from him to shove Michael out of harm without revealing how he could move as a vampire. The only other way Adonis could prevent the human host from killing Michael was by appearing on the crate where the sniper hid. But if any of the hunters saw Adonis vanish, then reappear there, they’d know he’d been turned.

Still, he had to chance it.

In a split second, he vanished, then reappeared before the shooter, the man’s weapon pointed straight at him. The adrenaline coursed through Adonis’s veins as he grabbed the man’s arms and thrust them upward. The weapon discharged into the ceiling twenty feet above them. With Adonis’s deft help, the man took a dive for the cement floor, breaking his neck on impact.

Adonis glanced back at the hunters still fighting the vampires. Gregory watched him and so did Michael. Had they seen him arrive on top of the crates like a vampire moved? Or had they thought he’d climbed to the top sometime while they were distracted?

A fluttering sounded behind him, and he shifted his attention to the vampire that threatened him next.

“Why don’t we dispense with our swords, you and I, Adonis, and just rip each other’s throats out? How would your new friends view you then?”

With his blade, Adonis struck Marion’s sword hard with a clang. The rest of the warehouse had grown quiet, and he imagined the hunters had successfully eliminated the other vampires. Now, he had to put on the show of his life in front of the other hunters. He fought the urge to fly or move like a vampire, and yet he’d have greater success if he did. Instead, he thrust his sword, parried, diving forward, and sliding back as graceful as any skilled hunter swordsman, his way just like before.

He never once took his eyes off the vampire in front of him, one of Piaras’s main henchmen, black haired and eyed, the devil’s partner in crime. He smirked, a glint of red in his eyes when the footsteps of several hunters sped along the cement toward the crates.

“Do they seek to aid you? Or kill you like they intend to kill me?”

“Talkative tonight, aren’t we, Marion? I don’t think I’ve heard more than two words from you since we became friends.”

Marion’s lips curved upward in a sadistic smile. “I like to listen. You can get more of a feel for people that way, don’t you think?” He thrust his sword at Adonis’s chest, but Adonis quickly sidestepped the blade, the weapon piercing Adonis’s shoulder deeply instead of his heart. Burning pain streaked down his arm.

Hell.

Marion’s canines extended as his eyes focused on the blood staining Adonis’s shirt.

Adonis lunged at him, thrusting his steel into the vampire’s chest. But the vampire had moved just enough to lessen the blow, the blade missing the heart.

“How in the hell did he get up there?” Brent shouted while they searched for a way to aid Adonis.

“You mean they don’t know?” Marion asked. His black brows rose in question while he clutched at his wound. The vampire and the hunter healed quickly, but even so it could take a day or two or longer depending on the severity.

The vampire dropped his sword and took a flying leap. He knocked Adonis’s sword from his grasp and slammed his back prone against the wooden crate, knocking the breath from him. “Your sister and parents will die now, as I’ve always said.” He bared his canines and choked Adonis with his vise-like grip.

Adonis struggled to reach the dagger at his waist, his mind blackening from lack of oxygen.

Finally freeing the dagger, he heard Curt shout, “Over here!”

The vampire smiled. “They found the ladder, but it will do you no good.” He tore Adonis’s shirt with his teeth.

The blood rushing in his ears, Adonis shoved the dagger’s ten-inch ancient blade into the vampire’s heart.

The creature shrunk into a dehydrated mass of skin and bones, his clothes hanging loosely from them. Immediately his death grip on Adonis’s throat ceased. Flat on his back, Adonis attempted to catch his breath as he coughed and hacked.

“Adonis!” Michael shouted, running across the top of the crates. He jerked the dead vampire off him and tossed the body aside. Just as quickly, he reached down and seized Adonis’s good hand and helped him to stand.

Hating feeling so damned weak, Adonis teetered. Michael clasped his hand over Adonis’s bloodied shoulder and wrapped his arm around his waist, steadying him. “Let’s get you down from here.”

Zachary poked his head above the crate. “Adonis is all right! The vampire’s dead!” he relayed to the others.

Every rung on the ladder Adonis grasped, shot pain through his arm. He wished he could reappear down below without the agony of climbing down the ladder with an injured shoulder.

He hadn’t been wounded in a long while, and he’d forgotten how painful it could be. But worse, he was losing consciousness. The blood loss. He needed more blood.

His fangs itched to extend. Then a wave of nausea and dizziness overwhelmed his senses. The powerlessness angered him as he attempted to remain conscious. Blinking, his vision blurred, the light of the warehouse fading, growing dimmer with each passing second... fading until it vanished.

Chapter 18

The house was all a stir when the hunters arrived back at Tobias’s home at two that morning. Rachael, hearing all the jubilation, grabbed Mary’s robe, yanked it on, and headed down the hallway to the stairs.

When she saw Michael and Zachary carrying Adonis into the house, his face as white as fresh fallen snow and his dark brown eyes hidden under heavy lids, her heart was crushed. She ran to them, but they shook their heads at her.

Tobias grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Dr. Stevens will take care of him. He was stabbed in the shoulder, and he’s lost a lot of blood. But he’ll be given a blood transfusion, and that’ll take care of that. In a few hours, maybe sooner, he’ll be as good as new.”

“I want to be with him while Dr. Stevens attends to him.” To protect him. To discover how he fared. Was he able to kill other vampires? Had he proved his worth to her uncle? She prayed he had.

“Later, Rachael. Your stirring the hunter up isn’t going to help him to heal faster.”

Gregory threw his sword on the floor. “Damn it! Why won’t anyone listen to me! He’s one of them! Michael, you saw the way he just vanished and reappeared on top of the crates! You saw it.”

Michael looked at Danai whose soulful eyes waited for him to say something.

He walked over to her, then took her hands in his. “Your brother saved my life tonight. For that, I’ll always been in his debt.”

Curt grunted and folded his arms. “Yeah and Adonis saved your life, Gregory, and what thanks does he get?”

Gregory glared at him, then said to Tobias, “You can’t let him have Rachael. He’s the devil spawned and has deceived all of you.” He grabbed up his sword and stormed out of the house.

Zachary shut and locked the door behind him. “I’d say tonight calls for a celebration.”

Michael kissed Danai’s cheek, but she pulled away.

“I... I have to see to my brother.”

“I understand.”

She hurried toward the location Dr. Stevens had disappeared.

Michael didn’t begin to understand how Danai felt. Danai looked like she was ready to collapse when Gregory accused her brother of being one of the vampire kind.

Had Michael seen what Gregory said he saw Adonis do? Rachael swallowed hard and rubbed her arms.

Mary joined her. “You look almost as pale as Danai over Adonis’s health, Rachael. Come, sit down. You know he’ll be just fine. And you’re not totally recovered from your own injury either.”

The living room filled with conversation recanting the battles the hunters had conducted with the human hosts, blood-bonds, and vampires while the huntresses listened, entranced with their warrior tales. Didn’t the women desire to continue the fight for good against evil? The women seemed happy to be housebound, raising children, and no longer fighting.

Rachael touched Mary’s arm to speak to her privately.

Mary grasped her hand. “My goodness, Rachael, you’re ice cold.”

“Don’t you ever miss terminating the vampires?”

“Nah. I enjoy training the next generation of our kind to fight them.”

Maybe when she had a child of her own, Rachael would feel differently.

When Dr. Stevens walked into the living room, everyone grew quiet. He turned to Tobias. “Adonis will be fine. But he’s asking to see Rachael.”

Her uncle motioned for her to go.

She hurried off the couch and headed for the medical room where Dr. Stevens kept supplies and equipment enough for a small clinic, plus two beds for wounded hunters.

Adonis weakly smiled as soon as she walked into the room where he lay in a standard hospital bed. That he wasn’t as dead as he first looked when they’d brought him in reassured her he’d live. But if Dr. Stevens discovered the truth about Adonis, no one seemed the wiser. Danai looked as though she needed a blood transfusion herself as she sat quietly next to the bed.

Trying for cheerfulness to lighten the serious mood, Rachael said, “My, are your cheeks burning because I’m here now, or is it the blood dripping into your veins?”

His smile broadened. He turned to Danai. “Can you leave us alone?”

She shook her head. “I want to stay with you. That Gregory said the most awful things about you, and... “

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“He said you vanished, then reappeared somewhere else.”

His voice dark, he prompted, “And?”

“He said that Michael had seen it, too. But Michael denied it. Said that you saved his life, and that he was indebted forever to you.”

Adonis took a deep breath.

Wanting to give him moral support, Rachael walked over to his bed and kissed his cheek. “If my family doesn’t accept you for what you are, I’ll leave with you and never come back.”

He touched her face, his gaze telling her how much her sentiment meant to him.

“Adonis, I don’t want to go out there with them,” Danai said. “Michael will pounce on me as soon as I do.”

“You can’t be afraid to live life any longer, Danai.”

She folded her arms. “I’m not. I’ll have to take Rachael to Piaras’s estate in your place now that you’re injured and hope that we succeed.”

He blew out his breath. “They’re still planning on laying siege to his place later today?”

“Yes. They’re anxious that the word may reach Piaras that we’re coming for him, so Tobias wants to strike now. He figures they won’t expect multiple strikes. Although I’m sure they wished you’d come with them as you know the layout. But now you can’t go.”

“I’m going. As soon as I’ve had enough of a blood transfusion, I’ll be fine.” He waved his hand at her. “Go... keep Michael company.”

“She doesn’t have to, if she doesn’t want to, Adonis.” Rachael walked over to her and gave her a warm embrace. “Do what you feel comfortable with and don’t listen to your brother’s bullying.”

Danai smiled and hugged her back. “I’m going to like having you in my court.” She wrinkled her nose at her brother and walked out of the room.

Adonis chuckled. “I’d never have moved her from the room like you just did.”

Rachael kissed his mouth, tangling her tongue with his.

“Hmm, Rachael.” He grasped her hair with his good hand. “You taste so good.”

“I guess you won’t be joining me in my room later.”

“I believe I might need to rest a bit. But later this morning... “

She smiled. “Okay, then I’ll just sit here and try to behave myself.”

An hour later and after much coaxing, Mary led Rachael back to bed. “Danai will sit up with her brother. You can spell her later, and she can get some rest then.”

“Whatever was the matter with Gregory?” Rachael had to know how the others felt about his accusations.

“Well, you know a couple of our distant cousins were concerned. Said all of a sudden Adonis and Danai have their family imprisoned and want to destroy Piaras, but make contact with our family first. Which is fine, but now they’re getting our hunter family involved in the mess.”

Mary sat on the edge of the bed. “But most agree that Piaras has to go, for your safety more than anything. They know he won’t stop trying to get to you.”

She reached over and touched Rachael’s hair. “Besides, we all know what Gregory said was preposterous. Vampires wouldn’t turn hunters. It’s never been done before, at least here in this region ever. They kill us... we kill them. They could never trust a hunter in their midst.” Mary leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You look exhausted. Sleep and you can take over from Danai later.” She rose from the bed. “You’ll be all right alone tonight?”

“Yes, thanks, Mary, I’m fine.”

Mary shut the door and Rachael lay awake unable to sleep. Not with distressing over the part she’d have to play concerning Piaras, nor with worrying that someone might still believe Gregory’s accusations. But it was the movement of the mattress rocking her slightly that stole her thoughts away. Thinking Danai had returned to bed, she turned. In the darkness, she couldn’t tell who it was. She whispered, “Danai?”

Adonis’s deep, seductive chuckle sent a spark of electricity down her spine.

“You locked the door?” she whispered.

He pulled her nightgown up to her waist.

She reached out and touched his arm. “Is your injury already—”

“I’m still tired, Rachael. But if we work quickly—”

She chuckled. “You said next time we’d spend more time at this.”

“Next time. I promise.”

She touched his bare chest and frowned. “You’re naked already.” She wiggled out of her gown.

“I left my clothes in the bathroom of the clinic.”

“Danai?”

“She’s my lookout. She’ll tell anyone who checks on me that I’m in the bathroom.”

He ran his hand up Rachael’s thigh, and she shivered. He quickly pulled back. “You’re feeling all right, aren’t you, Rachael?”

She took hold of his good arm. “My head still hurts a little, but the rest of me is working perfectly fine.”

“We’re a pair.” He lay back against the mattress, then pulled her on top of him.

“What—”

“I need to rest my injured shoulder so I can fight Piaras and his blood-bonds later today.” He massaged her breasts, and she purred. “So you’re going to have to take the bull by the horn and ride him,” Adonis said, his voice already husky.

“Cowboy in a former life?”

He groaned. “Hurry, Rachael, after you touched me at lunch, I could barely think of anything else.”

“No wonder you were injured. If you’d come to see me before you left, you’d have had me out of your head.”

The chuckle deep in his throat amused her. “If I’d been with you before the fight with the bloodsuckers, you’d still have been on my mind.”

He tugged at her arm to pull her closer, then he nuzzled her face. She searched for his mouth in the dark and parted her lips for him. His tongue moistened her lips, then explored her mouth with a tenderness that was possessive as well as gentle. She centered herself on top of his erection and moaned as he slid deep inside.

“God, Rachael, you feel so good.”

She gasped against his mouth as his thumbs rubbed her nipples. Her pelvic muscles tightened.

“Relax just a bit, honey,” he whispered, his hands on her hips.

He steadied her pace, making her go slowly, then more quickly as the electricity sizzled between them. He touched between her legs and rubbed her swollen nub, eliciting the pleasurable sensations to build.

Trying to stay quiet, she bit her lip. Mary and Ned’s room was located next door when they stayed with Tobias, and Rachael didn’t want to think of what might happen if either suspected Adonis was with Rachael right now. She hoped the bed’s headboard wouldn’t bump the wall as she and Adonis did their gymnastics.

Again, Adonis fused his mouth to hers, his fingers working their magic between her legs, the crescendo escalating with his thrusts and skillful ministrations. She could barely keep quiet. Until he unleashed the passion exploded inside her, sending a wave of release rippling through their joined bodies.

“My, God, Adonis,” she mouthed against his lips. “I don’t want you to leave me, ever.”

His mouth curved against hers and he held her tight. But then he sighed deeply next to her ear. “We have to get this business over with Piaras. Then I’ll demand that Tobias marry us. He’ll have to.” He ran his hand over her back and kissed her cheek. “He won’t have any choice.”

A knocking sounded at the door. Instantly, Adonis vanished and Rachael dropped onto the mattress with a jolt. “Jeez, Adonis,” she whispered.

She searched for her nightgown, but couldn’t find it on the bed in the dark, so she scurried under the covers.

The door opened, letting the hallway lights filter into the room.

Danai whispered to Rachael, “The doctor came to see Adonis. Is he still here?”

“No.”

Danai crossed the room, then leaned over. She lifted Rachael’s nightgown off the carpet and handed it to her.

“Thanks.”

“Zachary’s been given babysitting duty.” Danai’s voice sounded amused.

“Uncle Tobias ordered it.”

“Yep.” Danai slipped out of her clothes and into a borrowed gown. “Poor Adonis.”

“About later today... “

“Shhh, Adonis will be leading the others to the house, while you and I wait for him nearby. The three of us will enter the house, he’ll present you to Piaras, and you’ll kill him. Anyway, that’s the plan. I don’t know who your uncle will leave behind to watch over you in the interim, but somehow we’ll leave here as soon as we’re able.”

“They can’t leave Gregory behind to watch me.”

Silence followed.

“Danai?”

“If others listen to him, and Adonis does anything more to cause doubt... “

Rachael took a deep breath. “We can’t worry about it.” But she knew that Danai worried just as much as she did. If push came to shove, Danai and Adonis were vampires. And the urge to protect themselves or others they cared about by any means available would undoubtedly come to bear.

***

Everyone slept late the next morning and later that afternoon, they ate fresh broiled salmon, baked potatoes, cauliflower and broccoli florets in silence. Rachael poked at her meal. She’d lost her appetite as her nerves felt ragged in anticipation of her meeting Piaras. The mood had turned contemplative, each hunter considering the role he had to play in the next battle. Killing Piaras was her family’s ultimate goal. With him dead, Rachael was free to live her life as normally as a huntress could. Freeing Adonis’s family—that was the secondary goal.

In silence, Tobias had watched Adonis throughout most of the meal and Rachael wondered what the matter was. Did he believe Gregory’s accusations? Finally, he asked, “Are you sure you’re going to be all right to wield a sword, Adonis?”

“He injured my left arm, not my sword arm. I’m going.”

Admiration lit in Tobias’s eyes, and then he turned to Brent. “Any word from Gregory?”

Brent shook his head. “Missing since he left the house this morning.”

Frowns creased Mary and Trish’s foreheads. Going into the dragon’s lair was a formidable proposition and neither wished to lose a husband over it. Rachael’s stomach twisted. She felt good about what she was to do, kill Piaras, avenge her parents’ deaths, and help to free Adonis’s family. But could she succeed?

Piaras had to expect that Tobias would attack him at some time. Would he figure they’d spring on him this afternoon?

Rachael shuddered. What if he had moved Adonis’s family to some other location? And if the word got out to the other vampires that Piaras’s main estates were attacked, what if he told the others to kill Adonis’s family?

Adonis ran his hand over hers. “You’re awfully quiet,” he whispered to her.

Several looked at them.

She took a deep breath. “Everyone’s quiet.”

“Frederick is remaining behind today,” Tobias announced.

Rachael glanced at the green-eyed suitor of hers, his long dark hair tucked neatly into a leather strap. He smiled at her.

Adonis reached down and squeezed her knee. Tickling her, she squashed the urge to laugh, quickly grabbed his hand, and looked back at him. In his not so subtle way, he was reminding her she was his and no matter how many suitors she had, none would truly have her.

“Now you behave yourself,” she whispered back to him.

His eyes sparkled with devilment.

When the meal ended, Tobias said, “I wish to meet with all of the hunters in the conference room for a moment.”

Rachael squeezed Adonis’s hand. It wasn’t usual for Tobias to call a last minute meeting before a hunt. Her heart picked up its pace when Adonis left her behind.

After all of the men walked into the room and Zachary had closed the door, Tobias said, “I didn’t have a chance to speak to you after the hunt early this morning as you were unconscious, Adonis. You saved my son, Michael’s life, and Gregory’s, too, with the skill of a true hunter. It isn’t often we have the opportunity to welcome a full-fledged hunter into our services. With the skill you provide, you should be able to make enough earnings to live comfortably here in Dallas. We welcome you into our family for as long as you wish to stay.”

Adonis bowed his head in thanks.

Tobias added, “That’s all I have to say to the group, although I wish a word with Adonis alone.”

Several of the hunters slapped Adonis on the back or shook his hand in congratulations as they exited the conference room. Tobias closed the door after the last of them left and faced Adonis.

“I know part of why you did what you did last night was to earn my favor. And I’m bound to give it to you. I can’t even thank you enough for saving my son’s life.”

His stormy gray eyes considered Adonis, but they lacked warmth. He motioned to a chair. This didn’t appear to be a true welcoming into the family.

After Adonis sat, Tobias took a seat across from him. “Rachael is my only niece. When she was five, Piaras murdered her parents. I’ve raised her as my own daughter for all these years as best I could. My dear wife was killed by a vampire when Rachael was fourteen. So Rachael hasn’t had a mother figure for some years. She’s not been interested in the... male persuasion. Not until you came along.” He tapped his fist on the arm of his chair.

“Somehow you intrigue her. Maybe because you have a rogue quality about you like Michael has. She’s always admired him. But your sneaking behind my back to see her... well, you’re welcome to be part of the family, but I still don’t want you marrying my niece.”

Adonis’s neck muscles tightened beneath the black turtleneck he wore. “I care very deeply for Rachael, Mr. Bremerton.”

“Tobias.” He rose from his chair. “She’s a huntress, and we have standards of moral conduct we have to abide by. If you wish to remain with us, you must live by them.”

“I have not lived in a hunter family for a while. I’m afraid my instincts took over my better judgment where Rachael’s concerned. But I very much wish Rachael to be mine. You have my word, I’ll do everything in my power to keep her from harm.”

“Piaras wants my niece. He’ll stop at nothing to get her, I fear.”

“I’ll do everything I can to keep her from falling into his hands.”

“There are seven eligible bachelors who wish Rachael’s hand in marriage.”

“But it’s her choice, ultimately.”

“Where my niece is concerned, it’s my choice.”

Exasperated, Adonis tried to keep his cool. “If I want to see her... “

“You’ll be chaperoned. My niece is still a virgin as all huntresses are to be before they are mated with their lifetime mate. And I want to keep it that way until she’s married.” Before Adonis could speak, Tobias raised his hand. “You have gone far enough with her. If Gregory or any of the other men found out how you’d taken advantage of her, they’d kill you, and rightly so. But for now for what you’ve done for us, you’re in my good graces. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

“Chaperoned.” Inwardly Adonis smiled. No one was keeping him from Rachael.

“At all times.”

When they walked out of the conference room, Rachael hurried to join Adonis. Her uncle took a deep breath as he watched them, then he headed outside with several of the other men.

“What did he say, Adonis?” Rachael asked.

“He thanked me for saving Michael and Gregory and is allowing me to become part of the family.”

Her reserved enthusiasm didn’t go unnoticed.

“What else, Adonis? I know the way you’re both acting, and the fact he said nothing about us to me, means he’s still having reservations about us.”

“I have to be chaperoned with you at all times.”

Her lips quirked into a smile.

“My sentiments exactly.” He kissed her deeply, then pulled away, and kissed her cheek. When he hugged her to his chest, she felt heavenly against him, and he wished he could take her away from all this, keep her safe from the rogue vampires, and from hunters who would want his death if they knew what he was. He took a deep breath. “Three hunter’s knives are hidden in Piaras’s bedroom, and a sword... “

“Yes, you’ve told me already, four times. Underneath the mattress, right side, left side and one in the drawer by the right side of the bed, and the sword beneath it.”

“I’ll pass a weapon to you if I get a chance.”

“I love you, Adonis.”

He kissed her cheek one last time. “I love you, too, Rachael. Somehow we have to get through this.” He couldn’t help the feeling that he needed to leave Rachael behind, to keep her safely away from Piaras. But he knew in the same instant, she was his only hope in freeing his family without causing their bloodshed. The adrenaline already coursed through his body, readying him to fight the devil, but a panic twisted in his gut, worrying over Rachael’s safety. With one last hug, he left, praying everything would go as planned.

***

A prickle of fear crept through Rachael when Adonis got into Michael’s truck and they drove off the property with all the other hunters following.

Dark-haired, black-eyed, Frederick joined her, one of her other wanna-be suitors, his expression hopeful now that Adonis was gone. “Would you like to walk with me in the gardens?”

“No. Danai and I are going to Trish’s house for a while to play with the girls.”

“Your uncle said nothing about your leaving here.”

“We’re just driving over to Trish’s house on the other side of the compound.”

“I can’t let you leave.”

Rachael folded her arms. “Trish and Mary have already returned to their homes. We’ll be back in a little bit.”

He blocked the door.

“My head still hurts, Frederick.” It didn’t really, but the excuse was convenient. “And wrestling with you is bound to give me a worse headache no matter how pleasurable it might be otherwise.”

The protective hunter nearly smiled, but his concern kept his expression guarded. “I’ll call your uncle and get his approval first.”

Danai stood next to her with her arms folded, and the look on her face was one of understanding.

“Mr. Bremerton. This is Frederick.” He stuck his hand in his pocket as he held the phone to his ear and looked down at the floor. “Nothing’s really the matter, sir. Rachael wants to go to Trish’s house.” He looked up at her. “With Danai. And me.” He smiled. “Yes, sir.”

He shut his phone. “It’s okay by him. You want to leave now?”

“Not now, Frederick. Maybe later. I didn’t sleep well so I’m going to lie down for a bit.” Rachael stalked off to her room with Danai following behind her before Frederick tried to stop them.

Rachael locked the bedroom door, then hurried across the floor to the window. Luckily too busy with other concerns the men hadn’t nailed it shut like they’d said they would. She pulled the window up.

Danai wrapped her arm around her waist, and the two women landed softly beside the evergreen shrubs next to the house.

With a quick step, they headed for Danai’s SUV. “Do you think it’ll drive all right?” Rachael asked as she considered the banged up condition of the backend.

“Yes, Michael drove it home last night when Adonis was unconscious. They said they’d repair it good as new in a few days, but it drove just fine.”

Danai climbed into the driver’s seat while Rachael buckled herself into the passenger’s seat.

Rachael’s skin crawled with anxiety. Facing Piaras now was going to be just like offering herself as a lamb for the slaughter. She was a huntress, but not really well trained to kill human vampires. She had the motivation, the drive, but she wasn’t sure she had the skill to do the job. Not against Piaras, the devil of them all.

Yet, if he wanted her, she would be the only hunter able to get that close and have a chance at killing him. It was her job to do, and she knew it. She was born for the role—or at least Piaras’s killing her parents and marking her—created the role for her. If she just didn’t screw it up.

Danai remained quiet the whole time as they headed across the city.

Rachael finally asked, “Do you think we have any chance to get out of there alive?”

Danai’s didn’t say a word, but her expression said it all. Whether she killed Piaras or not, Rachael wouldn’t celebrate another birthday.

Chapter 19

When Danai hesitated to answer her question, Rachael knew then that Danai believed she and Adonis wouldn’t make it out of Piaras’s estates alive as they drove to his place. She wondered if Adonis was more sure of Rachael’s abilities. At least she hoped someone believed she could succeed.

“I can’t lie to you, Rachael. I never believed you would. If we could have resolved this on our own by killing Piaras ourselves, we’d never have involved you... believe me.”

“And Adonis?”

“He’ll die with you. He has no intention of living if he loses you. If I can, I’ll free my parents and my sister. But I’ll have lost my newfound sister and my brother, both whom I love dearly.” Danai’s voice shook a little at the end. She didn’t think any of them would be successful.

Rachael’s jaw tightened. She wasn’t really ready to be sacrificed. “You’re like the sister I never had, and I’ve enjoyed this time we’ve spent together, brief as it’s been.” She looked at Danai. “Will you continue to see Michael after this is all over?” She asked the question out of natural curiosity in part. But partly also because she wished to consider something else other than her upcoming gruesome ordeal with Piaras.

“No,” she said, softly. “If he were to learn what I really am, it would be the end for us. Michael would know what Gregory said was true about Adonis, too. If my brother was to make it out alive, he wouldn’t be safe with your family either. In the end, we’d all lose.”

“Maybe Michael will feel as I do. That you’re hunters first and foremost, and your new abilities will aid us, not work against us.”

“Old notions die hard, Rachael. Most likely a split would form between members of your family over us if any were to support us at all.”

Rachael stared out the window, felt the dagger hidden behind her back, giving her some comfort. “Then we’ll have to leave if…” She sighed. “…when we survive this.”

***

When they arrived at Piaras’s estate, an ornate wrought iron gate opened for them, like the gates opening to hell. Rachael’s skin prickled. There were no other cars in sight. The two-story, rambling Spanish-style mansion was surrounded by cacti, mesquite grass, and boulders and looked nothing like what she envisioned Piaras’s place to look like. A dark castle-like place with towers and black stone, while gargoyles with open-mouthed fangs clung to the eaves would have suited the tyrant.

The sides of the home were coated in ivory stucco, but exposed areas revealed pink brick quarried nearby to make the new building appear more antiquated. An old wagon wheel rested against a live oak. The lone tree provided the only bit of shade in the front yard.

Rachael took a deep breath. “Stark.”

“He likes it that way so he can see visitors approach from a distance at night.”

Her heart pounding, Rachael couldn’t calm her nervousness. “Nobody’s coming outside to greet us.”

“They’re watching from inside if any of his human hosts are awake at all. This is when we hit them before. The vampires sleep during the day for good reason, but the hosts are expected to guard the place all day long and stay up through most of the night to allow the vampires to feed on them. About midday the hosts are wiped out, no matter how hard they try to stay awake.”

Good. We might have a chance after all.

Danai drove the SUV around the back of a three-car garage and parked. “We’re out of sight of your family now. But this is where it gets complicated. We need to get into the house with Adonis. We’ll provide the distraction for the hunters first. Then when they come, they’ll provide the distraction for us.”

“And the complication is Adonis can’t let them know that’s the plan. So what do we do now?”

“I’d take you into the house, but I’m afraid Piaras would grab you, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Adonis could join us, but the hunters will notice if he suddenly vanishes from Michael’s truck.”

Rachael rubbed her arms. “So we wait.”

“Until Adonis let’s us know... “ Danai smiled when Adonis appeared next to the passenger’s door. “Speak of the devil.”

He opened the door, and Rachael leapt into his arms.

“I ought to part from you more often if I’m going to have this great a reception when we’re back together again.” He kissed her lips, the feel of his mouth against hers warm and assuming, and she responded with enthusiasm.

She finally pulled her mouth away from his. “How did you manage to get away from Michael?”

“I told them I’d do what I did before, sneak in, and open the windows. We parked out a ways.” He squeezed her to his chest. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. Piaras has to die.”

“My sentiments exactly. Danai will walk on your left. I’ll stay on your right. A human host will search you for weapons if they’re alert enough. Maybe Danai and me, too, since we’ve stirred things up a bit, if the word has reached Piaras.”

“I’m ready.” And armed. How would it look for a huntress to enter the vampire’s lair without a weapon? Suspicious.

Adonis kissed her one more time, the heat lingering on her lips, warming her before the chill of what they had to do consumed her again. Then they walked toward the house.

The double oak doors swung open. Rachael took a deep breath, trying to control the fear running rampant through her. Having Adonis and his sister on either side of her gave her some comfort, but she knew she’d have to face Piaras alone in the end.

They walked into a spacious ballroom-type living area with fifteen-foot high ceilings. Candelabras with eight candle-shaped bulbs hung from the ceilings, casting a soft light over the adobe red tile floor. Aztec blue, red and beige pillows, and afghan throws decorated cushiony beige couches while pictures of floral desert scenes covered the walls. Navy drapes covered all of the windows blocking out the sunlight. The place didn’t look anything like a vampire’s lair.

“Where is everyone?” Rachael whispered.

“We’re five hours earlier than expected,” Adonis said, his voice lowered for her ears only.

He motioned to Danai. She nodded, then headed down the hall to the east.

“Where’s she going?” Rachael couldn’t help the shivers that racked her body.

“To see if our family is still in the same room, alive.” He glanced at her. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes. And if your family is not?”

“We kill anything that moves. We have nothing to lose.”

A man with dark short-cropped hair suddenly came out of a hallway to the west. His jaw dropped. “We weren’t expecting you this early. We’d... we’d heard you had helped the hunters kill some of our people.”

Adonis folded his arms. “Piaras told me I had to get her here anyway that I could. If I couldn’t show them I could be trusted, they’d never had allowed me to get close to Rachael.”

“Oh, yes, well, of course. But Piaras’s still sleeping and didn’t wish to be disturbed.”

Groggy was better.

Danai hurried out of the eastern hallway and shook her head. Her eyes were hard and her lips thinned. “Not there,” she quickly said, to make sure Adonis understood she hadn’t found them dead.

“Where are they?” Adonis growled at the man. “I’ve kept my part of the bargain.”

The man ran his fingers through his hair. “He said you had to deliver her to him.”

“And I have done so. I can’t help it if he’s still sleeping. Where are my parents and sister?”

When the man wouldn’t say, Adonis seized Rachael’s arm, startling her, and she gasped. Adonis spoke harshly, “When Piaras wants to deal, we’ll deal.”

“Wait.” The host looked nervously back at the hall leading to the west wing.

It had to be where Piaras’s bedroom was located. Was Adonis going to barge in there while Piaras was sleeping? No, he had to find out about his family first to ensure their safety.

“All right,” the man said. “They’re down this hallway.” He motioned to the one he’d come from.

“Danai, go with him.”

“You’d better come, too, with the woman,” the man said.

Adonis growled a curse, but they followed the man. When they reached a double door, the human host knocked. Another, a dark-haired man with a bur cut, opened it. His dark eyes grew big when he saw Adonis.

“He brought the woman.”

“But—”

“Piaras promised Adonis he’d release them when he brought the woman to him.”

“But—”

“He’s taking her out of here if we don’t let him have his family, and you know how much Piaras wants the woman.”

Rachael was darkly amused. Human hosts couldn’t think for themselves on a good day, but right now she sensed they were exhausted. With the hunters arriving early, the hosts were totally thrown off.

“Okay.” He motioned inside the room.

A man with long brown hair, graying at the temples and dark brown eyes, who looked remarkably like an older version of Adonis, walked out of the room first. He looked tired and underfed. Danai took his hand and moved him away from the door. An older lady with dark hair and eyes and the same kind of high cheekbones as Danai, came out next. Then the sister, Pasha, younger, same rich dark brown hair and doe-like eyes, only not as thin as Danai.

“Take them, now,” Adonis said, his voice rigid and stern. “Now.”

“Rachael,” Danai said under her breath, her expression filled with regret, then she swallowed hard and hurried her parents and sister toward the front door.

“Adonis,” her father said, reaching back for him.

“Not now, Father.”

Rachael squashed the emotions of worry and panic that filled every molecule, hoping beyond hope his family could reach safety. She’d resigned herself to her own fate, kill Piaras, hopefully not dying by his hand before she could succeed, and be killed by his blood-bonds.

When Danai and her family reached the door, she tried the brass handle, but couldn’t open it. She turned back to the host.

He headed toward the door, flustered. “I wish Piaras had left us better word.” He twisted the bolt.

Suddenly a man dressed in a black satin shirt, the billowing sleeves cuffed with diamonds at the wrist and black trousers of fine linen, appeared next to the door. His long black hair was still hanging about his shoulders and tangled as if he’d just been awakened and only barely had time to dress.

“Piaras,” Adonis said under his breath with hatred.

“We aren’t going so soon, are we?” Piaras’s sultry dark voice had wooed women for centuries. His jet black eyes stared at Danai.

He touched Danai’s wrist. She jerked away from him. “You must have killed my hosts when they tried to bring you to me.” He shifted his attention to Rachael, his eyes glittering with malice. “But I see the one I really want is here now.”

“Let my family go,” Adonis said, his voice commanding as if he were in charge.

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Piaras vanished and with a whoosh appeared in front of Adonis.

The animosity between the two men was electric. Rachael took a step away from them to get a better combat stance and reached behind her back to get her dagger.

“I’ve heard you’ve been helping the hunters, Adonis.”

“You wanted me to bring her to you. I couldn’t get to her any other way.”

Piaras’s smile faked, he kept his eyes on Adonis, but held his hand out to Rachael. Then he shifted his attention to her when she didn’t make a move toward him. “You’re to be mine, didn’t he tell you?” His gaze focused on the lump on her forehead.

“Your gorillas gave me that.”

“The same ones who tried to take me,” Danai said.

“It is good Danai put them out of their misery then, so that I wouldn’t have to.”

Suddenly turning to the host, Piaras hissed at him, “Wake the others.”

“Now? At this hour?” The host’s whole body shook slightly.

Piaras pinned him with an icy glare.

“Yes, yes, of course.” The man scurried down the hall that led to Piaras’s room and others.

Danai moved her parents and sister down the eastern hall away from where the vampires were housed apparently.

Piaras turned back to watch her and shook his head. “She doesn’t really believe I’m letting any of you out of here alive, does she?” He glanced at the guard who’d released Adonis’s family. “Get the hosts, fool. Instruct them to kill all but Danai.”

Adonis took a menacing step toward Piaras. “I brought Rachael to you as I promised.”

“And I never keep my promises.” Piaras grinned.

A glass window shattered in the direction Danai had disappeared.

Piaras yelled, “Get them!”

Rachael struggled to pull the dagger out from its sheath behind her back. She’d never attempted to wear one there, and she realized at once she should have practiced.

“They’ll never get far.” Piaras grabbed Rachael’s wrist. “You wanted to know why I wished to have Rachael? Her father killed my mistress. For a hundred and fifty years, we ruled together. And in a matter of seconds, he took her away from me.” He grasped Rachael’s throat. “It may take a few years, but Rachael will learn to be her.”

Adonis grabbed Piaras’s arm, both their canines extending instantly. He broke Piaras’s grip on Rachael, but Piaras immediately retaliated and slammed him against the wall, his hand on his throat. “You and Danai are mine. You’ll never break free from me. Your will is mine. The sooner you learn that, the better. As for the rest of your family, they’ll be dead soon.”

Rachael struggled to get her dagger free, cursing herself for her unpreparedness while Adonis fought Piaras’s grip on his throat.

Hosts ran down the hall toward where Danai and her family had escaped, their footsteps sounding like a stampede of cattle during an electric storm. If the hunters had made it outside, the sunlight would keep them safe from the vampires. And if Rachael’s family had reached the house by now, they’d easily kill the hosts. She prayed they’d make it.

A human cry from the hallway leading to Piaras’s room, made him shake his head. “One of my vampires didn’t like to be disturbed this early. Neither do I.”

Rachael’s fingers gripped the handle of her dagger and pulled it free. She quickly lunged at Piaras. He laughed and easily dodged her action, releasing Adonis inadvertently. Then he scowled. “You were not supposed to be armed.”

Adonis seized Piaras’s arms from behind, pinning them against his body. “Now Rachael!”

Again, she thrust, but Piaras slammed Adonis against the wall with his back. She accidentally hit Piaras’s rib with the blade. He hissed at her, his eyes filled with rage, his lips pulled back, exposing his deadly canines.

Before she could stab him again, a blond-haired, male vampire caught her arm and threw her to the floor. Except for a few bruises, she was no worse for wear. Six more vampires suddenly appeared, wearing various forms of sleeping attire, boxers, long t-shirts, and one in black silk pajamas. Their faces wore scowls, their hair dangled over their shoulders in disarray, and all seemed to wonder why Piaras had woken them at such an ungodly hour.

Suddenly, cries of pain filled the room where Danai had broken the window. Piaras broke the hold Adonis had on him, twisted around, and pinned him against the wall with an iron grip at his throat again. “Take care of Danai’s family,” he commanded the vampires, motioning with his free hand to where the commotion was. “Kill all of them, except for Danai.”

When all but the blond-haired vampire and Piaras vanished, Rachael jumped to her feet, but the new vampire bared his teeth at her.

“Don’t hurt her,” Piaras warned. “She’s mine, Tiberus.”

Using her blade, she lunged at Tiberus, but he deftly moved out of her path. “Stay still, you creep!” Anger filled every fiber of her being with a burning need to kill the creatures.

Piaras turned his attention to Adonis, who struggled to get loose of Piaras’s vampiric grip. “What am I to do with you?” He tore Adonis’s shirt with his teeth. “I wanted so to show the others I could rein in a male hunter. Don’t make me kill you.”

He constricted his hold on Adonis’s throat. Adonis gasped for air, his hands grappling futilely at Piaras’s wrists.

The perspiration beaded on Rachael’s forehead as she attempted to strike Tiberus, but his flying leaps kept her occupied while she couldn’t do any harm to him. She needed a longer reach. A sword.

Hisses and the sounds of swords striking walls, furniture, and death cries from vampires came from the eastern hall where Danai and her family had disappeared.

Rachael was certain she couldn’t reach Piaras’s heart from his back, but the blond was so sure she’d try for him again. When she turned and stuck her dagger into Piaras’s back, she surprised them both.

Piaras whipped around and struck her in the head with his fist. White stars sprinkled against a black velvet background filled her vision. But the jolt to her body when she collapsed to the floor, stirred her.

Piaras’s canines blurred from two to four, only inches from her face. He ripped her turtleneck at the throat, and she knew he intended to bite her and make her his. She clasped her hand into a fist realizing at once, she’d lost her dagger when she’d fallen.

Shoving his chin up with her left hand, she tried to keep his teeth from touching her neck.

Directly in front of her, Adonis and Tiberus fought. Adonis had managed to get to a sword. The other wielded one against him, the metal blades clanging against each other in wicked resonance.

With her right hand, she groped around for the dagger on the floor. Piaras jerked her left hand away from his face. His eyes pierced hers with intensity, then clouded over with desire. His body pressed heavily against hers and his arousal rubbed against her thigh. “This will hurt, if you fight me,” he whispered against her mouth.

Pushing with her boots against the floor, she squirmed to unseat him, the blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t allow herself to be bitten. Turning her head from his gaze, she saw her dagger. She attempted to wriggle over to it, the silky pearl handle just at her fingertips.

Adonis groaned. Rachael’s heart took a dive. If he died...

The blond-haired vampire screamed in agony suddenly.

Piaras turned.

Rachael grabbed the dagger. With a twist of her wrist she jammed it into the vampire as Adonis struck his sword through Piaras’s back.

Piaras grasped for her throat and cried out. But almost instantly his skin shriveled up, and he collapsed on top of her, dead.

She’d killed him. She’d avenged her parents’ deaths, but only a guarded relief filled her. What of the others? Were Danai and her family safe? Rachael’s own family?

Adonis yanked Piaras’s shrunken form off her and tossed him aside. He grasped her hand and pulled her from the floor, but quickly inspected the room to ensure that there were no other vampires around to threaten their safety. She covered the wound in his bloodied right shoulder. “You’re injured again, Adonis.”

Suddenly Gregory bolted down the hall toward them from where Danai had disappeared. He stormed toward Adonis, his eyes angry blue pools of fire.

“Get away from him, Rachael!” he commanded. “He’s one of them!” Gregory lunged forward with his sword.

Adonis groaned as he struck the weapon aside. He couldn’t kill the hunter, as much as he wanted to. Although he had every right to defend himself, the others might still feel some loyalty to Gregory, who’d been raised and trained with them. Even though many were pretty perturbed over what he’d done concerning Meghan Tanner.

Rachael tried to block Gregory with her body, but he shoved her away. Adonis’s blood boiled. If he touched her again...

Gregory struck at Adonis again, but Adonis deflected his weapon. His shoulder throbbed. Every thrust of his sword shot excruciating streaks of pain into his arm.

Rachael yanked at Gregory’s sword arm. He knocked her to the floor. Adonis fought extending his canines and hit Gregory’s sword with such force, Gregory jumped back.

Rachael grabbed Gregory’s leg and held on tight.

Gregory kicked at her. “Let go of me.” He cursed at her and Adonis struck him in the shoulder.

Michael rushed down the hall. “Gregory! Get hold of your senses!”

“He’s a vampire!” Gregory thrust his sword at Adonis’s chest.

Rachael screamed out. “My God! Adonis, no!”

Gregory pulled the sword out of Adonis’s chest. Adonis sank to his knees, the sharp pain blurring his vision. He reached up and held his hand to the fresh wound, but he hadn’t died. The hunter’s sword hadn’t killed the vampire in him.

Michael yanked the sword out of Gregory’s hand, then slammed him against the wall. “Get a grip, you idiot!”

Rachael hugged Adonis. “You didn’t die,” she mouthed against his lips.

He halfheartedly smiled. “No, imagine that.” His whole body shook as the adrenaline still coursed through his system. His head still reeling from the notion the hunter’s blade hadn’t terminated him immediately, although he’d only been turned recently, so he wouldn’t have shriveled up like the ancient ones.

Despite his vampiric vision, he was cast into darkness. The sounds around him faded to deathly silence.

***

Rachael barely heard the conversations around her as she gripped Adonis’s hand while Michael and Ned carried him out to Adonis’s SUV. Adonis didn’t stir and she couldn’t face her cousins in the event they knew Gregory had spoken the truth.

“He’s one of them—a bloodsucker,” Gregory shouted from inside Piaras’s house still.

“Shut up,” Ferris said, his voice beyond angry.

That’s when Rachael saw Ferris and one of her former suitors carrying Zachary out of the house. Like Adonis, Zachary was unconscious, bleeding, deathly pale. Rachael squelched tears threatening to spill.

She caught Uncle Tobias’s eye. He seemed in control, yet that control was slipping as he hurried to ensure the rest of Piaras’s people were dead and that the hunters were all accounted for.

Adonis had kept his fangs from extending, and she felt his blood still pumping in his wrist. He just had to live. He couldn’t give up now.

As soon as Michael and Ned lay Adonis in the middle seat, she climbed in with Adonis and rested his head on her lap.

Michael hurried off to speak with Uncle Tobias to get his orders. Ferris watched, but stayed beside the vehicle.

“Was anyone else hurt?” she asked in a very small voice, feeling that Piaras and everything associated with him was her fault.

“Zachary’s in bad shape.” Ferris sounded withdrawn, weary.

“Will…will he live?”

Ferris avoided looking at her and didn’t say anything.

Rachael wiped away insolent tears and brushed Adonis’s hair out of his face. “What about Danai and the rest of her family?”

“Uncle Tobias spoke to the father, then put them in a vehicle, and they’re headed for the house.”

Then Michael and her uncles Brent, Curt, and Tobias converged to speak briefly. They looked in Rachael’s direction. They didn’t appear happy. Not that having two nearly dead hunters, one of whom was Uncle Tobias’s youngest son, was anything to be joyous about.

“Meet you back at the house,” Michael said to his father, then headed for the SUV. His gaze caught hers and held, and she suspected he knew about Adonis. But had he already known when Adonis saved his life at the warehouse, or only now because of Gregory’s ranting?

“Let’s go,” Michael said to Ferris, and the two climbed into the vehicle. Then Michael pulled out of the estate and didn’t speak for some time as he drove to Uncle Tobias’s home.

She couldn’t ask him if he knew about Adonis, not in front of Ferris in the event Michael was keeping it secret from the family, but she was dying to know if she could be honest with him.

“Will Zachary be all right?” she asked through a tear-choked voice.

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” But Michael wouldn’t say anything more, and she figured it was best to leave him to his dark thoughts. The two brothers often fought, but Michael was always protective of Zachary when the situation warranted it.

Ferris didn’t speak either, but she figured if she hadn’t been in the vehicle, her cousins probably would have discussed matters.

Finally Michael said, “Why the hell were you and Danai at Piaras’s estate?”

She hadn’t even considered they’d be mad at her over that, after all that had happened. Rachael stuck her chin up, wiped away more tears, and glared at the backside of Michael’s head. She wondered if he was madder because she had been at Piaras’s estate, or because Danai might have been killed?

“He murdered my parents. He wanted me. I knew I could get close to him.”

Ferris shook his head.

“And Adonis planned this whole damned charade? Used you to free his parents? Used you as the bait? Hell, I ought to finish him off myself.”

“He saved your life,” Rachael said softly.

Michael tightened his grip on the steering wheel and swore under his breath. “And Danai? What role did she have in this whole mess? Hell, we barely got them out of there alive.”

“She wouldn’t have stayed behind, Michael. Even if it had been just the two of them. They had to free their family. You know how it would be.”

“And what about us? As a team we go against such odds. A team. No one is an individual. You know that.”

“I had to kill him,” she said more to herself than to Michael. Although killing him hadn’t given her any real satisfaction like she thought it would. Probably because Zachary was clinging to life, and Adonis’s situation was so tentative.

Rachael blinked away more tears and squeezed Adonis’s wrist, his pulse growing more thready. “Live for me, Adonis. Live for your family. They’re safe now. But they need your strength and Danai needs you.”

Michael looked up at her through the rearview mirror. “There’ll be a family meeting as soon as we get home.”

They often had hunter recaps following a hunt, recalling the mistakes they’d made and the successes also. But an exclusive family meeting meant something else. And she suspected—nothing good.

***

Adonis fought to open his eyes, desperate to kill Tiberus, the vampire who was protecting Piaras’s flank. Piaras was on top of Rachael, ready to bite her and Adonis could see her fingers stretching to reach her dagger, her fingertips just barely touching the pearl handle.

He tried to maneuver Tiberus toward her so he could push the weapon to her with his boot. But the bastard knew Adonis was trying to aid Rachael and effectively kept him from her. Their swords clanked angrily, the hard strikes sending a shudder up Adonis’s arm. And then the break he was looking for and yes! He drove his sword into the vampire’s heart, Tiberus screaming, then collapsing in a mummified heap.

But there was no time for jubilation and as Rachael reached her dagger and thrust it into Piaras, Adonis reflexively shoved his sword into the already mortally-wounded vampire. But knowing his sister and family were at risk as well as Rachael, all he could think of was protecting Rachael before moving toward the sound of the ongoing battle down the hall.

Until Gregory targeted him. Hell, Adonis was certain one of Piaras’s friends would have skewered him at this point, not one of the hunters.

He couldn’t kill the bastard as much as he wanted to for endangering his family’s lives and screwing up his and Danai’s to such an extent.

Now he felt so cold, but he was unable to open his eyes. He couldn’t fight the dark or what waited within. Rachael. What had become of Rachael?

***

Rachael took her seat, ready once more for the inquisition, praying Brent didn’t have a syringe in his pocket this time.

The ladies were taking care of Adonis’s family in the dining room, while Dr. Stevens saw to Adonis’s and Zachary’s injuries. Uncle Tobias hadn’t allowed her to see either of them, but had Michael escort her straight to the conference room to begin the questioning all over again.

Only this time there were no suitors, only her uncles Brent, Curt, Tobias and her cousins, Ferris, Ned, and Michael. This time Uncle Tobias sat back, looking drained, probably too upset over Zachary’s injuries.

Uncle Brent questioned her instead. “Tell us the truth in your own words about Adonis.”

She took a deep breath, her hands like ice.

“Rachael,” Uncle Tobias warned.

But she couldn’t tell them what he was. She couldn’t, not if they didn’t already know. They’d kill him. “What do you want to know?” she asked softly, but her words wavered.

“Michael says he used you as bait to kill Piaras,” Uncle Brent said.

Rachael looked at the floor. “I had to kill him.”

“What is he?” Uncle Tobias asked, sounding resigned.

She lifted her gaze. He looked so weary, like when his wife had died. “He’s a hunter,” she said, her eyes and voice defiant.

Uncle Tobias’s expression lightened some, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips. But then he frowned. “He’s not the same as us.”

“He’s…he’s better,” she blurted.

“Hell, listen to yourself,” Ferris hotly objected.

Uncle Tobias waved his hand for silence. “How is he better?”

“He saved Michael’s life. Do you deny it?” She cast a pleading look Michael’s way. “And Gregory’s, too. Adonis would never hurt one of our kind.”

“He got you to go into Piaras’s lair without our backup,” Michael bit out. “He endangered your life.”

“I was the only one who could have gotten close to Piaras. He would have vanished and returned later for me. I distracted him and then—”

“Adonis was able to kill him. We know, Rachael,” Uncle Tobias said.

Rachael closed her gaping mouth. They thought Adonis killed Piaras?

“But Adonis should never have used you as bait. We don’t know what they hell they did back in Florida, but that is unacceptable behavior here.”

She kept her mouth shut, hoping her uncle would lighten up.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve spoken with Adonis’s father and for now, they’d like to join our family, if only to stay with us until his family can heal.”

But her uncle didn’t sound thrilled with the prospect.

“I want to marry Adonis,” she blurted out.

Her uncle didn’t seem surprised. But Ferris and Ned both swore under their breaths.

Again, Uncle Tobias motioned for silence, and that’s when she realized something graver was the matter.

Someone knocked on the door and Uncle Tobias said, “Yes?”

Dr. Stevens poked his head in the door. “Zachary is coming to and Adonis is coherent now, asking to see Rachael. His family has already been in to see him.”

“All right.”

The doctor shut the door.

Uncle Tobias shook his head. “I don’t want you to marry Adonis.”

Rachael opened her mouth to object, but Uncle Tobias signaled for her silence. “But I’ll grant this. Only because you would leave with him if I didn’t approve. And…we need him here, for Zachary’s sake.”

Zachary?

“Maybe Adonis can help him cope. Go see Adonis now, Rachael. I’m getting too old for this. Maybe Michael’s right. It’s time for me to step down and let him run the League.”

Michael gave him a dark laugh. “You’ll be running things for many more years, Father, and we’ll continue to appreciate your leadership.”

“Go, Rachael,” Uncle Tobias said. “I want to have my hunters’ recap now.”

Before she could mention she was there, too, and should have some say, Michael grasped her arm and led her out of the room. “Adonis needs you. You both can tell us what happened later.”

“How long did you know, Michael?” she asked as he shut the door to the conference room.

“I suspected something when you approached a vampire in the dark both on the balcony and behind the hotel, when you had always been so afraid of the dark and of human vampires. I suspected something when you questioned me about vampires instead of asking Zachary when you knew you weren’t supposed to see me. And again, when you were seeing some hunter that conveniently kept popping up places.

“I knew he was a hunter, but I suspected he was something more. I thought he could help protect you since he seemed to want you like a hunter would. But when he saved my life in the warehouse, although I had a hard time believing my eyes, I knew then for sure. Gregory, of course, confirmed what I’d seen. But I confided in uncles Brent and Curt and both were of the same opinion. Maybe Adonis could help us. I just didn’t think Adonis would take you to Piaras like that.”

“Thank you, Michael. Piaras wanted Adonis to take you out because you had a contract on some vampiress named Dominique. But Adonis wouldn’t do it.”

Michael stared at her, then sighed. “I wondered how he knew so much about them. I wasn’t happy about you being with him. But now…well, Zachary’s just like him. And my father feels he’ll need guidance to get him through this dark period of adjustment. By the way, my father banned Gregory from the region. Go see Adonis. He’s part of the family now.”

“Zachary was bitten?” she asked, her heart wrenching with the news.

“Yes, and it’s not good.”

“I’m so sorry.” Everything would be different now. Everything. “But we’ll have to show him we love him no matter what,” she whispered and gave Michael a hug.

Michael didn’t say anything, just looked bleak with regret. She assumed then he felt it his own fault that Zachary had been bitten.

“It’ll be all right, Michael. Trust me. Adonis will help Zachary to adjust. Thank you, Michael, for everything.”

He bowed her head to her and left her off at the door to the sick room. “I’ll…let you see him in private.”

She swore his eyes glittered with tears. He was holding his own feelings in check, trying to keep his hunter’s composure, but he’d always been close to his younger brother, Zachary. She knew Zachary would be all right. That the family would grow through this ordeal. She knew it with all her heart—if they stuck together and accepted the changes.

Then she hurried to the room where Adonis was staying. As soon as she opened the door, she found Adonis already dressed, coming for her as if he’d never been injured. “You’re mine, Rachael Bremerton. I still need to heal, but that won’t keep me from business.” He took her hand and led her back to the conference room, his gait slower, and she realized just how he was still injured, but he had to get what had happened out in the open.

“But my uncle said we could get married, and he’s having a recap of the hunt, so we shouldn’t disturb him.” She was afraid she’d upset her uncle, make him change his mind.

“Without us?” Adonis raised his brows. “Without our version, they’d miss the best half of the story.”

Before she could object any further—she knew her uncle would not be pleased—Adonis opened the door, walked in with Rachael’s hand in his, then shut the door.

“You want to know about Piaras and how we took him down?” Adonis asked.

Tobias looked a little startled, but Michael looked on with admiration.

Brent came over and shook Adonis’s hand. “Welcome to the family and the new millennium.”

Arrogant, arrogant, but how she loved Adonis, hunter and vampire all rolled up into one extraordinary man.

Everyone, including Uncle Tobias, extended heartfelt welcomes.

But the sizzling kiss Adonis reserved for Rachael proved just where she stood with him. And she gave him one right back, before she began telling the story of how they took down one of the most maniacal vampires of their region.

Adonis watched with pride as Rachael told the story. She’d brought down their worst enemy and made a name for herself in hunter circles forever. But best of all, she’d given Adonis back his humanity, and he loved her with his heart and soul.

She gave him a winning smile and motioned for him to tell his version. But he bowed his head to her, then rose from the chair. “I weary now. If you’ll excuse us—”

“Not too weary to call for the minister first,” Tobias warned, his chin tilted down, his eyes narrowed.

Marriage first, other issues later. Could Adonis live only a human’s lifespan with Rachael?

He ground his teeth to keep them from extending and gave his mate a devilish smile.

Could he only live with her for one human’s lifespan? The hunter side of him had his mate and couldn’t have been more satisfied.

The vampire side wished to be appeased.

###

Acknowledgments

Thanks to my Rebel Romance Writers critique group, Tammy, Judy, Randy, Vonda, Betty, and Pam, who always encourage me no matter what, and my son and daughter who share my love of the fantastical!

Also by Terry Spear:

Romantic Suspense: Deadly Fortunes, In the Dead of the Night, Relative Danger, Bound by Danger

The Highlanders Series: Winning the Highlander’s Heart, The Accidental Highland Hero, Highland Rake, Taming the Wild Highlander

Other historical romances: Lady Caroline & the Egotistical Earl, A Ghost of a Chance at Love

Heart of the Wolf Series: Heart of the Wolf, Destiny of the Wolf, To Tempt the Wolf, Legend of the White Wolf, Seduced by the Wolf, Wolf Fever, Heart of the Highland Wolf, Dreaming of the Wolf, A SEAL in Wolf’s Clothing, A Howl for a Highlander, A Highland Werewolf Wedding, A SEAL Wolf Christmas, Silence of the Wolf, 2014, Hero of a Highland Wolf, 2014, A Highland Wolf Christmas, 2014; A SEAL Wolf for Sale, 2015

SEAL Wolves: To Tempt the Wolf, A SEAL in Wolf’s Clothing, A SEAL Wolf Christmas

Silver Bros Wolves: Destiny of the Wolf, Wolf Fever, Dreaming of the Wolf, Silence of the Wolf

Highland Wolves: Heart of the Highland Wolf, A Howl for a Highlander, A Highland Werewolf Wedding, Hero of a Highland Wolf, A Highland Wolf Christmas

Heart of the Jaguar Series: Savage Hunger, Jaguar Fever, Jaguar Hunt, 2014

Vampire romances: Killing the Bloodlust, Deadly Liaisons, Huntress for Hire, Forbidden Love

About the Author:

Bestselling and award-winning author Terry Spear has written over fifty paranormal romance novels and four medieval Highland historical romances. Her first werewolf romance, Heart of the Wolf, was named a 2008 Publishers Weekly’s Best Book of the Year, and her subsequent titles have garnered high praise and hit the USA Today bestseller list. A retired officer of the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry lives in Crawford, Texas, where she is working on her next werewolf romance, continuing her new series about shapeshifting jaguars, and having fun with her young adult novels.

For more information, please visit www.terryspear.com, or follow her on Twitter, @TerrySpear. She is also on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/terry.spear. And on Wordpress at: Terry Spear’s Shifters
http://terryspear.wordpress.com/

Excerpt from FORBIDDEN LOVE another vampire romance available now:

by

Terry Spear

Forbidden Love Copyright © 2010 by Terry Spear

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Discover more about Terry Spear at:

http://www.terryspear.com/

Dedicated to vampire lovers for all time!

Prologue

Campbeltown, Scotland, 1701

Ephraim MacNeill would kill anyone who stood in his way.

His head held high, his sword readied, he stalked toward the motte and bailey castle in the twilight of the eve. Still not believing his luck at locating Elizabeth’s current place of imprisonment, he feared the rumor a ruse, or worse—a calculated attempt to draw him into the spider’s web. But the sight of a woman paralleling his path in the deepening shadows drew his attention. Her red curls trailed behind her like a knight’s banner, whipping in the breeze, while she fled across the rain-soaked valley. Praise God, his beloved had escaped.

“Elizabeth!” Ephraim sheathed his sword and dashed for her. A thread of joy filled his heart that she appeared unharmed. But despair they’d soon be caught cut short the brief elation.

“Ephraim.” His name half choked, half sounding desperate from her lips made his mouth go dry. Bolting through sweet heather, she altered her course in the direction of his voice.

Elizabeth, his only reason to live his immortal life.

Damn the clan wars that kept them apart. But no more. Tonight he’d blood bond with her and forever... forever they would be joined as mates.

Clouds darkened the sky as the sun sank beneath the earth. Yet with his nocturnal sight, he saw her as clearly as if the golden sphere still lighted their way. She clutched her petticoats high to keep from tripping on them, her knuckles white from the grip. Her creamy cheeks were flushed pink from the nippiness in the air and the rush of her run, while her small, leather shoes crunched on the earth in a frenzied pace.

His heart thundered while he fought the panic rising in his blood. If her brothers or any of the rest of her kin tracked them now…

Concentrating on his vampiric power, Ephraim attempted to fly to her, or to vanish and appear before her, but his new found abilities eluded him at the most dangerous of times. Damn the plague that had made him and others vampiric. And damn the same plague that had made others like Elizabeth and most of her kin stronger, too. Only the bloodlust in their hearts was a different kind. A kind that turned them into hunters of vampires.

Sprinting toward Elizabeth, Ephraim’s boots pounded the wet earth. Her eyes widened, searching for signs of him in the dark.

“Elizabeth,” he said under his breath this time, not wanting anyone to hear if someone suspected she’d already escaped as he closed the distance.

Reaching her, he grabbed her up in his arms, elated to finally hold her again, drugged with her womanly scent. But fear of being caught overshadowed the bliss. He whirled around, then ran back the way he’d come. She smelled of sweet lavender and woman, and he drank in her fragrance with a deep breath, holding her warm body against his in a fevered embrace. A year had he searched in vain for her... a lifetime, craving her soft touch.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she choked out, still trying to catch her breath, “Malcolm will kill us both. Where can we hide?” She burrowed her head against his chest and warm tears trickled down his shirt, stirring his heart.

“An abandoned croft nearby, love,” he whispered against her head, the pleasure he felt in holding her close hampered by the fear he could still lose her.

Because he had several times the strength of men not visited by the plague, she weighed no more than a sack of goose down to him, instead of the weight of a full-grown, curvaceous woman he craved to devour. He held her tightly against his chest while he ran, wanting to reassure her he would protect her now and always.

“For twelve long months have I searched in vain for ye.”

“Aye, and I prayed ye would find me.” She clutched him tighter, her voice full of tears. “Malcolm’s determined to marry me off to my cousin. Oh, Ephraim, if it hadna been for Mary, she risked her life to bring me food and drink that wasna drugged. And she drugged those who guarded my chamber.”

“Your second cousin’s a good lass, love.” He kissed Elizabeth’s bonnie head, his heart soaring like a feathered bird in flight.

For three miles he ran, never tiring. The sky darkened to give them sufficient cover while the scent of peat smoke drifted in the breeze from some distant dwelling. “I’ve booked passage on a ship sailing to the Colonies on the morrow. I’ve changed my name to Sutton Bastrop, and ye will be my wife.”

“‘Tis time ye married me.” Tilting her chin up, she looked him squarely in the eye, teasing him in her devilish way. No matter the dire circumstances they found themselves in, she always had a way of lightening the mood to chase away the dark.

“You were the one who wished your father’s blessing, and once he was murdered by the MacLean, your brother’s,” he reminded her with a kiss on the cheek.

She shook her head, her voice bitter when she spoke. “I was a fool to think they would allow me to marry anyone other than my cousin. Love means naught to any of them. Power and privilege, that’s all that matters.”

“He willna have ye.” Determined to keep her out of her kin’s hands, Ephraim would do anything—give up his title, his lands—anything to have her for his own.

She stared into the darkness, but he knew she couldn’t see a thing, not like he could.

Yet her sense of smell and hearing were vastly improved like a vampire’s. She breathed in more deeply, and he knew she was trying to smell danger anywhere nearby.

“Won’t they look for us there, Ephraim?”

Just the way she said his name, lovingly, stirred his loins. He had been separated from her overmuch too long. “‘Tis off the main road, no worn paths lead to it. None should find us.” At least he hoped not. He had no other place to keep her safe until they shipped off. ’Twas the best he could do after learning of her whereabouts.

He shoved the door open to the hovel, and it squeaked on its hinges.

She shuddered. “I feel as though we have sent a warning bell ringing across the valley.”

“We should be safe for the eve.” He prayed his words would prove true. “We will leave before first light.” He set her on a makeshift straw bed in one corner of the room, the hay still green, soft, leafy, and sweet smelling.

“You just made this bed, love?” Her brows rose in questioning, her lips twitching upward at the corners.

“Aye, as soon as I learned you were being kept hostage in the castle. As soon as it was dark, I intended to free ye and ravage ye here.” He hurried to the door and wedged a rickety wooden chair against it.

She sounded as desperate as he felt as she said, “Make love to me, Ephraim. The thought of being with you again is the only thing that kept me alive these past many months.”

’Twas his most fervent desire, yet he wanted much more than that. Crossing the floor, he crouched in front of her and ran his fingers through her silky tresses. “We must blood bond if we are to be together forever, love.” He could not risk losing her again.

She looked at the dirt floor, earthy smelling and slightly damp from the recent shower.

Had she changed her mind? The notion tightened his stomach into knotted hemp. Raising her chin, he gazed into her aquamarine eyes flecked with amber, the eyes he had so longed to see again. “We must.”

She nodded. “Aye.”

“Even if your family is against it?”

“‘Tis my life to give, no’ theirs.” She tilted her chin up, and he saw the determination in her eyes.

He was not waiting for her to change her mind. Forever, they would be together. Forever, soul mates, as one.

Grasping the silver brooch attached to the green and white striped arisaid at her breast, he hurriedly unfastened it. Then he tackled the silver belt secured over the shawl beneath her breast. She began to yank off her petticoats while he worked on her blue jacket and tossed it aside.

“You need to wear less clothing, lass.”

She slapped his shoulder. “And have me called one of those loose wenches?”

Smiling darkly, he pulled off her stays. “If ye wore nay stays, I would indeed call ye a loose woman.” He kissed her cheek, but she tugged at his jacket.

“Hurry, Ephraim.”

***

FORBIDDEN LOVE
available now!

Dead Sexy

by,

Paige Tyler

Copyright © 2013 by Paige Tyler

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the author.

Cover Design by Gemini Judson

Dedication

With special thanks to my extremely patient and understanding husband, without whose help and support I couldn’t have pursued my dream job of becoming a writer.

You’re my sounding board, my idea man, my critique partner, and the absolute best research assistant any girl could ask for!

Thank you.

And thank you to the wonderful fangirls on my Street Team. You all rock!

Cursed

Thank God he was good at multitasking, Drake Parrish thought, otherwise he would have had a hell of time focusing on what his elderly client was saying with the man’s beautiful, much younger wife in the room. It didn’t help that she openly flirted with him. Too bad he had a rule about doing married women because he wouldn’t have minded taking her to bed, that was for sure. But banging married women tended to lead to messy situations, so he’d have to pass. That was okay. He was more interested in Bertrand’s money than his wife anyway. The man had millions to invest with Graystone and Burke, the financial firm where Drake worked as an analyst, and Drake was determined to get his hands on that money today.

Drake leaned back in his chair and gave the man a smile. “So, are you going to play it safe, William, or have you decided to go with the high–yield bonds I’ve been telling you about? Remember, big risk means big reward.”

The other man laughed. He was going to go for the big reward, Drake could see it in his eyes. Before Bertrand could reply, however, the door to Drake’s office burst open and an old, black woman stormed into the room. She was tall and thin, her long, dark hair an unruly tangle of curls around her ancient face. For some reason, the look in her dark eyes made the hair on the back of Drake’s neck stand up and he automatically got to his feet as she advanced on him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parrish,” said his secretary from the doorway. “She just barged right past me.”

“It’s okay, Anne. I’ll take care of it.” He came around to the front of his desk, intercepting the old woman. “Can I help you?”

She didn’t answer, but instead looked him up and down coldly. Drake racked his mind, trying to remember if he’d met her somewhere, but he couldn’t place her face. Maybe she was some poor woman who’d lost all her retirement money in the markets and was at Graystone and Burke looking for someone to blame. Well, she’d picked the wrong shoulder to cry on. He was way short in the sympathy department.

He was thinking maybe he should call Security when she finally spoke. Unfortunately, it was in some foreign language he didn’t understand. He held up his hand to tell the old woman as much when he recognized one of the words she said. Cia.

Drake frowned. Oh, shit.

Cia Devereaux had been a college intern at the investment firm whom he’d seduced on a whim a couple weeks earlier. It hadn’t been that big of a deal. One of his coworkers had bet him a hundred dollars he couldn’t get the shy, quiet girl into bed. Drake had won the bet, but the fallout from the victory had been messy as hell. After only a week of wooing, the naïve Cia had fallen in love with him and actually thought he felt the same about her. It was so ludicrous that Drake had laughed when she’d confessed her feelings for him the morning after they’d had sex. He’d expected Cia to call him a bastard and run out of his office, but instead she’d made a scene, bursting into tears and babbling over and over about how much she loved him. He probably would have been embarrassed for her if it hadn’t been so pathetic.

He groaned inwardly at the memory. The old woman must be the girl’s relative there to chew him out for how he’d treated Cia. Considering the angry way the woman was looking at him, he was definitely going to need Security. She looked as if she was ready to cut off his balls.

Swearing under his breath, he picked up the phone and started to dial the number, only to hesitate as the woman reached into the pocket of the long, gray dress she wore. He tensed, afraid she was going to pull out a gun and shoot him. Shit. But when her hand came out, she held only a fistful of dirt, which she promptly threw in his face.

Drake jumped back, sputtering to get the dirt out of his mouth. While he was relieved she wasn’t toting a gun, he was still damn pissed, especially since he was wearing a ten-thousand dollar suit. Crazy old bitch.

Jaw tight, he wiped the dirt from his face and brushed off his clothes. By the time he lifted his head, the woman was already gone and Bertrand and his wife were staring at him in stunned silence.

Ignoring them, he punched the number for Security. “This is Drake Parrish on the thirtieth floor,” he said when a man named Carter answered. “Some psycho old woman just assaulted me in my office and I want her arrested.”

Drake gave the man a quick description of the woman, then said he’d hold while they picked her up. He didn’t want her ambushing him in the lobby later.

It was a good ten minutes before Carter came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Mr. Parrish, but there’s no sign of her.”

“What do you mean, no sign of her?” Drake demanded. “She was just here.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, sir. She wasn’t on any of the elevators or surveillance cameras and no one else in the building remembers seeing her.”

Drake clenched his jaw. “Well, she didn’t just disappear into thin air. She’s a hundred years old, for God’s sake. Keep looking.”

“Yes, sir.”

Drake slammed the phone down. If he were any other twenty-seven-year-old junior analyst, his order probably wouldn’t have carried nearly as much weight, but thanks to the wealthy clients and millions of dollars he regularly brought in for Graystone and Burke, he was the youngest investment broker with a corner office. When he told someone to do something, they damn well did it.

He swore silently as he abruptly remembered Bertrand and his wife were still there. Giving the couple a smile, Drake brushed off his suit again and sat down at his desk, picking up the meeting right where he’d left off. While he was a little off his game because of the bizarre incident with the old woman, he still managed to get Bertrand to invest several million dollars in high-yield bonds before the couple left two hours later. Cha–ching. His bosses had been looking for someone to pick up those damn bonds for weeks now. His cut of the commission was going to be huge.

Luckily, the rest of the day was a hell of a lot less eventful. Drake kept an eye out for the old woman as he left the building that night just in case, but there was no sign of her. If it hadn’t been for the foul odor the dirt she’d thrown at him had left on his suit, he might have thought he’d imagined the whole thing.

By the following day, Drake had completely forgotten about the woman. Of course, that probably had something to do with the pair of cute cocktail waitresses he’d hooked up with the night before. Damn, they’d been hot.

He was still thinking about the more adventurous and flexible of the two women when his secretary walked in a few minutes later. She took one look at him and made a face.

“What kind of women have you been going out with lately?” she asked.

His brow furrowed at the question. Though she’d never come out and said so, it was no secret Anne disapproved of his playboy lifestyle. “The usual kind. Why?”

She lifted a brow disdainfully as she dropped a stack of file folders on his desk. “Because from the looks of that hickey you’ve got on your neck, you must have been making out with a chainsaw.”

Confused, Drake lifted a hand to his neck, but didn’t feel anything unusual. Not that he’d actually feel a hickey, of course, if that’s really what it was. While both women had spent the better part of the night exploring his body with their mouths, they’d been more interested in the anatomy below his belt than above his collar.

Figuring he’d better see what Anne was talking about, he went to the restroom to check in the mirror and found an ugly, purple welt running along his neck. What the hell? He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes going wide when he saw the discoloration covering his chest and most of his stomach. It looked as if he’d been beaten with a damn baseball bat.

Alarmed, Drake left the office without even bothering to tell his secretary and went straight to the nearest emergency room. He had to wait almost two hours before someone examined him, but after one look at the rash, the doctor on call put him in isolation, then brought in a dermatologist and an infectious disease specialist.

Within an hour of being admitted, the purple discoloration had turned a sickly looking shade of gray and spread over most of his body. It didn’t hurt, but he was scared shitless anyway. Though the doctors tried their best to hide it as they went about taking blood and skin samples, he knew they were just as freaked out. They looked at him as if he was some kind of monster.

“Have you been involved in some type of industrial accident?” one of the doctors asked. The nametag on his lab coat read Meredith.

Drake frowned. “Industrial accident? No. Why? Do you think I came into contact with some kind of hazardous waste?”

The doctor shook his head as he wrote on his clipboard. “We’re not sure yet. We’re just collecting information at this stage, Mr. Parrish. Do you have any food allergies?”

“No.”

“Have you gone hiking or camping recently?”

“No.”

“Do you own some exotic pet, like a spider or snake?”

“No.”

Dr. Meredith looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “Have you come into contact with anything unusual recently?”

“Unusual?” Drake asked.

“Out of the ordinary,” the man explained.

Drake ground his jaw. “Yeah, I know what the word unusual means. And no, I haven’t. Not that I’m aware of.”

“Have you been out of the country recently?”

“No.”

The man scribbled something on the clipboard. “Have you been using any form of homemade laundry detergent?”

Did he look like the kind of weirdo who made his own detergent? Hell, he didn’t even do his own laundry. “No.”

“Have you been using any form of recreational drugs?”

Didn’t everyone sometimes? But not since he was an undergraduate in college. He shook his head. “No.”

Something about the way he said it must have made the doctor think he was lying because the man regarded him dubiously. “Mr. Parrish, I couldn’t care less about what you do in your free time. I’m trying to help you here. So, let’s try this again. Have you used any drugs recently?”

“No, nothing,” Drake said, then added, “Not since college.”

That must have satisfied the doctor because he moved on to the next question. “Okay, then. Have you recently had unprotected sex?”

“No.”

More scribbling. “Have you had sex with any species other than human?”

“What? Hell no!” Drake said. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

The doctor didn’t reply, but merely wrote down Drake’s answer. “Do you have any reason to believe someone might be trying to poison you?”

Drake hesitated a moment before answering. He wasn’t so sure about that one. He worked on Wall Street, which didn’t make him a great human being in some people’s minds. And most of his coworkers sure as hell didn’t appreciate his meteoric rise up the ladder. But for the most part, he was known for simply making a lot of people very rich, so he seriously doubted anyone would want to poison him.

He shook his head. “No.”

Drake could tell by the way Dr. Meredith looked at him he didn’t believe any of Drake’s answers, and that annoyed the hell out of him. But he was too terrified by what was happening to him to be angry with the man for long, especially since they moved him to a quarantine room in a separate wing of the hospital. He got even more concerned when the doctors came in wearing biohazard suits. What the hell was going on? Was he contagious?

The doctors wouldn’t answer his questions, though. They just kept telling him to relax and that everything was going to be fine. He didn’t believe them, not after overhearing them talking among themselves out in the hallway when they thought he couldn’t hear.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” one of the doctors said.

“At first I thought it was some aggressive form of leprosy,” another muttered. “But this is so much worse than that. His entire left arm is completely dead, no blood flow at all, and yet he’s still able to move it. It’s unbelievable. And did you see what happened when I took that last skin sample? He actually jumped. That shouldn’t even be possible. Hell, as badly decayed as that arm is, I keep expecting it to fall off any minute.”

“It won’t get the chance.” The first doctor again. “At the rate this thing is spreading, it’s going to reach his heart soon. I don’t care what you say about his arm, there’s no way he can live once it does that. Best case, he’ll make it until morning, but I’m betting he’ll be dead before midnight.”

Drake’s blood went cold at the words. Oh, God. He was going to die. He swallowed hard, struggling to breathe with the sudden crushing weight on his chest.

He wanted to call someone to stay with him so he wouldn’t have to be alone, but then he realized there was no one to call. His parents had passed away a little while after he’d moved to New York and he was never particularly close to his brother and sister, so he hadn’t kept in touch with either of them. Come to think of it, he didn’t even have their phone numbers. That left his coworkers. He wasn’t close to any of them, either. The senior management only liked him for the money he brought in and his fellow analysts pretty much despised him. Even his secretary thought he was a pig. And while he slept with a lot of women, none of them cared about him enough to sit by his bedside.

It struck him then how lousy he was at interpersonal relationships. Hell, he was lousy at being a human being. He’d been in New York for more than two years and hadn’t made a single real friend. That was a sad realization. But it was too late to change anything now. So instead, he lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, regretting the things he hadn’t done and preparing himself for the inevitable.

The waiting quickly became unbearable, however. He desperately wanted to slip into a peaceful sleep so he wouldn’t have to think about what was happening to him, but every time he closed his eyes, visions of the orderlies coming to take his decaying body away for disposal while he was still alive made him jerk awake. So instead, all he did was lie there and wait for his body to slowly die around him. He lifted his arm, cringing at the blackened skin. Shit, he looked horrible. Like he was rotting from the inside out. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost midnight. If the doctors were right, it wouldn’t be too much longer. At least he wasn’t in pain. He was thankful for that.

By five the next morning, however, he was still alive and kicking, even though the doctors couldn’t find a heartbeat. That disturbed Drake, but not as much as learning his face was now as black and disgusting as the rest of his body. He knew it was bad when a cute, blonde nurse took one look at him and ran out of the room with her hand over her mouth as if she was going to be sick. Shit. Okay, he’d had enough. As much as he didn’t want to die, he wished his body would get it over with already.

But two hours later, whatever disease had stricken him disappeared in the span of a few minutes and his skin returned to its normal, healthy color. When the doctors came in to check on him, though, they were even more alarmed than before. Apparently, they could understand a person dying from some exotic, unknown disease, but they couldn’t puzzle out how he’d made such a miraculous recovery.

They wanted to keep him for observation so they could run more tests and call in more experts, but Drake shook his head.

“No way,” he said. “I’ve been poked and prodded enough.”

“I’m sure you have,” Dr. Meredith said. “But you really should stay so we can do some more tests.”

Drake folded his arms across his chest and fixed the man with a hard look. “Am I contagious?”

“No, we don’t think so, but—”

“Then I’m leaving.”

Effectively putting an end to the conversation, Drake got dressed and went back to his office at Graystone and Burke. To his surprise, no one at the investment firm even noticed he’d left early the day before.

“Your suit is wrinkled,” was all his secretary said before she went over his calendar for the day.

Determined to forget the horrific episode ever happened, Drake buried himself in his work. Four days later, however, the skin on his right leg started to tingle during a meeting with some extremely wealthy investors from South America. He discreetly pulled up the cuff of his pant leg and was horrified to see the skin was a sickly grayish color. His pulse started to race. Shit, it was happening again.

Walking out right in the middle of the meeting, he jumped in a cab and headed to the emergency room again. By the time he got there, his whole leg was black. The color spread over half his body within a few hours and the doctors still couldn’t figure out what was causing it. They took a hundred blood samples and performed every test they could think of, then called in their colleagues from other parts of the city to take part in the circus that was becoming his life. Somewhere along the way, they had stopped treating him like a person. Instead, he was just some curiosity to oooh and aaah over. He felt like a fucking sideshow attraction.

That night, as if by magic, the strange discoloration disappeared of its own accord just as it had the first time. Drake left the hospital the moment he was back to normal. In the cab ride to his loft in the Financial District, he promised himself if it happened again, he wasn’t going back to the emergency room—no matter how disgusting he looked. The doctors couldn’t do anything to help him and seeing the look of revulsion on their faces was worse than his fear of whatever disease he had contracted.

Things went steadily downhill in the weeks after that. He had to leave work whenever the condition flared up, which happened frequently and without warning. Sometimes it lasted a few hours, other times it lasted for days. Sometimes the discoloration affected only a small part of his body, other times it covered him from head to foot and got so nasty it was hard to even look at himself in the mirror. Since he’d decided not to go back to the hospital, he had no choice but to lock himself in his overpriced loft each time and pray it would go away as it had before.

He missed a lot of work because of his condition and after two months of unexplained absences for which he couldn’t even give them proof he was sick since he wouldn’t go back to the hospital, his superiors at Graystone and Burke finally had enough and fired him. The way they figured it, if he wasn’t in his office, he wasn’t making them money, and if he wasn’t making them money, he wasn’t of any use to them. Drake supposed he couldn’t blame them. If he were in charge, he’d fire his ass, too.

For the first few weeks after getting canned from Graystone and Burke, Drake hid in his loft, afraid to even go to the coffee shop down the street for fear he’d turn gray and moldy. There were some days he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go on living, much less get out of bed. But he was too much of a coward to end it.

The worst part was going without female companionship. Oh, who the hell was he kidding? The worst part was going without sex. He was used to sleeping with three or four different women a week and being forced to go cold turkey was absolute hell. But as much as he hated going without sex, he couldn’t take the chance he’d turn right in the middle of a sack session.

After a month of staring blankly at the television, drinking way too much and living like a pig, he finally pulled out of his funk and convinced himself he had to at least try to beat whatever it was that had taken over his life.

The first thing he did was research his condition on the internet. To his consternation, he couldn’t find anything even remotely close to his kind of problem. Apparently, he was the only person in the world—or at least the only one with an internet connection—who had an issue with random parts of his body dying whenever they felt like it. Next he joined several medical chat loops, but he didn’t learn anything from those, either. When he described his condition to the medical personnel hosting the sites, they thought he was making the whole thing up and insisted what he was talking about was medically impossible. Then they accused him of trying to get attention and banned him from their groups. Nothing like getting tossed from a psoriasis chat loop to make you feel good about yourself, Drake thought dryly.

Unwilling to give up, he finally looked into alternative medicine. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that over the net, which meant he had to leave his loft. That proved to be tricky, but after three months of dealing with his condition, he’d started recognizing when an episode was coming on. It was usually preceded by a mild tingling on some part of his body that slowly turned into an itch just before the skin started to discolor. Sometimes, the process could take a few hours, but never less than forty-five minutes. Which meant he had to constantly be on guard and rush back home any time he felt the slightest tingle. It was a nerve-racking way to live, but it was the only way he could get out and try to find help.

So, he waited for those periods in between episodes to visit different nontraditional medical practioners all over the city. He looked into anything and everything he’d been able to find—holistic medicine, traditional Chinese medicine, Indian Ayurveda balancing, acupuncture, acupressure, healing stones, guided imagery, even reflexology. While some of the people were probably charlatans, others seemed as if they genuinely wanted to help him. Until he went into greater detail concerning his symptoms. Then even the most compassionate ones usually threw him out. He didn’t hold it against them. He terrified himself sometimes.

Drake was walking along Flatbush Avenue through Little Haiti in Brooklyn after yet another such discouraging visit when an unusual storefront caught his attention. He couldn’t help stopping to gawk at the macabre collection of skulls, candles and eerie looking dolls in the window. The sign over the door read simply Madam Bijou’s.

He stood there a moment, debating whether to go in. What the hell? He’d tried everything else. Voodoo spells couldn’t be any crazier than holding healing crystals to his forehead.

Dimly lit, the shop smelled of burning incense inside and had just enough of a creepy vibe to make him rethink his decision. But then he remembered how desperate he was.

There wasn’t anyone at the front counter, so he wandered around looking at the various items for sale. Never having been in a Voodoo shop before, he didn’t know what to expect, but he was a little weirded out by what he saw. Damn, there was some strange shit in here. In addition to the statues and candles lining the shelves, there were colorful little bags filled with stuff that smelled dreadful, bottles of potions and oils, more incense than a drug den, rolled-up pieces of parchment claiming to bring a person their every desire, and of course the requisite Voodoo dolls.

Drake had just picked up one of the cloth dolls to take a closer look at it when a young, black girl came out from behind a curtain at the back of the shop. No more than eighteen, she had long, wavy hair and eyes so gold in color they were almost mesmerizing.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Before Drake could answer, the curtain behind her parted again and an old woman stepped out. Tall and reed thin, she reminded him of the ancient crone who’d stormed into his office so many weeks ago, except her face was less lined with wrinkles and her dark eyes were a hell of a lot more kind. Around her neck, she wore an open-work pendant shaped like a heart with one crystal in the middle of it and another dangling below.

The old woman gazed at him for so long in silence he wondered if his skin had suddenly started to turn that sickly gray color again. After a moment, she leaned close to the younger girl to whisper something in her ear. Whatever the old woman said must have taken the girl by surprise because her gold eyes widened in amazement. The old woman whispered something else to the girl then. She frowned and shook her head vigorously, but the older woman simply pointed at the curtain with a bony finger. The girl opened her mouth to argue, but snapped it shut again when the old woman gave her a stern look. Glaring at the older woman, she turned on her heel and disappeared through the curtain into the back of the shop.

Abruptly realizing he still had the Voodoo doll in his hand, Drake quickly set it down on the table. He didn’t want the woman thinking he was interested in buying it.

The old woman turned to regard him with shrewd eyes. “Someone done be puttin’ a bad hate on you, boy. Got you livin’ near the Other Side, boy. What di’ you be doin’ to earn tha’ hate?”

The knowing look in her dark eyes chilled him almost as much as her words and he couldn’t suppress a shiver. “This was a mistake,” he mumbled.

Eager to get out of there as fast as he could, he turned to go, but her next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Where you be goin’, dead boy? You got someplace you dyin’ to be?”

She laughed as if she found her own words hilarious. Her cackle made him think she might be insane, but after what she said, it was impossible for him to simply walk out. His heart pounded at the possibility someone might actually know what was happening to him.

He walked back over to where she stood. “You know what’s wrong with me, don’t you?”

She inclined her head, but said nothing.

“Can you help me?” he asked.

She regarded him in silence for what seemed like ages before slowly circling him. When she came to a stop in front of him again, her eyes were filled with sadness.

“I can’t help you, boy,” she said. “Only you can do tha’. Who you wronged so bad, anyway?”

Drake was taken aback by the question. “I haven’t wronged anyone.”

The old shopkeeper lifted a brow. “No?” Grabbing a shiny, black box from the counter beside her, she opened it and shoved it under his nose. “You ever smell tha’ before, dead boy?”

He started to push her hand away, only to stop when an odor caught his nose. The powder smelled exactly like the dirt that crazy old bat had thrown at him in his office. That was one smell he would never forget.

“No need to be sayin’ yes, boy. Old Bijou be seein’ it in your eyes.”

She didn’t wait for him to confirm or deny it, but shambled over to the door and flipped the sign on it from Come In, We’re Open! to Sorry, We’re Closed, then slowly made her way to the far side of the shop.

“Come with me, boy. Come with me.”

Drake hesitated, but in the end, his need for answers outweighed his trepidation and he followed her into a small room off the main part of the shop. There was a tiny table with two chairs inside and she gestured for him to sit. As she closed the door behind them, he looked around the room and saw that it was lined floor to ceiling with shelves filled with hundreds of boxes similar to the one she held.

Once seated across from him, the old woman set down the small box on the table between them.

“I’ve smelled that powder before,” he said. “What is it, poison of some kind?”

The old woman shook her head. “No, boy, tha’ no be poison. Though there be poison in it. Tha’ be the ashes from a dead man’s grave. And not just any man—a man hung by the neck until dead. Tha’ be powerful Voodoo magic, dead boy.”

He stiffened. “Voodoo magic? You’re kidding, right? And why do you keep calling me ‘dead boy’?”

She shrugged. “It’s wha’ you be, boy. Dead, black and rotting. Not everyone can see it right now, but old Bijou can see it. Can’t nobody hide nothin’ from me.”

Drake felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut. Dead, black and rotting. Some of the doctors at the hospital had used those same words to describe him when they’d thought he couldn’t hear them. Even though his skin wasn’t that sickly grayish black color at that precise moment, somehow the old shopkeeper knew.

“What’s happening to me?” he asked.

“You be cursed, boy. A bokor put a powerful strong curse on you, stronger than even old Bijou could be puttin’ on ya.”

“A bokor?”

“A Voodoo priest who practices both good and dark magic.”

Drake almost laughed at how insane it sounded. A curse. Voodoo magic. It had to be a joke. But then the old shopkeeper went into great detail about what had been happening to him and she was correct about all of it, right down to the decaying skin. Though he wasn’t sure whether to believe her about the curse or not, he found himself telling her about the crazy woman who had come to his office.

When he was finished, the old shopkeeper nodded. “Female bokors are few, but this one gotcha good, didn’t she, boy? You must have done somethin’ dreadful bad.”

He clenched his jaw. The bitch had gotten him good, all right. “Can you make it stop? Can you cure me?”

The old woman shook her head. “A curse like the one put on you is a punishment for wha’ you did, boy. Only the bokor who pu’ it on you can take it off. You will have to find her if you want to be normal again. Perhaps she will remove the curse for the right price.”

Drake let out a snort. If the old bat had gone to all the trouble to punish him for what he’d done to Cia, he seriously doubted she would remove the curse just because he gave her some money. Even if he could find her.

Thanking the old woman for her help, Drake got up to leave. At the door, however, he stopped to give the shopkeeper a curious look.

“Is there a name for what she turned me into?”

“Does it matter what the name is, boy?”

He had his suspicions since she told him about the curse the bokor had put on him, but he needed her to confirm it. He needed to be sure. “Yes. I don’t know why, but it does. What am I?”

The old woman regarded him in silence before letting out a heavy sigh. “In my home of Haiti, you would be called les morts qui marchent, the dead tha’ walk.”

His brow furrowed. “You mean like a…zombie?”

She nodded sadly. “Yes, I think tha’ is what they would call you here.”

Drake swallowed hard, suddenly unable to take a breath. A zombie. How the hell was he supposed to live the rest of his life as a zombie?

Chapter One

Eight Years Later

“Do you think he wears boxers or briefs?”

Simone Kent looked up from the salad she was absently pushing around on the plate to see her friend pursing her lips thoughtfully as she eyed their good-looking waiter.

“Then again,” the other woman added, “as tight as those jeans are, he probably has to go commando. And with a body like his, isn’t that a damn fine visual?”

Simone took a closer look at the blond-haired man standing on the other side of the restaurant, letting her gaze run over his long legs and tight butt as he wrote something down on his order pad. He did have a great body and normally she would love debating his choice of underwear with Megan, but right now she was too preoccupied with other things.

When Simone didn’t say anything, her friend turned to her in exasperation. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you? Don’t bother to deny it because I can see it on your face. What’s wrong? Spill it.”

Simone chewed on her lower lip as she tried to decide whether to confide in the other woman. With her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail and a sprinkling of sun-drenched freckles across her nose, Megan Elliott looked more like a California surfer woman than one of New York’s top literary agents. Simone had been damn lucky to get someone so sought after to represent her when she was first starting out as a writer and the two of them had been friends ever since. If Simone couldn’t talk to Megan about her problems, whom could she talk to?

She set down her fork with a sigh. “I’ve sort of hit a snag with this new book I’m working on.”

Megan looked at Simone over her glass of iced tea, her eyes narrowing. “What kind of snag?”

She gave Megan a sheepish look. “The I-don’t-know-where-to-go-next-with-the-story kind of snag.”

Her friend set down the glass on the table so hard some of the iced tea splashed onto her hand. “Please tell me you’re joking. You’re supposed to get the rough draft to Carrington in a few weeks.”

“I know, I know,” Simone muttered. “But I haven’t written more than a page in over a month. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve written twenty or thirty pages, but they were such crap that I deleted them.”

Megan covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God. How can this be happening? You’ve had eight books on the bestseller list. Writer’s block doesn’t happen to authors like you.”

Simone slumped back in her seat and folded her arms. She never thought it would happen to her, either. Writing had always come easily. In fact, she’d been knocking out two books a year for the past five years like some sort of machine. She usually had a dozen different story lines running through her head at any one time. Now there was nothing. It was as if she had run out of ideas.

“Well, it’s happening to me now,” she mumbled.

Megan lifted her head to fix Simone with a determined look. “Okay, let’s just relax. We can work through this. First, tell me exactly what’s going on. Where are you in the book?”

Simone picked up her fork again and distractedly pushed a cherry tomato around on the plate. “I’m stuck in the middle of chapter two. The hero and heroine have bumped into each other at a coffee shop a couple of times, and while there’s some obvious chemistry between them, I can’t figure out where to go from there. Should he ask her out on a date? Should she ask him? Or should they show up at a crowded restaurant at the same time and decide to share a table because the place is full?”

Just talking about how stuck she was made her blood pressure rise and she stabbed viciously at the cherry tomato. Damn, this was so frustrating.

“Wait a minute. I’m missing something here,” Megan said. “How can you have a problem figuring out where to go when you’re working from an outline?”

Simone popped the tomato in her mouth instead of answering. She’d been hoping Megan wouldn’t bring up the outline. She really didn’t want to admit she’d scrapped it. From the way her friend was looking at her, though, Simone knew there was no way around it. She could keep shoving salad in her face all day, but sooner or later, she was going to have to answer Megan’s question.

Deciding it was better to just get it over with, Simone took a sip of water and swallowed the last of the tomato. “I couldn’t make the outline work, so I junked it. I figured I’d just wing it on this one.”

Megan stared at her as if she had announced she was going to give up writing romance books and become a nun. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my writer? Simone Kent has worked from a detailed outline for every single book she’s ever written. Why would she change now?”

Simone shrugged. “Because the outline was crap. I read it over when I got done with it and realized it looked exactly like the last book I wrote. I tried to change it up, but then it stopped making any sense at all, so I just went ahead and scrapped it. I figured as long as I’ve been writing, I’d be able to come up with a story on the fly, but it isn’t working. I’m thinking maybe I should just forget about what I’ve got and start from scratch.”

Megan held up her hand. “Whoa, wait a minute. Don’t you think that’s kind of extreme? Especially since you have a deadline coming up. Have you talked to your editor about this? Surely she can give you one or two hints to get you back on track.”

Simone absently fingered the design on her water glass. “I’m not sure if one or two hints are going to be enough. Not that it matters because Rebecca just went on maternity leave. And before you ask, yes, they did assign me to another editor, but I really don’t want our first conversation to be, Hello, I’m Simone Kent and I’ve forgotten how to write. Nothing like coming across as an incompetent idiot to someone you don’t even know.”

“Hmm, good point.” Megan regarded Simone thoughtfully. “Maybe you just need to focus on something else for a while.”

Simone eyed her warily. She was almost afraid to ask what her agent meant. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying you need a distraction. Something to relax you and get those writing pathways cleared.”

Simone was really worried now. God, she hoped Megan didn’t suggest something really strange, like going to one of those fancy spas in California and getting a seaweed wrap or something equally freaky because that wasn’t happening.

“What kind of distraction?” she asked hesitantly.

“A tall, dark and handsome one.” Her friend grinned. “Or a tall, blond and handsome one. Like our waiter.”

She should have known. Megan couldn’t go half an hour without thinking, saying or doing something sexual. Sometimes Simone thought the other woman should be a romance writer instead of a literary agent. But at least Megan hadn’t suggested she get a seaweed wrap. Her answer was still the same, though.

“No.”

Megan frowned. “Why not? He’s cute and he’s not wearing a wedding ring.” She glanced over at him, then back at Simone. “Oh, by the way, he’s coming over here. Now’s your chance.”

Simone looked up just as their waiter appeared beside the table. He grinned, flashing her a pair of sexy dimples. He was awfully cute. And he was eyeing her as if he might be interested. Any other day, she would have flirted right back at him, but she was too hung up on her book to even consider jumping in the sack with some guy.

“Anything else I can get for you ladies this afternoon?” he asked.

Across from Simone, Megan lifted a brow, her dark eyes teasing.

Simone smiled up at the waiter. “Just the check, thanks.”

He winked at her. “Sure thing.”

Megan looked at her incredulously as he walked away. “Why didn’t you ask for his phone number? He’s obviously into you.”

“If he can’t help me with my book, I’m not interested in him or his phone number.” Simone sighed. “I know you’re just trying to help, Megan, but the only guy I want to get to know better right now is the hero in my story. So, unless you have his number, you can just forget about hooking me up with anyone.”

Megan drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully before finally picking up her handbag. Unzipping it, she dug through it for a moment before coming up with a metal business card holder. She opened the lid and pulled out a card, then held it out to Simone.

“Normally, I’d never even consider suggesting this to you unless it was an emergency, but I think this definitely qualifies.”

Simone took the card and eyed it curiously.

Drake Parrish

Consulting Editor

Drake312@yahoo.com

She frowned. “A consulting editor? What the heck is that?”

The other woman blinked. “I can’t believe you’ve been writing for five years and you don’t know what a consulting editor is. It’s an independent editor who helps writers polish their manuscripts for publication.”

“I think I have a long way to go before I have to worry about polishing my book.”

“I know that. But sometimes they do more than just polish a manuscript. They do everything from a simple grammar edit all the way up to a complete rewrite when the author isn’t proficient at writing—like an actor or an athlete.”

Simone looked at her aghast. “You’re kidding, right? Why would someone do all that work and not want any of the credit?”

“The usual reason—money. We keep Drake on retainer for situations just like yours. He’s an expert at getting writers out of tight spots.”

“He? You want a man to help me write a romance book?”

“Why not? Don’t be so sexist. He’s helped a lot of other romance authors I work with. Not only can he repair plotlines and revamp screwed-up characters, but I’ve even had writers ask him to add some fire to a sex scene when there’s just no heat there.” She pressed her hand to her heart and sighed theatrically. “And woman, let me tell you, he’s so romantic, he’ll make you cry.”

“A guy who’s romantic?” Simone laughed. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

Megan scowled at her. “I’m serious. Drake is without a doubt the best consulting editor in the business. You’re damn lucky Hewitt has him under an exclusive contract. We have to beat the other agencies off with a stick sometimes. I’m telling you, he can work absolute magic with a romance story. Your little problem will be a piece of cake for him.”

Simone’s brow furrowed. “Megan, it sounds to me as if these consulting editors are for writers who don’t know how to write. I know how to write. I’m just having a little problem doing it at the moment.”

“I know you can write. You’re a great writer. But right now, you’re in a funk and the best way to get yourself out of it is to ask for help from someone who specializes in getting writers back on track. There’s no shame in asking for help now and then, you know.”

Simone chewed on her lower lip as she considered that. She didn’t mind asking for help when it came to other things, but asking for help with her writing was like admitting she was a failure. She was so desperate right now, though, she’d be willing to try almost anything.

She glanced down at the business card, then back at Megan. “So, what’s this consulting editor of yours like?”

The blonde sipped her iced tea. “I’ve only spoken to him through email, but he seems very nice.”

Simone didn’t like the sound of that. “You want me to pour out my literary soul to a guy you’ve never even met?”

“No one at Hewitt has met him,” Megan protested. “But from what the other writers have told me, he’s very easy to work with.”

Simone’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, no one’s met him?”

Megan shrugged. “A lot of consulting editors work from home. For all I know, he lives in Montana. Besides, what do you care what he’s like? It’s not as if you’re going to hook up with him.”

That was true, but she still didn’t know if she’d be comfortable talking to a complete stranger about her book. “I know you’re trying to help, Megan, but I’m just not sure if a consulting editor is for me. I’d feel as if I was cheating my readers somehow.”

Megan looked as if she wanted to press the issue, but to Simone’s relief, she nodded. “Okay. I suppose I can understand. I’m not going to force you into working with Drake if you don’t want to. But at least hold onto his card. That way, you can email him if you need to. Just keep in mind that no one at your publisher ever has to know he helped you.”

But she would know, Simone thought. Before she could say as much to Megan, however, the waiter came by with their check. Grabbing her purse from the chair next to hers, she pulled out her wallet and tucked Drake Parrish’s business card inside, then pulled out her credit card.

Megan shook her head. “You paid for lunch last time we went out. My turn to pick up the tab. Besides, this was a working lunch.”

Simone wanted to protest, especially since she only ate half the salad she’d ordered, but after years of going out to restaurants and nightclubs with the other woman, she knew it would be useless. In the end, Megan would insist on paying anyway.

“Want to share a cab?” her friend asked as they stepped out onto the busy sidewalk a few minutes later.

Simone reached up to tuck her long, dark hair behind her ear as the afternoon breeze swirled it around her face. The warm spring weather was a welcome change after the bitterly cold, snowy winter the city had seen. Squinting in the bright sunlight, she took her sunglasses off the top of her head and slipped them on.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll walk. If I’m lucky, maybe I can come up with some ideas before I get home.”

Megan frowned as she hailed a cab. “Don’t forget what I said about Drake. It doesn’t make you any less of a writer if you ask for his help.”

Simone didn’t agree with her friend on that, but didn’t argue.

The cab Megan hailed pulled up to the curb and she hurried forward to open the door. “I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing on your book. I bet you’ll already be back on track by then.”

Simone wasn’t so sure, but she merely gave her friend a wave, then fell into step with the rest of the people heading down Broadway toward the Theater District. As she crossed over 74th Street, she mentally went over what she’d written of the story so far. The heroine was a corporate attorney whose love life had taken a backseat to her career and the hero was a gorgeous guy she had run into a few times at the shop where she stopped to get coffee every morning. While that was a great start, Simone had to come up with something else to bring them together. Unfortunately, she had no idea what that “something else” was. Hell, she didn’t even know what the hero did for a living. Then again, if she did, she would have been halfway through the rough draft by now.

Simone’s hand tightened reflexively on the strap of her shoulder bag as she turned down 72nd Street. What if she was done as a romance writer? What if she’d run out of ideas and never wrote another book again? What if her publisher decided to use one of those ghostwriters like Drake Parrish to author books in her name from now on? The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She loved writing with a passion. It was her life. She couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else.

Drama queen, she thought as she crossed the street to avoid the construction being done on the sidewalk ahead of her. Every author experienced writer’s block once in a while. It came with the job. She’d work through this dry spell, she told herself as she pushed open the door of her brownstone apartment building, and when the book ended up being another bestseller, she’d laugh at how foolish she’d been to think she was washed up.

Walking over to the row of mailboxes on the wall, Simone unlocked hers and took out the stack of mail inside. She thumbed through it to see if there was something interesting in the pile and was just about to pull out the latest Victoria’s Secret catalog when she heard someone thumping down the steps behind her. She knew without even looking that it was Emily Holden, the elderly woman who lived three doors down from her on the fourth floor. For some reason Simone couldn’t fathom, the woman wore heavy hiking boots year-round, regardless of the outside temperature. At least Simone could always hear her coming.

Simone quickly tried to cover up the lingerie catalog with the other mail, but it was too late.

“Don’t tell me you’re looking at that trashy catalog again, Simone,” the woman reprimanded in a deep, gravelly voice. “Didn’t I tell you only harlots wear clothes like that?”

Simone bit her tongue and forced herself to smile. “Yes, you did, Miss Holden. But remember, I just get this for research purposes.” She’d given that excuse to the woman several times over the years and hadn’t budged since.

Emily Holden let out a loud “humph” as she opened her mailbox and pulled out its contents. Simone’s eyes widened. Was that a Field & Stream magazine? What kind of old woman read a magazine like that? Obviously the same kind who wore hiking boots.

Simone was about to tell the woman to have a nice day and make a quick escape when Emily Holden snapped her mailbox shut and fixed her with a penetrating look.

“Have you started that western I suggested to you a couple of months ago? You know, the one about the rancher and the schoolmarm?”

Simone stifled a groan. “I’m working on it.”

The old woman’s mouth tightened. “Well, I should hope so. I’m telling you, books have gone to hell in a handbag since Louis L’amour died. If you wrote stories like he did instead of that pornography you’re always putting out, I might actually read it. And you might actually get a man, too, if you could talk about something they’re interested in instead of all that sex.”

Simone wondered if that’s why the woman was reading Field & Stream. She wanted to point out that on the average men thought about sex every fifteen seconds, but decided she should probably just keep that to herself. Smile pasted on her face, she slowly backed toward the stairs.

“I promise you’ll be the first to know when I’m done with that western. Have a nice day, Miss Holden.”

Whirling around, she darted up the stairs before the older woman could stop her. Holding the mail in one hand, Simone used the other to dig in her purse for her keys as she hurried up to the fourth floor. A low-rise walk-up, the building was old and small, but the apartments in it were cozy and well maintained. Simone had been thrilled to find something so affordable on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. It was rent controlled, too, which was a big plus.

Once inside her apartment, she set down the mail on the small table in the entryway, then walked through the living room and into her bedroom. If she wanted to get any writing done, she needed to change out of the jeans she was wearing and put on something more comfortable. Like her usual pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. Being able to wear whatever she wanted was one of the things she liked best about being a writer. Every day was casual Friday. As she pushed down her jeans and stepped out of them, she had a crazy urge to throw on a lace teddy while she wrote her “pornography” just to spite Emily Holden, but thought better of it. Shorts and a tank top would work fine.

Ten minutes later, Simone was curled up on the couch with her laptop and a bottle of flavored water, determined to get something down on paper. After writing and deleting one line of text after another for almost three hours, however, she decided to take a break and make herself something to eat. It was a little early for dinner, but then again she hadn’t eaten much for lunch, so it wasn’t surprising she was hungry.

Throwing a frozen dinner in the microwave, she set the timer and pushed the power button. While she waited for it to heat, she leaned back against the counter and flipped through the new Victoria’s Secret catalog as she mulled over different plotlines for her story. She especially liked the one in which the hero, an editor for a magazine similar to Field & Stream, was being sued by a man who had gotten a hook stuck in his face after reading an article on fly fishing. Of course, the hero would have to turn to the heroine and her legal expertise to defend him and they would fall madly in love while preparing the case. Simone made a face as she turned to the next page in the catalog. What the hell did she know about fly fishing? Nothing except that it involved wearing waders and standing thigh-high in a lake. She supposed she could always ask Emily Holden for help on the subject, but that thought wasn’t very inviting. The woman would probably want to turn it into an instruction manual.

She tossed the catalog on the counter as the microwave dinged. God, how she needed a brainstorming session with her editor. Why the heck did the woman have to go on maternity leave now?

Simone tried to come up with some other story lines while she ate dinner, but she kept coming back to the fly fishing idea. Oh, what the heck? She might as well see what she could do with it. She grabbed her laptop and started typing, letting her mind wander to see where it would lead. But after two hours and eight pages of meaningless dribble, she came to the conclusion it was never going to work. As she read over what she wrote, she realized she had the makings of a great horror story, not a romance. The vivid description of the claimant’s fly-fishing injury was just going to end up making her readers sick.

With a groan of frustration, Simone highlighted what she just wrote and hit the delete key. What the heck was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she write?

Her gaze strayed to her purse. Maybe she should take Megan’s advice and email Drake Parrish. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to rewrite her story. All she needed was a little push in the right direction. It was exactly what her regular editor would do if Simone emailed her and asked for help.

Before she could stop herself, Simone jumped up and ran into the entryway. Grabbing her purse off the table, she snatched the business card out of her wallet and went back to the couch. Putting her computer back on her lap, she pulled up her email and typed in Drake Parrish’s address, then wrote Megan Elliott of Hewitt Literary Agency Said You Could Help Me With My Book in the subject line.

Simone hesitated. She chewed on her lower lip as she considered how to describe her problem. Maybe she should simply explain it to him the same way she would if she were asking her editor at Carrington for help. Reaching up with one hand to push her hair back from her face, she sat up straighter on the couch and typed.

Drake,

I’m having a problem with the book I’m working on and my agent, Megan Elliott, suggested you might be able to help me. For some ridiculous reason, I can’t seem to figure out how to get my hero and heroine together. They’ve run into each other at a coffee shop a couple of times, but I have no idea where to go from there. I was wondering if you could give me some suggestions that would get me moving in the right direction. I’m not asking you to ghostwrite the book or anything, just give me a few ideas. If you have a minute, maybe you could take a look at the attached document and see what you think.

Thanks,

Simone

She read it over and attached the manuscript, then quickly clicked the send button before she could stop herself. Almost immediately, she regretted it. What did she expect this Drake Parrish to do, anyway? How was he supposed to come up with a story line for her characters when she couldn’t? It wasn’t as if he knew them any better than she did. And what would she do if he did come up with an idea? She’d probably have to spend the whole day trying to rewrite it to fit her style. Besides, he was a guy. No matter what Megan said, Simone found it hard to believe a man could write romance. In her experience, men had absolutely no clue about the subject.

* * * * *

“You’ve got mail!”

Standing on the terrace of his Upper East Side apartment, Drake Parrish ignored the voice coming from his laptop and took another swallow of bourbon. He should figure out how to shut the damn thing up so it wouldn’t bug him every time an email came in. On second thought, maybe not. His email was one of the few connections he had to the outside world. Every time he heard those stupid words, he found himself perking up like freakin’ Pavlov’s dog. Man, that was sad.

Of course, the computer wasn’t his only form of contact with other human beings. He usually said a couple words to the delivery people from the take-out restaurants and local grocery stores. He even talked to some of his clients on the phone once or twice a month. And then there was his friend, Beck. Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a social life compared to most, but it was something.

He took another swallow of whiskey and looked out at the Manhattan skyline. His apartment overlooked Central Park and from where he stood he could see the glow of Times Square. God, it had been a long time since he’d been down to that part of the city. He wondered how much it had changed.

Letting out a sigh, he rested his forearms on the railing and gazed down at the busy street below. Even though it was well after midnight, there were still a lot of people out and about. Then again, this was New York. There were always people out and about. He shook his head. Hard to believe that in a city so crowded, he could sometimes feel so alone.

Inside the living room, the computer chimed again. “You’ve got mail!”

Drake groaned. He wasn’t sure how it could be possible, but the voice sounded more insistent than it had the first time. Sometimes he wondered if he might actually be going insane when he thought stuff like that. It was an animated voice. It wasn’t being insistent. His computer could give a rat’s ass if he ever answered his email.

“Stop thinking so damn much, get off your ass and go read your email,” he muttered.

Downing the last of the bourbon, Drake went into his apartment and walked across the living room to the counter that separated it from the kitchen. Grabbing the bottle of bourbon there, he poured himself another drink. He started to set the bottle down on the granite countertop again, but then changed his mind and put it with the other alcohol in the cabinet below instead. He’d set a two drink limit years ago. It was never a good idea for a guy like him to get too drunk or too depressed. That was all this city needed—a drunk, depressed zombie.

Picking up the glass, he crossed the living room to the big desk by the window that overlooked the park. A lot of people would kill for a view like the one he had, but he’d give it up in a second just for the chance to be normal again.

Drake firmly pushed those dismal thoughts aside as he sat down in front of his laptop and pulled up his email. While it loaded, he considered the idea of going out for a walk later that night. Thanks to the curse the Voodoo priestess put on him, he couldn’t simply go for a walk whenever he wanted. The notion of how people would react if they discovered they had a zombie living in an upscale Manhattan apartment was more than he cared to think about. They’d probably show up in the lobby with pitchforks and torches demanding the doorman drag out the beast.

That didn’t mean he never went out, of course. He just had to be very careful about when he did. He usually only left his apartment in the early morning hours when the streets were quiet and deserted. Even then, he skulked around like some deranged weirdo.

As the years went by, though, he’d gotten so paranoid he left his apartment less and less. These days, he counted himself lucky if he got out once or twice a month. He knew his fear of discovery was turning into a real phobia. Even now, just the thought of going out made his heart start to beat a little faster. What if he turned when he was on the far side of Central Park? It might be relatively deserted at that hour, but there was still a chance someone could see him. And if the curse did manifest itself, how would he get past the concierge at the desk in the lobby? The guy was asleep most of the time, but not always. Would he be able to slip past him? Drake’s hand tightened on the glass. Maybe he’d put it off for tonight.

He swore at his cowardice as he sipped his drink. He hated what the curse had turned him into, and not just on the outside, either. He never used to be afraid of anything. Risk had always been something to be calculated and accepted. Now it was something he avoided at all costs.

Drake swallowed hard. He might not like the coward he’d become, but on some level, he actually liked himself better now. He had been a money–grubbing, womanizing bastard who only cared about what he could get out of the world. Just thinking about the kind of man he’d been back then made him feel ill. He was so damn disgusted by the way he’d lived and the things he’d done, it was hard looking at himself in the mirror sometimes—even when he wasn’t a zombie. As painful as it was to admit, he had gotten exactly what he’d deserved when that old woman had cursed him for the way he had treated Cia Devereaux.

Shaking his head, he scrolled down the list of new emails. The subject line of the first one read Instruction Manual—Nelco Hair Removal System (Need ASAP!). Damn, that sounded boring as hell to read. He hated editing instruction manuals, but they helped pay the bills, so he probably should take a look at it. His finger hovered over the mouse pad, then moved to the down arrow instead. Maybe he’d leave that one for tomorrow. No one needed to read about hair removal this late at night.

Hoping the rest of his email was more interesting, he moved on to the next one. It was from a writer named Simone Kent and according to the subject line, she needed some help on a book. Now that had potential. Editing instruction manuals was more of a part-time thing anyway. The real money came from the work he did as a consulting editor for a literary agency. Editor was sort of a misnomer, though. He liked to think of himself more as a book doctor, since he did everything from giving authors ideas about where to go in their stories to rewriting whole manuscripts that just didn’t work.

He recognized Simone Kent’s name, but couldn’t place where he’d seen it. He didn’t remember ever working with an author by that name.

Drake clicked on the email and read through it. Ah, another poor author stuck in a rut. He actually enjoyed these types of jobs. Admittedly, trying to nudge a writer toward a plotline they could be comfortable with was sometimes challenging, but in a fun way. Taking another swallow of whiskey, he clicked on the attachment and started to read. A few paragraphs in, he realized why her name sounded familiar. He’d know her writing anywhere.

Getting up, he walked over to the built–in bookcase that lined one whole wall of his living room and ran his finger along the middle shelf until he came to the books he was looking for. When he found them, he pulled out one and looked at the cover. It featured a hunky bare–chested guy and a nearly naked woman in front of an exotic waterfall in some tropical setting. Across the bottom was written Hot and Heavy by Simone Kent. He should have recognized the name, considering he had every one of her books. Which he’d bought purely for research purposes when he had first started editing romance books, of course. She was a damn good writer and if he remembered correctly, a real knockout in the looks department, too.

Drake turned over the book to look at the photo on the inside back cover and let out a low whistle. She was a damn knockout all right. Not in any over-the-top, Hollywood bombshell kind of way, but in a more sensual, girl-next-door kind of way. With that long, midnight–black hair, those big, blue eyes, and full, pouty lips, she was just the kind of woman he fantasized about. God, he wouldn’t mind having a woman like her in his bed. His mouth twitched as he put the book back on the shelf. What the hell was he thinking? Considering he hadn’t had a woman in his bed in the past eight years, he definitely had no right daydreaming about one as sexy as Simone Kent. Right now, he’d be happy if his geriatric neighbor across the hall hopped in bed with him.

Going back to his desk, he sat down and pulled his laptop closer. He found it hard to believe someone as talented as Simone Kent could get writer’s block so badly she needed his help, especially since she already had a cute plotline going. He was halfway through chapter two when the story just stopped. Frowning, he checked the file to make sure it had downloaded correctly and that he’d gotten everything she’d sent. Yeah, he had the complete file. Hell, she really did need help.

Drake considered several directions the story could go in before finally deciding on one. The corner of his mouth edged up. He’d read enough of Simone’s books to get an idea of what she liked to write and since she seemed to love romantic suspense, he’d go with that.

He was just about to start typing when his cell phone rang. He glanced at it in annoyance. Since he’d become a recluse, he didn’t get many calls. Other than his editor at Money Issues magazine where he wrote a regular monthly column, a few people at Hewitt Literary Agency, and his friend Beck, no one else had his number. Which meant it was probably one of them.

Picking up his cell phone from the desk, he checked the call display to see who it was. Beck. He should have known. Who the hell else would be calling this late at night?

Beck Slaten was the private investigator he’d hired eight years ago to find the Voodoo priestess who had cursed him. He was Drake’s one and only friend, and the only person beside Madame Bijou who knew what he was.

While Beck quickly tracked Cia Devereaux to the small college in Louisiana where she’d returned to finish her senior year, he’d never been able to find the Voodoo priestess. Beck was lucky enough to get Cia to admit the woman was her grandmother and that she lived somewhere in the swamps, but to Drake’s bitter disappointment, no amount of digging on Beck’s part turned up anything else on the old woman’s location. It was as if she’d disappeared off the face of the earth.

Faced with knowing he was going to be a zombie for the rest of his life, Drake had plunged into a dark place after that. If it weren’t for Beck’s friendship, he probably would have drunk himself to death years ago—or tossed himself off his balcony. Drake wasn’t sure how the PI had known he needed a friend, but Beck came by the loft every few days to check on him. Drake hadn’t appreciated the man’s irritating habit of dumping out all his booze and shoving a heated TV dinner in front of him, but after a couple of weeks, he realized the other man’s frequent visits were the only thing keeping him going.

Drake thumbed the answer button and held the phone to his ear. “Hey, Beck.”

“Hey there, Z-Man. What do you have going on?”

Drake’s mouth twitched at the nickname. Short for Zombie-Man, it was Beck’s way of reminding him he knew what Drake was and didn’t give a shit how disgusting he looked sometimes. He was Drake’s friend, end of story.

When Beck first started coming around, Drake had been tense as hell, afraid he’d turn into the living dead in front of the guy. When he didn’t, Drake finally let himself relax a little bit and have a good time. He’d figured as long as he didn’t go zombie on Beck, everything would be fine. But then one night, he turned that ugly grayish black color right in the middle of watching a football game. Drake hadn’t even realized it until he looked down at his hand when he reached for his bottle of beer and by that time, Beck was already staring at him.

Drake waited for his friend to freak out. He sure as hell would have if Beck was the one who suddenly went all horror movie on him. Beck hadn’t freaked out, though. Instead, the other man said he knew Drake had been hiding something big from him, then joked the awful coloring was actually an improvement on his looks. Unable to help himself, Drake had laughed along with him. Relieved he finally had someone he could talk to, he told Beck everything. Drake had been so worried he’d lose the only friend he had if Beck found out his secret, but the other man couldn’t care less. There weren’t many people who could hang out with a guy who sometimes looked as if he’d been dead for a week and calmly ask if he wanted another beer.

“Not much,” Drake said in answer to the other man’s question. “Why?”

“I thought I’d stop by with some Chinese from this new place near me. The restaurant isn’t much from the outside, but I heard the food’s pretty good. You game?”

“You’re kidding, right? It’s after midnight.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just got back from this case I’ve been working and I haven’t eaten dinner yet. So, how about it?”

Even though Drake had eaten hours ago, he considered telling Beck to come on over anyway, but then he remembered Simone’s story. He really wanted to get his thoughts about her book down on paper. Now that he thought about it, Chinese take-out did sound good, though. Maybe he’d order some for a late-night snack.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” Drake said. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

On the other end of the line, Beck chuckled. “I’ll be damned. I knew if I set up that profile for you on one of those online dating sites, you’d get a woman sooner or later.”

Drake snorted. As if any woman would want to go out with him. “Real funny.”

“I think I’m going to ask for a refund, though,” Beck continued. “They guaranteed it’d only take ninety days to set you up with someone.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t really set up a profile for me at an online dating site, did you?”

“Sure I did. Though I felt obligated to point out you’re reclusive, anti-social, prone to moodiness, and get downright moldy-looking sometimes. And those are your good qualities.”

“Tell me you’re not serious.”

Beck chuckled. “No, I’m not. Now that I think about it, though, it might be a good idea. They always say there’s someone for everyone. Maybe there’s a female zombie out there looking for love. You two could get together and have zombie sex.”

Drake scowled into the phone. He didn’t even want to imagine what that would look like. “You should seek treatment for that condition of yours. You’ve got a really sick sense of humor.”

Beck just laughed. “Well, if you’re not with some hot babe, what are you doing?”

“I’m working with an author who’s having some trouble with writer’s block.”

“You don’t mean another romance book writer?” Beck sounded incredulous.

Drake knew his friend found the idea of any man, much less a zombie, editing romance books amusing as hell. In all honesty, Drake had thought it was pretty funny at first, too. When the literary agency sent him that first romance novel to edit, he took one look at it and laughed his ass off. If there was one person in the world who shouldn’t be writing about romance, it was him. He hadn’t had a stable relationship since holding hands with Becky McKenzie on the bus in first grade. But since his next column at Money Issues magazine hadn’t been due for a week and the only other editing project he had at the time was for a boring instruction manual for a blender, he decided to give it a shot.

The book wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be and editing it had been fairly simple. Until he’d come to the part where the hero and heroine started exploring their feelings for each other. That had tripped him up for a bit. Then he came to the simple realization he could write about being in love even though he’d never been in love himself. It was simply a matter of using his imagination. And he had a good imagination.

“Yes, she’s a romance book writer and a very well-known at that. As a matter of fact, she probably makes more money than both of us combined.”

“Doesn’t say much as far as my income is concerned, but okay. Your loss, Z-Man,” Beck said. “I’ll let you know how that restaurant turns out. Catch you later.”

Drake set his cell phone down on the desk and turned his attention back to Simone’s book. Sitting back in his chair, he propped his feet up on the desk, then put his computer in his lap and started typing.

Chapter Two

Simone’s alarm clock went off at exactly eight o’clock the next morning. Groaning, she rolled over onto her back and reached out to whack the snooze button. Damn thing. It would have to wake her up right in the middle of a sexy dream and just when she’d been getting to the really good part, too. She closed her eyes, trying to remember as much of it as she could before the images completely faded from her mind. Who knew? She might be able to use it in a book. Or in a masturbation fantasy.

She played the dream over in her mind, her pussy quivering at the memory. Oh yeah, it had been a good one. Even if it had been filled with ridiculous romance book clichés.

She’d been walking along a beach in some tropical place, the surf tickling her toes, the breeze playing with her hair and swirling the dress she wore. Coming toward her on a big, black stallion was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. With his dark hair, bedroom eyes and sensuous mouth, it just so happened he bore an uncanny resemblance to the heroes in every one of her books, right down to the broad shoulders, muscular chest, rock-hard abs and long legs encased in tight-fitting pants.

As he’d brought his horse to a halt beside her in the dream, she waited breathlessly for him to do something wildly romantic—like sweep her up into his arms and make love to her right there on the horse. But as things went in dreams, the windswept beach and the hot hunk disappeared to be replaced by with a cold, dank, dimly lit stone room.

Just as she’d begun to wonder if her romantic dream had turned into a nightmare, the door on the far side of the room suddenly burst open. Her heart had raced anew at the sight of her hero’s tall, broad-shouldered form filling the doorway, a gleaming sword in his strong hand. Upon seeing him, she’d run across the small room to throw herself into his strong arms. He had saved her and now he would claim her as his own, making love to her like she’d only imagined. But just as he tilted her face up to his for that first breathtaking kiss, her dream had decided to jump again.

That time, she had found herself in a bedroom right out of an historical romance, stretched out naked on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fireplace. Her big, strong, handsome lover had been deliciously naked above her, the firelight dancing over his muscles, his big cock at full attention and ready to plunder her to the depths of her soul.

Unfortunately, that was when the alarm had gone off. No matter how long she closed her eyes and tried to escape back into the excitement of the dream as she lay in bed now, it wouldn’t work. The gorgeous hunk was gone. Damn. She couldn’t even get romance right in her dreams lately.

Simone let out a sigh. Maybe the dream was her subconscious telling her to turn her book into an historical romance. More likely, though, it was once again pointing out that her love life was awful. On some level, it was ironic the women in her books could always find the perfect man while she couldn’t find even one suitable guy in a city of eight million people. With that many options, she should have the law of averages on her side, but it never seemed to work out. Maybe she was too demanding. Or maybe Megan was right and she was a loser magnet. She’d certainly gone out with a lot of them.

First there had been Bob. She’d fallen in serious lust with the blond-haired, blue-eyed psychiatrist’s abs at first sight. It definitely hadn’t hurt he’d been really good in bed or that her parents liked the idea of her dating a doctor. Unfortunately, it turned out Bob became a psychiatrist so he could psychoanalyze himself. Between his obsessive need to work out at the exact same time every day and his urge to shower within seconds of having sex with her, she quickly came to the conclusion he needed a lot more work than she wanted to put into it. The last straw had been when he’d wanted her to play the part of his mother in a what he called a “return-to-the-womb” regression therapy session. She’d run out the door so fast she hadn’t even bothered to grab her extra toiletries from his bathroom.

After that, there had been Craig. Though not quite as good looking as Bob, at least he hadn’t been carrying around as much baggage. He’d been between jobs, though. That hadn’t been a problem in the beginning. Anyone could find themselves between jobs at any given time. It didn’t define who they were and she’d been okay with paying for their nights out. But when she stopped by his apartment one day to see how a job interview went and discovered he blew it off so he could sit in front of the television in his underwear playing video games instead, she knew it was time to dump him.

Then there had been Andrew. He was even better looking than Bob, though without those amazing abs, and he’d had a good job, too. But as usual with the men she dated, Andrew had a downside. It turned out he was still living with his mother in a tiny walk-up apartment in Brooklyn. Simone didn’t learn that little detail until he picked her up for a date one evening and casually said his mother had already made him dinner and he’d rather skip getting something to eat and go straight to the movie instead. She thought that was bad enough until he told her he couldn’t ever spend the night at her place because he didn’t want his mother to find out he wasn’t a virgin. That had been too weird for her.

And most recently, there had been Markus. He was a mystery novelist she’d met through her publicist. Good-looking and easy to hang out with, he didn’t have any of the flaws her previous boyfriends did and it seemed as if he actually had some long-term potential. After a few months, though, she figured out he was still hung up on his ex-girlfriend. At first, it was little things like taking her calls in the middle of their dates and his constant references to the way his ex-girlfriend had done something. Simone hadn’t wanted to seem jealous, so she’d put up with it, but when he started canceling dates to help his old girlfriend through a “crisis” she was having, Simone had enough. Markus tried to insist he and his ex were “just friends,” but Simone didn’t buy his crap. They were sleeping together and Simone knew it.

Those were the most memorable losers she’d gone out with, but there had been others. As she mentally ran through the list while she lay there in bed, Simone found herself wondering why she was attracted to men who were such fixer-uppers. For a change, she wanted a guy who was move-in ready, one with no baggage, no hang-ups and no ex-girlfriends. What she wanted was a guy like the heroes in her books. Of course, they had their own issues as well, but none of their problems ever seemed to get in the way of the happily ever after.

Simone groaned. Okay, that was enough worrying about her love life. She had more important things to worry about right now. Like her book. She needed to sit down with her laptop and figure out where the heck she and that damn story were going.

It had been one thing last night after hours of frustration to think some consulting editor was going to magically help her get past her writer’s block. But now in the light of a new day, she realized how foolish that was. The only way her book was going to get written was if she parked her butt down in front of the computer and started writing.

With that thought in mind, Simone threw back the blanket, got out of bed and went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. As she squeezed some scented body wash into her hand, she revisited the Field & Stream idea from the night before, wondering if she could go at it from another angle, but by the time she was done showering, she came to the conclusion that plotline was never going to work. She was all for writing cute romances, but there was nothing cute or romantic about getting sued over a fly-fishing incident.

Simone grabbed a towel and dried off, then threw on a short, terrycloth robe. Going into the kitchen, she made a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast then turned on her laptop and opened up her current work in progress. The story looked exactly as it had when she’d gone to bed. Damn. She was hoping the romance book fairy had paid her a visit last night, but no such luck.

Sitting down on the couch, she pulled up her email. There was one from her agent, along with several from her readers, as well as the usual friend requests from MySpace and Facebook, but her gaze locked on the one from Drake Parrish. He’d written back already.

Simone set the bowl of oatmeal down on the coffee table with a thump and pulled her laptop closer, eager to see if he’d given her any ideas.

Simone,

I’m glad Megan recommended me to you. I took a look at what you have so far and I think you’ve got some really interesting main characters. How do you feel about turning it into a romantic suspense? See what you think of the attached plotline. It’s not a whole story line, just some quick thoughts. We can take the book in any direction you want to go, but this might get you started.

Drake

P.S. Love your books.

Simone blinked in surprise at that last part. He loved her books? A compliment like that from another author was always incredibly flattering—even if it did come from a guy who made his living writing under other people’s names. She clicked on the attachment and waited impatiently for Word to open the file. Romantic suspense, huh? That definitely sounded like it had possibilities.

When the document came up a moment later, she was astounded to see the plotline was five pages long. Curious, she started reading and immediately found herself nodding her head in agreement. His idea to have the hero and heroine get involved in industrial espionage was certainly better than her Field & Stream story, that was for sure. And the best part was that it wouldn’t involve any research on fly fishing, which was definitely a good thing.

But while she liked most of his suggestions, she wasn’t quite sure where he was going with some of the others and she didn’t want to start reworking the book until she clarified a few things. It would be easier if she could just chat back and forth with him like she did with her regular editor. She typed a quick email to Drake, telling him she had some questions and asking if he had Yahoo Messenger. She added her Yahoo ID, then hit the send button.

Figuring she had time to get in a yoga workout while she waited for him to get back to her, Simone quickly finished her oatmeal, then went into the bedroom to change. When she came out a few minutes later, she was surprised to see an add request from Yahoo Messenger waiting for her on the computer. Tossing her yoga mat on the floor, she hopped on the couch to approve Drake’s add request.

Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I thought I’d have to wait until you got home from work.

It only took a moment for him to reply.

I actually work from home, so I was already on the computer.

Simone lifted a brow at that.

Oh. I thought you only did editing part time.

While she waited for him to answer, she picked up the bottle of flavored water she’d grabbed when she was in the kitchen earlier and took a sip.

Nah. It’s a full-time job. You mentioned in your email you wanted to talk about the suggestions I sent you. I hope I didn’t offend you with any of my advice.

She almost laughed. Setting the bottle of water on the coffee table, she typed a reply.

No, not at all. I love what you suggested, but I’m a little confused about a few things. I just wanted to get some details from you to make sure I understand what you’re thinking. So don’t worry about offending me. Consider your advice solicited.

His answer came back immediately.

Okay, no problem. Shoot.

That had them bouncing ideas off each other for the next hour and a half. As Simone typed one reply after another, she couldn’t help thinking how much better this was than email. Not only was it more productive, but it was more fun, too. Drake was easy to chat with and he made her laugh more than once with his dry sense of humor. He wasn’t pushy about his ideas, either, which was nice. Since she’d never worked with a consulting editor before, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t much different than working with her regular editor.

Simone was in complete agreement with where he thought the story should go. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to brainstorm with him. She’d propose the start of a scene and he would immediately suggest what should come next. They went back and forth as fast as their fingers could type, and before she knew it they had an entire section outlined. Drake wasn’t all about the action, either, but was equally skilled at creating the perfect romantic scene, too. Simone actually let out a sigh when she read the part about the hero holding the heroine in his arms and promising to keep her safe while they were sitting on a bear skin rug in front of a fireplace. Megan was right—Drake was romantic as hell. Whomever his significant other was, she was a damn lucky woman.

Deciding she had enough material to do some serious writing, Simone asked Drake if he would be online for a while.

Yeah, I should be. I work from home, remember? The only time my laptop is turned off is when I burn it out.

She laughed to herself. She completely understood what it was like to have a laptop quit on her.

Good. I’m going to write the part we talked about, then I thought I’d send it to you and see what you think. If that’s okay with you?

She chewed on her lower lip as she waited for his reply. If editing was a full-time job, then he probably worked with a lot of other writers besides her. It wasn’t right for her to demand all his time like this.

I’d love to see what you come up with. Email me whenever you get finished.

Simone pulled up her book and immediately got to work. She smiled as her fingers flew over the keys. God, it felt good to be writing again. She’d been so terrified she’d never get her groove back, but the words were coming as fast and furiously as they always had.

Going back and forth between her book and Drake’s outline, Simone’s thoughts strayed to the man who had so expertly gotten her back on track. She wouldn’t have believed a man could write romance, but Drake was surprisingly good at his job. It was clear to Simone he was a guy who really understood how women thought and knew what was important to them.

As she wrote, Simone found herself wondering what Drake looked like. She liked to think he was tall, dark and sinfully handsome with a body so ripped he’d put a model on the cover of Men’s Fitness to shame, but she doubted it. More likely, he was a short, scrawny geek who spent half his time writing romance novels and the other half squinting through thick glasses at his collection of graphic novels. Ugh, that was a scary image. It was way more fun to imagine he looked like the heroes in her books.

She frowned as a thought struck her. Maybe that was part of her problem when it came to relationships. She expected every man to be like the guys in her romance novels—big, strong and handsome with a tough exterior, but with a soft, gooey sensitive side, too. Maybe she needed to accept the fact those kinds of men just didn’t exist. Telling herself she should probably keep that in mind the next time she went out with a guy, Simone forced herself to get back to work.

When she finally came up for air a few hours later, she had ten pages of perfection in front of her. At least, she thought they were pretty damn perfect. She could have kept going, but she was eager to see what Drake would think of what she’d written so far. She emailed him, then sent him a message.

I just emailed you what I’ve written so far. Let me know what you think.

As she waited for his reply, she glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was well past noon already. She’d been so wrapped up in her writing she’d lost track of time. That probably explained why her stomach was growling.

I’m going to grab something to eat. I’ll be right back.

She set the laptop on the coffee table without waiting for a reply. As she uncurled her legs from under her and got to her feet, she saw Drake’s message pop up.

I could use something to eat, too. I’m going to dig through my fridge and see what I can find. It’s a little dangerous in there, so it might take a while. Don’t rush.

Smiling, Simone started for the kitchen, but then stopped when she realized she was still wearing her workout clothes. Going into the bedroom, she exchanged her shorts and sports bra for her robe, then grabbed something to eat and went back into the living room. Making herself comfortable on the couch again, she put the computer on her lap and typed a quick note to let Drake know she was back, then took a spoonful of yogurt while she waited for him. She was surprised when he replied right away.

That was fast. Did you have something to eat already?

She took a quick scoop of yogurt, then stuck the spoon back in the container so she’d have her hands free to type.

No. I’m eating while I’m talking to you. Did you have any luck in the fridge?

He answered right back.

Some, I suppose. At least it looks edible. So, what are you having?

Her lips curved as she imagined him staring into an old plastic container trying to figure out exactly what the contents were. Leftovers weren’t really her thing. She took a sip of water, then told him what she was having.

Strawberry yogurt and a banana.

There was a moment of hesitation on his end.

Sounds healthy.

Simone laughed. Compared to what he was probably eating, anything would be healthy.

What’s wrong with healthy?

Another pause.

Nothing. I’ve just never been a yogurt kind of guy.

So what kind of guy was he? Probably the kind who ate Doritos while he typed and got the keyboard a mess. She made a face. God, she hoped not. It would totally ruin her image of him.

What are you having for lunch, then?

Chinese food left over from last night. At least I’m pretty sure it was last night. It’s hard to tell. All those containers start to look alike after a while.

She smiled as she pictured him sitting at his computer digging unidentifiable Chinese food out of a take-out carton with a pair of chopsticks. Since she was pretty sure no wife or girlfriend would let her guy keep leftovers for that long, Simone came to the conclusion Drake Parrish must be a bachelor. For some ridiculous reason, the thought pleased her.

I can’t believe you eat Chinese take-out straight from the carton.

Doesn’t everyone?

Oh yeah, he was a definitely a bachelor. She shook her head as she typed a reply.

I usually put it on a plate.

Why dirty a plate for no reason? Besides, it tastes better when you eat it out of the box. You should try it sometime.

She seriously doubted that, but she laughed anyway.

Maybe I will.

Simone ate while she waited for Drake to reply. When he did, it was to continue their conversation about food.

You like Chinese food, then?

Oh, yeah. There’s this really great place a couple blocks from my apartment called Chan Lee’s that makes the best chicken with black bean sauce.

Just thinking about it made her mouth water.

I know that place. You’re right. They do make good food. As a matter of fact, I think the stuff I’m eating might be from there. The carton isn’t marked, though, so I’m not sure.

Simone’s brow furrowed. As far as she knew, the place wasn’t a chain restaurant, which must mean Drake lived in New York. Her pulse beat a little quicker at that idea and she quickly finished her yogurt so she could ask him.

Wait a minute. Do you live in New York City?

Uh-huh. Manhattan.

Really? Me, too!

She set the empty yogurt container on the table as she waited for his reply.

You’re kidding? What are the chances of that?

She sipped her water before replying.

I suppose it’s true what they say about it being a small world. What other restaurants do you like to go to? There’s this fantastic Italian place over on 49th that has the most delicious fettuccine alfredo.

Her mouth watered again as she typed the words. She smiled as she waited for his reply. All this talk about food was making her hungry and she’d just eaten.

I know it. I haven’t been there in a while, though. I work late a lot, so I usually only get stuff from places that deliver.

She knew the feeling. She worked long hours as well, thanks mostly to self-imposed deadlines. She shifted the computer on her lap and typed a reply.

I get take-out a lot, too. It’s one of the best things about living in New York. You can pretty much have anything delivered right to your door.

Don’t I know it. I always thought it was nice to have everything nearby so I could just go out and get whatever I needed whenever I needed it.

Even though he couldn’t see her over the computer, she found herself nodding in agreement.

That’s true. Where else could you run down to the corner store in the middle of the night and pick up twenty different varieties of coffee, right? Speaking of coffee, since we both live in Manhattan, we should get together and have a cup sometime.

Simone expected Drake to reply back right away and when he didn’t, she wondered if her Yahoo Messenger had accidentally logged her off. She was just about to check her internet connection when Drake’s reply popped up on the screen.

Thanks for the offer, but I’m kind of bogged down with work right now.

Her face colored. She wasn’t sure why, but something told her the offer had made him uncomfortable. Maybe he had a rule about not meeting the authors he worked with in a social setting. She supposed she could understand that. Of course, now she felt like an idiot. She tried to cover it up the best she could.

Don’t worry about it. I completely understand. I imagine you’re swamped with all the writers who ask for your help. I bet we bug the heck out of you, too. Speaking of bugging you, have you had a chance to read over what I sent you?

Not yet. I’ll take a look at it now.

While she waited for Drake to read what she’d sent him, Simone busied herself by checking her email. She was halfway through her inbox when Drake IM’d back saying he really liked what she’d written and that he wouldn’t make any changes. The compliment made her feel ridiculously warm inside and she sat up straighter on the couch.

They talked some more about the book, discussing a secondary story line involving a few more minor characters she wanted to add. When they were done, she expected him to sign off and tell her he’d chat with her later. To her surprise, though, he kept the conversation going by asking which part of Manhattan she lived in.

Simone couldn’t believe it, but between discussing her book and talking about living on the Upper West Side, they ended up chatting for hours. She didn’t realize how late it was getting until the afternoon sun threw shadows across her living room. Oh, crap. She was supposed to meet up with Megan and some other writers for dinner.

With a sigh, Simone reluctantly told Drake she needed to be going. She was just about to log off out when she impulsively added,

My offer to have coffee together sometime is still good. No pressure, though. If you feel like going out, just let me know.

Drake’s reply was just as noncommittal as before, but she didn’t let it bother her.

No big deal. If you change your mind, just IM me. Thanks for all the help on the book. I’m going to work on it some more tonight, so I’ll send it to you in the morning.

Drake said that sounded good to him and told her to have a good night. Simone told him to do the same, then added a yellow smiley face before signing off. She really hoped he changed his mind about meeting her for coffee. She had the feeling they’d hit it off as well in person as they did on the net.

Chapter Three

Drake stared at the last part of Simone’s message. He couldn’t believe she’d asked him out for coffee. Twice. He almost agreed the first time. Luckily, common sense took over and he successfully managed to sidestep the issue. It’d been harder the second time. He hadn’t done anything as simple as have coffee with a member of the opposite sex, much less go on a date with a woman, since that old bat had cursed him eight years ago. Of all the things he missed most about his old life, the simple pleasure of being around a woman had to top the list. Hanging out with Beck might be enough to keep him from going insane, but it couldn’t replace the need for female companionship. Chatting back and forth with Simone on IM was so amazing, he almost forgot what he was for a moment. He was half a second away from agreeing to go out with her—for coffee or anything else she might want to do—when he remembered he was a zombie.

Shit. Sipping lattes just wasn’t the same when the guy across from you could go from normal to looking like a rotting corpse at any minute.

He was so busy alternately feeling sorry for himself and damning the old Voodoo priestess to the darkest reaches of hell for what she’d done to him he didn’t realize someone was at the door until whoever it was finally banged on it with their fist.

Swearing under his breath, Drake set his laptop on the desk and jogged over to the door. After a quick look through the peephole, he yanked it open.

Beck strode in, a pizza box in one hand and a stack of DVDs in the other. As he walked past him, it struck Drake for what was probably the hundredth time that Beck didn’t look anything like he thought a private investigator should. Drake always pictured PIs as either short, dumpy guys who ran around taking pictures of cheating husbands through motel windows, or as Mike Hammer wannabees complete with a trench coat and fedora. Beck looked more like an NFL linebacker or a soldier. Which wasn’t surprising considering he’d spent ten years in the Army.

“Damn, Drake,” Beck said. “You had me worried. I thought you couldn’t hear me knocking because you’d gone zombie and your ears had fallen off. Either that or your fingers had fallen off and you couldn’t open the door.” He handed the pizza to Drake. “What the hell took you so long?”

Drake scowled at the other man as he closed the door. Beck knew damn well body parts didn’t fall off when he turned into a zombie. Or at least nothing had yet.

“I was on the computer,” Drake said. He frowned as he took in the dark bruise that covered one side of Beck’s angular jaw. “What happened to your face? Trying to make me feel better by looking worse than I do?”

His friend smirked. “Good one. I got this when I was down in the islands last week. Ran into this nasty, mean-ass bastard who tried to bash my head in when I started asking him some questions he thought were too personal.”

Drake clenched his jaw. “Dammit, Beck. I’ve told you a hundred times to stop looking for that Voodoo woman.”

Beck snorted. “Get over yourself. You aren’t the only client I have, you know. I was down there with Ken and Vince, tracking down a really nasty pack of rat-human hybrids who’d stowed away on a cruise ship.”

Drake looked at him closely for a second. He knew Beck had worked with Ken Shipley and Vince Macki on a lot of strange jobs over the last few years. The two men were even more deeply involved in the occult and paranormal than Beck had become. But sometimes it was tough to know if all the stuff he claimed to be up to was real. Sure, you’d think a man who’d been turned into a part-time zombie would be open to just about any freaky thing…but…wererats? That was a tough one to swallow.

“Are you serious?”

Beck pointed at his face. “Does this look like the face of a man who could make up something like that?”

“Yeah, it does.”

Beck looked hurt. “Well, I’m not. These things have been living in the sewers of our fair city, slipping out at night for the last year or so to carry out a little B&E. Mostly jewelry and other stuff that’s easy to fence, but sometimes they even took out safes and vaults. They had a nice racket going. Probably wouldn’t have gotten caught if they hadn’t gotten greedy and grabbed something way out of their league.”

Drake raised an eyebrow. If this was a bullshit story, it was a good one. “Well, don’t leave me hanging. What did they grab?”

His friend smiled. The man loved to tell a good story. “A kid.”

Drake thought it was possible his jaw actually dropped. “They grabbed a kid? Why the hell were you and hunter pals going after them and not the regular police. Or the FBI? Isn’t kidnapping a across state lines a federal offense?”

“It would be if the kid they’d grabbed hadn’t been the child of a vampire couple.”

Now his jaw did drop. “A vampire kid?” Damn, he knew Ken and Vince got involved in some bizarre crap, but…

“Not a vampire kid—vampire parents. Completely normal kid. The rat pack thought they could grab the kid and hold her hostage down in the islands, but they didn’t count on my incredible tracking skills. We found them pretty easy. Well, it wasn’t that easy. But we got the kid back home to mommy and daddy bloodsucker.” Beck shook his head. “Got to tell you. It was weird turning a little girl over to a pair of vampires, but they were the nicest people you’d ever want to meet, and they were so emotional when they got her back that even I got a tear in my eye.”

““Vampire parents…normal kid…how is that even possible?” Drake asked.

Beck shrugged. “No idea. Vince told me it’s as rare as hen’s teeth. Like once a millennium kind of thing.”

Drake was still trying to get his head around how strange both of their worlds had become in the last eight years, when Beck thumped him on the shoulder.

“But while I was down there, I did get a lead on where this old woman of yours might be. It’ll probably be a dead end like the rest of them, but I figure it can’t hurt to check it out anyway.”

Drake groaned inwardly. He’d stopped getting his hopes up about Beck’s leads years ago. The woman didn’t want to be found, it was as simple as that. But his friend hadn’t given up the search after all these years, regardless of how many times Drake tried to dissuade him. He wasn’t going to try again. He’d just be wasting his breath.

“What movie do you want to watch first?” He held a DVD up in each hand. “Co-ed Zombies or Night of the Zombie King?”

Drake shook his head at the titles. Beck went out of his way to find the cheesiest, most low-budget movies he could and they all happened to have zombies in them. Beck must be channeling his inner Dr. Phil, figuring watching these crappy movies was some kind of exposure therapy or something. It wasn’t working. Drake was never going to be one with his inner zombie. But at least the movies were always good for a laugh. He wondered what Dr. Phil would say about a zombie thinking zombie movies were funny. Considering the zombies in the movies never seemed to have a happily ever after, he’d probably think Drake was in need of some serious therapy.

“You pick.”

Beck grinned. “Co-ed Zombies it is then.”

“How come I’ve never heard of any of these movies you bring over?” Drake asked as he went into the kitchen.

The other man looked up from loading the disc into the DVD player. “Because you haven’t been to the video store in eight years.”

There was that. Drake grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge before walking back into the living room. “So, who plays in this one?”

Beck flipped the DVD case over to read the back. “Some guy named John.”

Drake unscrewed the cap from one of the bottles and took a swallow. “John who?”

Beck looked at the DVD case again. “I don’t know. He just goes by John. You know, like Madonna.”

Oh, yeah. This was going to be good.

Actually, Drake thought as he reached for a second slice of pizza ten minutes into Co-ed Zombies, it wasn’t as bad as some of the movies Beck picked out. Not that he was paying much attention. While the cute, half-naked college girls ran from the zombies chasing them through their dorm, all he could think about was Simone Kent. He couldn’t get her invitation to have coffee out of his head.

“What’s up with you tonight?” Beck asked.

Drake glanced at the other man as he took a long swig of beer. “Nothing. Why?”

“Because you haven’t made a crack about the movie the whole time we’ve been watching it. That’s not like you.”

Drake shrugged. “That’s because it’s not as stupid as the movies you usually get.”

His friend snorted. “Yeah, right. This is Academy Award winning stuff.” He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and hit pause. “Okay, let’s have it. What the hell’s eating you?”

Drake stared at the image of the ghoulish-looking zombie lumbering after the scantily clad girl on the screen. He supposed he could lie, but why bother? Beck was the only friend he had. If he couldn’t talk to him, who could he talk to? And he really needed to talk.

“Remember that romance author I told you about last night?” he asked.

Beck nodded. “Yeah. And what? You’re bummed because she didn’t like your ideas?”

Drake set his bottle of beer down on the table. “No. We work great together.”

When he didn’t elaborate, his friend gestured in frustration. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

Drake ran his hand through his hair, then got to his feet and walked over to stand in front of the built-in bookcase. He stared at Simone’s books for several long seconds before turning to look at Beck. “I think she asked me out on a date.”

The other man frowned. “What do you mean, you think she asked you out? She did or she didn’t.”

“Well, then I guess she did. She realized I live in Manhattan like she does and she asked me to have coffee with her.”

He expected Beck to make some sarcastic remark about a woman being desperate if she wanted to have coffee with a zombie, but instead, his friend grinned so widely Drake thought he might hurt himself.

“It’s about damn time,” he said. “So, when are you going out with her?”

Drake lifted a brow. Surely his friend wasn’t serious. “What are you talking about? I’m not going out with her.”

“Why the hell not? It’s not as if you have other plans that I know of.”

Drake looked at him incredulously. “You’re joking, right? If not, let me give you a clue in case you don’t remember.”

Lifting his arms straight out in front of him, Drake let his hands hang limp, tipped his head to one side and let out a long, low moan as he stared blankly ahead.

Beck laughed. “You’re pretty good at that. You should be in movies.”

Drake straightened up and dropped his arms. “Exactly. Zombie movies. You seem to have forgotten what I am. Hell, a couple hours after I got off the phone with you last night the whole right side of my body turned the most disgusting shade of gray I’ve ever seen. Not what most women find attractive in a man.”

“Granted, but when was the last time you had an outbreak before that?”

“Outbreak?” Drake frowned. “What the hell am I? An infected monkey?”

Beck gave him an impatient look. “Episode, fit, condition—whatever the hell you call it. When was the last time?”

He didn’t see what that had to do with anything. “I don’t know. Three or four days, I think.”

The other man arched a brow. “You think? What? You just forget turning into the walking dead?”

Drake ground his jaw. “It was late Sunday night. I remember distinctly because I was watching a show on the food channel and I couldn’t help making a connection between the blackened tuna they were cooking and my—”

Beck made a face and held up a hand. “Okay, thanks for the visual, Z-Man. I don’t need to hear the rest. But you’ve made my point. Sunday night makes it a little over three days since your last attack. And if I had to hazard a guess, I’d bet it was about three days between that one and the previous one. Am I right?’

Drake shrugged. “I suppose. But it can come on any time.”

“I know, but they seem to be pretty regular these days,” Beck pointed out. “And didn’t you say you can usually feel when you’re starting to turn?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Drake agreed. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m saying that since you just went zombie last night, you should have at least two or three days free and clear.”

“So?”

Beck gave him an exasperated look. “Shit, Drake. You aren’t usually this slow. I’m suggesting you get off your occasionally dead ass and go have coffee with this writer chick of yours while you’re in between episodes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Drake scowled. “Because there’d be no point. It’s not as if I could have a relationship with her. I might be able to hide what I am in the beginning, but sooner or later she’d find out I’m a zombie.”

Beck picked up his beer and sat back, legs outstretched out in front of him. “Damn, Drake. I said you should have coffee with her, not pick out wedding invitations. As nice as this apartment is, you need to get out of here once in a while.”

“I go out,” he protested.

“Going out on the terrace doesn’t count. And neither does going for a walk in Central Park in the middle of the night. Hell, you’re practically a hermit. I mean, I know I’m a great listener, but don’t you ever want to talk to another human being besides me once in a while? It’s okay if you say you do, by the way. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

Despite his dark mood, Drake chuckled. “Sometimes.”

“Then why don’t you stop feeling sorry for yourself and go have coffee with her?”

Drake was silent. He wanted to go out with Simone, he really did, but fear held him back. “Because when it goes to crap, and it will at some point, I’ll be back in that same dark place I was all those years ago when that Voodoo priestess first cursed me. I don’t want to go there again.”

Beck sighed. “Look, I understand your concern, but you’re overthinking this. For all you know, you and this writer chick might not even hit it off. She could think you’re dry, boring and emotionally unavailable, and never want to see you again. Why don’t you just take it one step at a time and have coffee with her?”

“Emotionally unavailable?” Drake frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Damned if I know,” the other man admitted. “I read it in Cosmo.”

Drake lifted a brow. “You read Cosmo?”

“Hell, no. Someone left a copy on the plane. I didn’t have anything else to read.” When Drake gave Beck a skeptical look, he added, “Hey, you can only read the safety cards so many times. It’s not as if I have a subscription to it or anything.” He took a swig of beer, then gestured with the bottle. “Back to you and this writer chick. Are you going to take my advice or not?”

Beck made it sound so simple. But even something as normal as having a cup of coffee with Simone could be risky. He’d gotten better at recognizing when he was about to turn, but what if an episode came on suddenly, brought on by the stress of being out on a date with a woman for the first time in eight years? What if he went zombie right there in front of her? God, that was a terrifying thought.

When he pointed that out to Beck, his friend waved away his concerns.

“Easy,” the other man said. “It’s warm out, so you can wear a short-sleeve shirt, which means you’ll be able to see if anything funky is going on with your arms, and you can bring a shaving mirror to check out your face. Just keep it in your pocket and discreetly pull it out every once in a while. If you see you’re turning an unsettling shade of gray, you can bail before it gets too bad.”

Drake clenched his jaw. The PI had an answer for everything. “I don’t have a shaving mirror.”

“I’ll get you one.”

Damn, Drake thought. The guy just wouldn’t give up. He folded his arms across his chest and fixed Beck with a hard look. “Okay. Let’s say I do this. What happens if I pull out the mirror to check my face and realize I’m starting to turn that charming shade of gray you mentioned? It might be a little difficult to get a cab looking like that.”

Beck pondered that for a little while, then shrugged. “I’ll drive you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Relax, Z-Man. I don’t mean I’m going to tag along on your date.”

“It’s coffee, not a date,” Drake corrected.

“Whatever,” Beck said. “I’ll just park around the corner from the restaurant so you can make a quick getaway if you need to.”

Drake was silent as he considered that. Shit. This might actually work. It was still risky, but it might be worth it for a chance to spend an hour or two in the company of a woman as beautiful as Simone Kent. And like Beck said, his zombie episodes were pretty regular these days. He weighed his options, trying to think of things rationally, calculating the risk against the reward. Okay, there was still a chance he could go all living dead, but Beck would be just around the corner to get him out of there if he did. That had to count for something. Ultimately, though, it was the image of Simone Kent sitting across from him that decided it. A reward like that would definitely be worth some risk.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll email her later and tell her I’ll have coffee with her.”

“Why don’t you email her now?” Beck suggested. “It’s not as if the movie’s going anywhere.”

Drake threw his friend an annoyed look as Beck gestured at the laptop. “When did you become the Dr. Phil of the zombie world?”

Beck chuckled. “I’m just trying to help you out, Z-Man.”

Drake let out a snort as he sat down, then pulled up his email.

“That’s her name, Simone Kent?”

Drake looked up to discover Beck had abandoned his seat on the leather sectional and was now hovering beside the desk.

“You said she was well known,” Beck said when Drake turned his attention back to the computer instead of answering him. “I never heard of her.”

“That’s not surprising, considering you don’t read romance. But she’s had more than a few books on the bestseller list.”

“Really? Do you have any of them?”

Drake glanced at him. “If I say yes, will you stop hovering?”

“I’m not hovering. I’m making conversation.”

Drake let out another snort. “Fourth shelf down.”

To Drake’s relief, the other man walked over to check out Simone’s books. From the corner of his eye, Drake saw him pick one at random and flip through it.

“Damn,” Beck said. “You didn’t tell me she was so hot. If you’re having second thoughts about running the risk of going all zombie in front of her, let me know and I’ll have coffee with her in your place.”

Drake looked up from the email he was typing to give his friend a wry look. “Right. As if I’d subject her to your company.”

Beck put the book back on the shelf with a chuckle. “At least she wouldn’t have to worry about body parts falling off if we jumped in the sack.”

“Funny,” Drake said dryly.

The other man just laughed again and walked over to sit down on the couch. Ignoring him, Drake went back to his email. He kept it simple, telling Simone he cleared some room in his schedule and that he’d love to have coffee with her, then suggesting they get together the following day around three at a restaurant on the corner of Broadway and 85th if that was good for her. When he was done, he stared at what he’d written, wondering if he really wanted to go through with his crazy plan. He took a deep breath and clicked the send button. There, it was done.

Getting to his feet, Drake walked over to the couch and sat down, then picked up his bottle of beer. As he took a long swallow, something Beck said earlier popped into his head.

He looked at his friend. “You really don’t think I’m emotionally unavailable, do you?”

Beck didn’t respond. Instead, he shook his head, grabbed the remote off the coffee table and hit the play button. Drake barely heard the girls’ shrieks as the zombies in the movie lumbered toward them. All he could think about was that he was going to go on a date with a beautiful woman for the first time in eight years.

Chapter Four

Simone was staring at the huge pile of clothes on her bed in frustration when the doorbell rang. Tossing the flirty little slip dress she was holding on the stack of other clothing, she rushed into the living room. She was about to yank the door open when she abruptly remembered she was naked except for a satin bra and a skimpy pair of panties. She could just imagine opening the door and finding her neighbor Emily Holden on the other side. The woman would probably lecture her for an hour on how inappropriate and unladylike her choice of undergarments were. No doubt she wore thermal underwear just in case the ice age made a sudden reappearance. Cringing at the thought, Simone put her eye to the peephole and sagged with relief to see Megan standing there. Thank God.

“Okay, I’m here. What’s the emergency?” Megan asked, breezing past Simone the moment she opened the door. “And why are you half naked?”

Simone didn’t even stop long enough to answer. Instead, she swung the door closed, then hurried past the other woman on the way to the bedroom. “I’m having coffee with Drake in less than an hour and I have nothing to wear.”

Megan followed. “Drake who?”

Simone gave her friend an impatient look as she dug out a floral print sundress from the bottom of the pile of clothes and held it up. “Drake Parrish. The consulting editor you hooked me up with.”

The blonde blinked in surprise. “He lives in New York?”

Simone nodded. “Manhattan.”

The other woman’s lips curved into a smile. “That makes things more convenient. I didn’t exactly hook you two up, though. But I’m glad you’ve got a date with him.”

“It’s not a date,” Simone protested. “It’s coffee.”

“Riiiight,” Megan drawled. “And do you always put this much thought into what you wear when you meet me for coffee?”

“Of course not.” Simone tossed the dress back on the bed. “Okay, so it’s a date. Now help me find something to wear.”

The other woman grinned as she dropped her purse on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. “So, did you ask him out or did he ask you?”

Simone gave her friend a sheepish look. “I asked him.”

Megan’s smile broadened. “You go, girl!”

Even though Simone couldn’t help but laugh, she was determined to stick to the task at hand. “Right now, I’m not going anywhere unless I find something to wear.”

Her friend put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips in thought. “What about jeans? You always look great in them.”

Simone tilted her head to the side as she considered the other woman’s suggestion. She thought about wearing jeans, but while they did great things for her ass and showed off her long legs, she was concerned they might be too casual. She didn’t want to send the wrong message. When she said as much to Megan, the other woman nodded.

“On the other hand, I’m worried a dress might not be casual enough,” Simone added. “It is just coffee.”

Her friend was silent as she surveyed the mound of clothing on the bed. Simone did the same. How could she have so many clothes and yet absolutely nothing to wear? She bet Drake wasn’t spending the whole day agonizing in front of his closet. But from the minute she read his email that morning and replied back saying she’d love to meet him for coffee, it was all she did. It was a good thing she didn’t check her email before going to bed last night or she would have been up all night trying on clothes.

Simone wasn’t sure what had made Drake change his mind about going out with her, but she was glad he had. Even though they spent the better part of yesterday chatting online with each other, she was nervous about meeting him in person. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that she’d never been on a blind date before. What if they didn’t hit it off? What if there was absolutely no chemistry between them?

“How about this?”

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Simone looked at Megan to see the other woman holding up a short silk skirt and a lace-trimmed cami-top.

“If you wear low-heeled sandals, it won’t look too dressy,” Megan added. “But because the skirt is short, it’ll still show off a lot of leg. Best of both worlds.”

Simone eyed the skirt and top thoughtfully, then smiled. “Megan, you’re a genius! That’s perfect.”

Taking the skirt from her friend, Simone slipped into it while Megan sat down on the bench.

“I’m jealous, you know,” Megan said.

Simone looked at the other woman in surprise. “You are? Why?”

“Because you get to go have coffee with a hot guy like Drake Parrish while I have to spend the afternoon going through the pile of submissions on my desk.”

Simone’s brow furrowed suspiciously. “How do you know Drake is hot? I thought you said you never met him.”

“I haven’t,” Megan said. “But I’ve talked to him on the phone and his voice is sexy as sin. Honey, that man could read to me from the dictionary and have me soaking my panties.”

Simone smiled as she pulled the cami-top over her head. She’d have to remember to use that line in one of her books. “That good, huh?”

The blonde sighed. “Oh, yeah. And with a voice like that he has to be attractive.”

Simone walked into the adjoining bathroom. Picking up her brush, she ran it through her hair. “You know, just because Drake has a great voice, that doesn’t mean the rest of him is going to be just as sexy. He could be hideous.”

“He can’t be,” Megan said from the bedroom. “God wouldn’t be so cruel to my fantasies. Drake is gorgeous, I just know it.”

Simone hoped so. Unscrewing the cap from the tube of lip gloss, she ran it over her lips, then sprayed on some perfume before studying her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was light and natural, but still sexy, and the skirt and top hugged her slender curves perfectly. Satisfied with her appearance, she went back into the bedroom and groaned when she realized half the clothes in her closet were still piled on top of her bed. She started to put everything away, but Megan waved her hand.

“Don’t worry about all this. I’ll put everything away and neaten up.” Megan gave her a wink. “Just in case you decide to bring Drake back here for a some dessert and a sack session.”

Simone laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be taking part in any sack sessions on a first date.”

Her friend grinned. “You say that now, but once you find out he’s just as hot as I say he is, you might change your mind.”

Simone made no comment. She only hoped the other woman was right about Drake. She wouldn’t mind having a hot guy in her life now that she’d gotten her book on track. Going over to the dresser, she opened her jewelry box and took out a pair of oversized, hoop earrings, then slipped on a ring and a set of bangle bracelets. As she picked up her watch, she glanced at the time and was stunned to see it was almost two-thirty.

“Crap,” she muttered. “I have to go.”

Hurrying into the living room, she scooped up her purse from the couch, then started for the door. In the entryway, she stopped to turn and look at Megan.

“Are you sure you don’t mind cleaning up?”

The other woman shook her head. “Not at all. Now go or you’ll be late. And don’t forget to call me with all the details when you get home.”

“I will,” Simone promised as she yanked open the door. “And thanks!”

Once outside her apartment building, Simone stopped to look at her watch again. Okay, so she was running a few minutes later than she would have liked, but she still had twenty-five minutes to make it to the café. Though it was a beautiful day, walking so far in that amount of time was out of the question. She’d end up rushing and arriving at the restaurant all sweaty and windblown. She would have to take a cab.

Luck was with her and she ended up getting a taxi within seconds. Climbing inside, Simone leaned back in the seat gratefully. Giving the cabbie the name of the café, she took out the little hand mirror she always kept in her purse and checked her makeup.

“Got a big date?” the cabbie asked.

Simone stifled a groan. Sheesh, was it written on her forehead or something? She took out her tube of lip gloss. “No, not a date. Just meeting a friend for coffee.”

“Right.” The gray-haired cabbie laughed and glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I went on one of those not-a-dates with someone, too. Turned out to be the best not-a-date I ever had. I ended up marrying her.”

Simone ran the tube over her lips. “Uh-huh.”

As the cab pulled up in front of the restaurant, Simone reached over the seat to hand him the cab fare. “Keep the change.”

He gave her a nod. “Thank you kindly. You have fun on your not-a-date now. And order the cheesecake for dessert. They make it good here.”

She smiled and opened the door. “I’ll remember that.”

Simone stepped onto the sidewalk and slowly made her way to the hostess area at the edge of the covered patio. If Drake was already at the café waiting for her, she didn’t want to look as if she was running late. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to three. Perfect.

The red-haired hostess picked up a menu and smiled as she approached. “One?”

Simone returned the woman’s smile. “Two, actually.” She looked around the patio, but didn’t see a lone man seated at any of the tables. It would help if she knew what Drake looked like. When she’d asked him, he said since he already knew what she looked like from seeing her picture on the inside back cover of her books, he’d find her.

She turned back to the hostess. “I’m meeting someone, but I don’t know if he’s here yet.”

“Oh. Do you want to go inside and check?”

“I don’t really know what he looks like.” Simone looked sheepishly at the other woman. “It’s kind of a blind date and we’re not actually supposed to meet until three. I’m a little early.”

The redhead gave her a knowing grin as she picked up another menu. “I’ve been on a couple of blind dates myself so I know exactly how you feel. Why don’t I seat you at a table out here on the patio? That way, you can kind of check out any loner guys as they come in and head for the exit if your date ends up looking like some kind of weirdo.”

Simone laughed. “Sounds good.”

The hostess showed her to a table that gave her a great view of the entrance to the café as well as the street.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” the woman said as she handed Simone one of the menus.

The waiter came over as soon as the hostess left. He was tall and thin with curly, blond hair and glasses. He gave her a grin as he poured water into one of the glasses. “Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

Simone shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m meeting someone, so I’m going to wait until he gets here to order.”

He filled the other water glass. “My name’s Robert. Just let me know if you need anything before then.”

Simone nodded and assured him she would. As he walked off, her gaze strayed to the entrance of the restaurant. Though a lot of men walked by the café, none of them came inside. Every time a cute guy got close, she found herself wondering if he could be Drake. And every time a not so cute guy got close, she found herself hoping he wasn’t. She supposed she should stop being so shallow. There was more to a guy than a handsome face, a chiseled body and a big penis. Having a great sense of humor and the ability to carry on a meaningful conversation definitely counted for a lot. From the time she’d spent chatting with Drake on the net, she already knew he scored big in both of those areas. She was going to appreciate Drake for the person he was, no matter what he looked like. Of course, that didn’t stop her from mentally sizing up every guy who got near the hostess desk anyway.

But checking out every guy who walked by got old after a while. She glanced down at her watch and frowned when she saw it was already fifteen minutes after three. Over by the entrance, the hostess was looking at Simone as if she thought she’d been stood up. Simone was starting to think the same thing. Damn, she didn’t think Drake would do something like that. Then again, this was just another example of her bad taste in men.

Telling herself she’d give Drake another ten minutes, she picked up a menu and opened it.

Simone was just drooling over the picture of the New York style cheesecake in the desserts section when she realized someone had come up to the table. Thinking it was the waiter, she lifted her head to give him a smile. But as her gaze traveled up a pair of legs encased in tight-fitting jeans, then on to a trim waist and broad, muscular chest, she decided it definitely wasn’t the waiter.

As her gaze continued upward, she saw that the guy’s face was just as gorgeous as the rest of him. Dark hair, a wide, sensual mouth and a chiseled jaw with a slight trace of stubble had him looking as if he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ. Or one of her romance books.

Please God, let this be Drake Parrish.

“Simone?” asked the jean-clad dream.

The words were deep and velvety, and Simone let out a little sigh as they caressed her. Megan had said his voice was as sexy as sin and she was right. This was definitely Drake.

Abruptly realizing she was sitting there looking at him like a lovestruck teenager, Simone opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was gaze into those soulful brown eyes of his.

“Huh?” was all she finally managed.

He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

Simone’s eyes went wide when he started to turn away. Crap, he was leaving. “I am someone else!”

He turned back to her. “Pardon me?”

She blushed. “I mean, I’m Simone. Are you Drake?”

The corner of his mouth edged up. “That’s me.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. “I’m sorry I’m late. There was more traffic than I thought there’d be.”

Was there? Between freaking out about meeting Drake and the cabbie chewing her ear off, she hadn’t noticed much of anything on the way to the restaurant. She gave him an embarrassed smile. “To be honest, I was starting to think you’d changed your mind about coming.”

“Definitely not. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. I have to admit, I was a little nervous about meeting you, though. I’ve never been on a blind date before.”

For some reason, the fact a guy as handsome as Drake could be just as nervous about a first date as she was made Simone feel better about being anxious herself. She smiled. “Me, neither.” She would have said more, but the waiter chose that moment to appear beside their table.

“How is your book coming?” Drake asked after they ordered.

“Great now, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do much. I just gave you a nudge in the right direction.” He stirred sugar in his coffee, then picked up his cup and took a swallow. “That’s all I ever really do.”

“I think it was a little bit more than a nudge. Thanks for sparing my feelings, though.” She sipped her iced tea. “So, have you always worked as an editor?”

He set down his cup with a wry smile. “No. Actually, I used to work on Wall Street before I got into editing.”

Okay, she hadn’t expected that. “Wow. That’s a big leap, going from Wall Street to editing romance books. There’s got to be a story there.”

He shook his head. “Not much of one. I used to be a financial analyst for Graystone and Burke and just decided I needed a change.”

Simone didn’t know a lot about the world of finance, but even she’d heard of that place. “Graystone and Burke is a pretty prestigious company. What made you leave? Did you get tired of carrying your paycheck home in an armored truck?”

He chuckled. “Exactly. How’d you guess? No, I just came to the realization I didn’t like the kind of person I was turning into. I was too concerned with making money and having a corner office. It blinded me to the more important things in life, so I just up and left.”

Simone knew there was probably more to it than that, but she didn’t want to pry. It seemed like a sensitive subject for him. She sat back and studied Drake, picturing him in a suit and tie, and decided he’d look damn sexy. She was more the jeans and T-shirt kind of woman, though, so she was glad he’d left the dark side and joined the world of romance. Besides, a suit would hide way too much of that amazing body of his. Like those arms, for example. If she had her druthers, there’d be a law that said he had to keep those muscular biceps exposed at all times. She was tempted to lean over and give them a squeeze, but she resisted the urge and let her gaze wander over his broad shoulders instead. She bet the rest of him was just as ripped.

She blushed at the image of herself running her hands up and down his chest right there where everyone could see. “Well, like I said before, editing romance books is about as far as you can get from Wall Street. How did you get into it anyway?”

“Pure luck, really. I kind of just stumbled on it.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “After I left Graystone and Burke, I hung around my apartment for a few weeks wondering what I wanted to do with my life. I worked as a personal financial advisor at first, mainly because it was the only thing I knew how to do. One day, a client suggested I write an article for Money Issues, the magazine where he worked. I hadn’t done any writing since college, but I figured I’d give it a try. I thought it would be a one-time thing, but the editor liked my piece so much he gave me a regular monthly column.”

“That’s impressive. I worked for a magazine after graduating from college, so I know how hard it can be to get your own column,” Simone said. “How did you go from writing for a financial magazine to editing romance books?”

“In between writing the column, I did some editing for the magazine, too. Word got around that I was fast and easy to work with and before I knew it, I was editing everything from instruction manuals to articles in home decorating magazines.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know what a consulting editor was until one of the literary agents at Hewitt heard about me and asked me to work with a stockbroker who was writing a book. When they paired me up with my first romance writer a couple of weeks later, I almost turned them down. I mean, I’d never even read a romance book. How the heck was I supposed to edit one?”

Simone laughed. “What changed your mind?

He shrugged. “My next column wasn’t due for a while and I didn’t have anything else to edit, so I thought, why not? I had to read a few romance books to get a feel for the genre first, of course. Turns out, it was one of the best career moves I ever made.”

“Well, you’re very good at what you do.”

“Thank you.” His mouth curved. “So are you, by the way.”

The compliment warmed Simone all the way to her toes. She started to thank Drake, but got distracted by his smile. Any guy with a mouth that sensuous had to be a great kisser, she decided, and suddenly had the urge to find out what those lips of his would feel like on hers. She might actually have leaned across the table and planted one on him if he hadn’t spoken.

“So, what made you want to become a writer?”

Though it was difficult, she reluctantly forced herself to stop thinking about kissing him and focused her attention on the question instead. “I wanted to be one ever since I took creative writing in high school. Luckily, I had a great teacher who encouraged me to pursue it. She even talked me into submitting some of my short stories to a few magazines. I was thrilled when one of them actually accepted my work.”

“I can imagine,” Drake said. “I would never have had the courage to do something like that in high school.”

She doubted that. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who backed down from any challenge. She gave him a wry smile. “It wasn’t courage as much as mindless, youthful exuberance. That almost got me into trouble, though. I published one short story and was ready to forget about college altogether, sure I was going to be the next Danielle Steele. My parents weren’t quite as sure of my success, however. They talked me into going to college so I could have another career to fall back on.”

“That sounds like something parents would say.”

“I wasn’t too thrilled with their advice at the time, but I ended up going to college just to make them happy. I decided to major in journalism and English. That way I could still tell myself I was doing it so I could be a writer.”

“Your plan obviously worked.”

“Not at first. Unfortunately writing romance novels took a backseat to getting a job after graduation. I was lucky enough to get one at a cooking magazine, so at least I still did some kind of writing. But it wasn’t the same as writing romance books.”

He picked up his coffee mug. “Was it tough finding time to work on your books while you were at the magazine?”

“In the beginning. I had to start at the bottom and work my way up, which meant putting in a lot of ten-hour days and weekends for a long time. But it was worth it. After the first couple of years, my schedule wasn’t so hectic and I got back to writing. It took me a lot longer than I would have liked to finish my first book, but eventually I had a finished manuscript ready to submit to a publisher.”

“The Gamble, right?” Drake leaned back in his chair and unconsciously assuming a pose so damn sexy she wanted to take a bite out of him right there in the restaurant.

Simone stifled a groan. If she didn’t get control of herself soon, she was going to start drooling all over the table. “That’s right. Have you read it?”

“I’ve read all your books.” His mouth twitched. “Purely for research purposes, of course. You have quite the knack for writing some damn erotic sex scenes. You could probably rewrite the Kama Sutra.”

Simone’s cheeks colored. She wasn’t usually shy when it came to talking about sex scenes, but then again, she’d never discussed them with a guy as hot as Drake. “I’m not so sure about that. And for all my supposed talent, I’d still be stuck without your help.”

Drake grinned. “No one ever has to know about that. I just gave you a couple of ideas, anyway. You did all the hard work.”

She didn’t quite agree with him on that, but she didn’t argue. Laughing, she reached for her second iced tea of the afternoon only to realize the glass was empty. Even the ice cubes were gone. She glanced as casually at her watch as she could and was stunned to see it was almost five o’clock. She and Drake had been talking for almost two hours.

Afraid he might think she wanted to cut their date short if he caught her looking at her watch, Simone quickly lifted her gaze to find him looking down at his own. Or at least she thought that’s what he was doing. But when she caught a strange flash of light, she realized he wasn’t looking at his watch after all. Curious, she leaned forward a little to get a better look and was amazed to see him holding a mirror in his hand. As she watched, he moved his face from side to side ever so slightly, checking out his reflection.

She frowned. What the heck? Well, she could honestly say she’d never had a guy do anything that strange on a date before. Then again, this was New York, so she supposed she really shouldn’t be surprised. So what if he was a little vain? It wasn’t that big of a flaw really, not compared to some of the issues her other boyfriends had. And she’d said she was going to make more an effort to accept a guy for who he was, faults and all.

As he slipped the mirror in the pocket of his jeans, she leaned back in her chair to see the waiter coming over to their table, two menus in his hand.

“I thought maybe you two would like to order something to eat?”

Simone looked at Drake to find him regarding her questioningly. She wouldn’t mind spending another couple of hours losing herself in those dark eyes of his. And she was certainly hungry. “I could eat.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed.

Simone took the menu from the waiter, but barely glanced at it. Instead, she spent the time gazing at Drake over the top of it and thinking she’d much rather nibble on him than anything on the menu. But since climbing on his lap right there in the middle of the restaurant was out of the question, she settled for a basic cheeseburger instead. She’d work off the extra calories by going for a long jog in Central Park tomorrow. Or she could just lie awake all night playing with herself while she fantasized about Drake. Oh yeah, that sounded like much more fun.

Drake ordered a burger, too. While they waited for their dinner to arrive, Simone shook off her erotic fantasies and found herself telling him about what it was like growing up in Connecticut and what a change it had been to move to the big city. While he was obviously interested in what she was saying, she couldn’t help but notice he was checking her out the whole time they talked. In fact, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. That was fine with her.

As the waiter set a slice of cheesecake in front of them a little while later, Simone brought the conversation back around to Drake again, asking if he was originally from New York.

“Chicago, actually.”

“So you just moved from one big city to the next, didn’t you? What made you leave the Windy City?”

He took a forkful of cheesecake. “If you’re going to work in the world of finance, Wall Street is the place to be. Moving here made sense from a professional standpoint.”

As he went into more detail about that, Simone took another bite of cheesecake and decided she could listen to Drake’s deep, sexy voice for hours. She might have to order a second slice, calories and all, so she could do just that.

* * * * *

Drake couldn’t believe he had almost chickened out on the date. He’d made that whole thing up about getting held up in traffic. He’d actually arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. But instead of going inside, he’d stood on the corner watching Simone and trying to work up the courage to approach her.

With her long, silky hair and captivating blue eyes, she was even more beautiful than her picture. For some reason, that made it even harder for him to walk up to her and introduce himself. While they’d hit it off online, he wasn’t sure they would in person. Besides, a woman as beautiful as she was had to have guys climbing all over each other to go out with her. What made him think she’d be attracted to a part-time zombie?

When he finally saw her glance down impatiently at her watch, he realized what an ass he was being. Simone didn’t deserve to be stood up just because he was a coward. So, he’d grabbed hold of his balls and forced himself to walk into the restaurant. Now, sitting across from her, he had to admit it was the best decision he’d ever made.

Besides being beautiful, smart, funny, confident and ridiculously easy to talk to, she had to be the sexiest woman he’d ever been around. And he’d been around a lot of women. Just not in eight years.

He had to stifle a groan as she took another bite of cheesecake. She probably didn’t even realize how big of a turn-on it was when she ran her tongue over her lips like she was doing. She was most likely just making sure to get every last little bit of cake, but to him the gesture was intensely erotic. He shifted in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. Damn. Her little show was making him hard as a rock. His jeans tightened even more when she let out a throaty moan after she took another bite of cheesecake. God, what he’d give to hear her make those sexy sounds in his bed. An image of her naked, her hair wild, her face wanton as she rode him while he pumped into her came to mind unbidden and he stifled a groan. Down boy.

Drake realized abruptly he’d better focus on what he was saying before he came right there in his pants. Or revealed something he shouldn’t. He was so damn comfortable around Simone that he almost slipped up more than once. Like telling her he hadn’t been out of the Upper East Side section of Manhattan in eight years. That would definitely raise a red flag. He couldn’t help it, though. She had him talking about things he hadn’t even thought of in almost a decade. In addition to explaining why he’d moved to New York, he found himself telling her about growing up in Chicago with his family, about going to Bears games in the freezing cold weather and about his decision to go to college for finance. Of course, he left out the part about being cursed by a Voodoo priestess and getting turned into a zombie. That was definitely not conversation for a first date. Talk about way too much information.

When the waiter came by later to ask if he and Simone wanted more coffee, Drake looked up and saw that it was already dark. He glanced at his watch, stunned it was almost nine o’clock. Damn, they’d been sitting there for six hours. No wonder the waiter kept asking if they wanted something else. If they hung around the café any longer, the man would have to bring them breakfast.

That was when Drake remembered Beck. Shit, the PI had been sitting in his old Caprice Classic in a parking garage around the corner the whole damn time. The poor guy must be bored out of his mind. On the other hand, Beck was a private investigator, so he was probably used to sitting on stakeouts. At least, Drake sure as hell hoped he was.

When he and Simone said they didn’t want a refill on the coffee, the waiter cleared the table, then pointedly placed the check in the center of it.

Across from Drake, Simone smiled. “Do you think he’s trying to tell us something?”

Drake laughed as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. As much as he didn’t want the date to end, they couldn’t sit there for the rest of the night. “We probably should go. We’ve been holding the table for hours.”

Taking out his credit card, he placed it inside the folio without looking at the amount, then left the waiter a big tip when the man brought him the receipt to sign.

As they walked out of the patio area and onto the sidewalk, Drake automatically placed his hand on the small of Simone’s back. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thin material of her top and his own body temperature rose at the slight contact. He was taken aback at how damn arousing such a simple touch could be. Yet another reminder of what he’d been missing all these years. He reluctantly dropped his hand when she turned to look at him.

She smiled. “I had a really nice time.”

His mouth edged up. “Me too. Maybe we could do it again sometime.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Shit. What the hell was he thinking? He made it through one date without going all zombie on her. Trying again would be pushing his luck. But the words were already out and there was nothing he could do to take them back. Don’t sweat it, dude. She’s probably just going to turn you down anyway.

But her smile broadened. “I’d love to.”

Damn, now what was he going to do? He could just do the standard guy thing and say he’d call her. But he didn’t want to do that. He’d felt more alive in the past six hours than he had in the last eight years. There was no way he could just walk away from that. He weighed his options. If he waited until the weekend, he could end up being in the middle of one of his episodes. It would be safer to go out with her again right away. But that would come off as desperate, wouldn’t it? Shit. It had been so long since he’d dated he didn’t know what even constituted desperate anymore. Ah hell, who was he kidding? He was desperate.

“How about tomorrow night?” he asked before he could change his mind. “We could go to that Italian place on 49th Street we both like.”

Drake cringed. Maybe that last part was too much. He’d only been on one date with her. It wasn’t as if they were soul mates or anything. Just because they liked the same restaurant, that didn’t mean she necessarily wanted to go there. She was going to think he was pathetic.

To his surprise, her blue eyes lit up at the idea. “That would be great. Is seven okay with you?”

He grinned. Catastrophe averted. “Sounds good.”

“Great. I’ll meet you there then.”

Drake wanted to offer to pick Simone up at her apartment, but then realized she might not want him to know where she lived yet. “I’ll be there.”

She tilted her head to the side and bit her lip in the most enticing way he’d ever seen as she regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, maybe we should exchange numbers, just in case one of us is running late again.”

Man, he was rustier at the whole dating thing than he’d thought. It hadn’t even occurred to him to exchange phone numbers. Considering he could turn into a zombie at any time, he really should have thought of it. But it wasn’t his fault. Those full, pink lips of hers had distracted him. They looked as soft as pillows and it was all he could do not to tilt her chin up and press his mouth to them just to see if she tasted as sweet as she looked. Unable to resist, he took a step toward her just as she parted her lips. But in his lust-induced haze, he forgot they were standing in the middle of a busy New York sidewalk and was rudely reminded of the fact when a guy in an expensive business suit busted right between them without even bothering to say excuse me. By the time Drake collected himself, the moment had passed and Simone was pulling her cell phone out of her purse and handing it to him.

“Can I get you a cab?” he asked after he finished punching his number in her phone.

She glanced at him as she added her number to his phone. “Sure. Thanks.”

Drake moved to the edge of the curb and hailed the first available taxi that came down the street. When it pulled up to the curb, he opened the back door for Simone.

She smiled up at him. “Want to share?”

He was tempted to say yes, just for the chance to spend some more time with her, especially in the close confines of a cab. But Beck was waiting for him around the corner and his friend was probably already going to want to beat the hell out of him for making him wait so long.

“Sounds like fun, but I have another stop to make before I head home. I’d better just say good night here.”

She looked a little disappointed at that, but nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow night then. Again, I really had a great time.”

Simone stood gazing up at him, her blue eyes expectant, her lips parted ever so slightly, and Drake wondered again if he should kiss her. Before he could make up his mind, she murmured a quick “goodnight” and ducked into the cab. Damn. Snooze, you lose, dude.

Drake closed the door, then waited until the cab pulled away from the curb and disappeared into midtown traffic before turning and heading down the street to where Beck was parked. He owed the other man big. Not just for waiting in his car for hours, but for talking Drake into the date with Simone in the first place. So, what the hell kind of thank-you gift did he buy for a guy who had just given him a whole new reason for living?

Chapter Five

When Drake walked up to Beck’s four-door cop car special a few minutes later, he found the PI slouched down in the driver’s seat, his attention fixed on the BlackBerry in his hand. Drake shook his head. He should have known. Beck didn’t go anywhere without his “Crackberry.” Drake had never gotten caught up in the craze himself, mainly because smartphones hadn’t been on the market when he was working on Wall Street. He had to admit they looked cool as hell, but since he didn’t leave his apartment, he really didn’t see the need for one. What would he use it for anyway? His zombie episodes never happened on a strict schedule, so updating the calendar was out. He never shot off the quick, let’s-do-lunch type of emails anymore, so that application would be a waste, too. And the only people he called besides Beck were the take-out joints he ordered from and he had their numbers memorized. All in all, having one wouldn’t make much sense for him.

Beck glanced at Drake as he opened the passenger door and climbed inside. “I was beginning to think your writer chick had dragged you back to her apartment for a little somethin’ somethin’.”

Drake almost groaned as an image flashed in his head of Simone doing just that. Considering the way his cock was throbbing, he wasn’t sure he could have waited until they made it back to her apartment. If he’d gotten in that cab with her, he would have been all over her before they had gone a block.

But of course that scene was never going to play out. Not as long as he was a zombie. He gave Beck a wry look. “As if that’s going to happen.”

The other man looked up from his BlackBerry. “You on the verge of going zombie on me, dude?”

“No. But I could at any minute.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sucks to be you.”

Beck tucked his BlackBerry in the pocket of his jeans and cranked the engine on the 1986 POS he drove. With rust spots on the bumper and dings all over the door panels, the body of the old car might be decrepit, but the engine purred like it was built yesterday.

Beck glanced at him as he pulled out of the garage. “From the smile on your face, I guess you and the writer chick hit it off, huh?”

Drake’s grin broadened. “Yeah, we did. Sorry I made you wait so long, though. I kind of lost track of time.”

“The deli across the street has a clean restroom and makes a pretty decent sandwich, so it was all good. Besides, you don’t get out too often.” Beck glanced at him as he pulled onto the street. “So, does she look like her picture?”

“Nah.”

His friend looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Nah. She’s even hotter.”

Beck chuckled. “Well, good for you. Aren’t you glad I talked you into going out with her?”

“Don’t you mean pestered me into going out with her?” Drake asked dryly.

“Whatever. So, you seeing her again?”

Drake nodded. “I’m taking her to dinner tomorrow night. I figured my zombie status should still be okay by then.”

His friend glanced at him. “You might not have to worry about your zombie half much longer.”

Drake frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“While I was waiting for you, I got a call from one of my contacts down in Louisiana. Your Voodoo priestess has finally come up for air. Seems Cia just had a baby girl and granny crawled out of whatever hole she’s been hiding in to give the little crumb-cruncher a hug. I’m already booked on the red-eye. If I’m lucky, I just might have something for you by tomorrow tonight.”

Drake ground his jaw. “Dammit, Beck, I told you I didn’t want you looking for her anymore. There’s no point.”

The other man slanted him a hard look. “No point? What, you suddenly okay with being a zombie now you’ve gone on a date?”

“You know damn well I’m not,” Drake snapped. “I just don’t want you pissing off that old woman by hunting her down.”

“She’s already made your life miserable by turning you into a zombie, Drake. What else could she possibly do to you? Turn you into a toad?”

Drake frowned at his friend. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you. I’m concerned if you piss her off, you’re going to end up like me.”

Beck grinned as he made a right–hand turn. “With a hot new girlfriend, you mean?”

When Drake only scowled, Beck let out a sigh.

“I appreciate the concern, Z-Man, but I’m a professional. I can take care of myself.”

Drake snorted. “Right. Going up against a Voodoo priestess who turns people into the living dead just because she feels like it isn’t the same as going up against some mean-ass bastard who wants to bash your head in, you know.”

“Look Drake, you let me worry about her. You just concentrate on your writer chick,” the PI said. “And because I’m so concerned about your social life, I’m going to let you borrow my ride while I’m out of town. That way you don’t have to worry about frightening any cabbies if you suddenly turn to the dark side.”

“Beck, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do. But—”

“Dammit Drake, I don’t understand you sometimes. Don’t you want to be normal again? Don’t you want to be able to go out with Simone whenever you want and not have to worry if you’re going to turn into some creature that looked as if it just stepped out of a horror movie in between dinner and dessert?”

Drake clenched his jaw, but said nothing. He wanted that more than anything. But he was afraid. And not only for Beck, either. Right now, he was only a zombie a few days a week. It was horrible, but at least it meant he was human most of the time. What if all his friend accomplished by hunting the old woman down was make her so angry she decided to turn Drake into a full-time zombie? He could never live like that.

* * * * *

Simone walked into her apartment to find her friend Megan curled up on the couch watching TV, a bowl of popcorn in her lap. The blonde looked up at her entrance.

“You’re back!”

Simone smiled. “You didn’t have to hang around. I would have called you.”

“Yeah, I know. But after I put all your clothes away, I decided I should stay in case the date didn’t go well.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. It went great.”

Her friend picked up the remote and switched off the television as she patted the couch. “Sit down and tell me about Drake. And don’t leave anything out.”

Simone couldn’t help but smile again as she sat down next to Megan. Slipping off her leather flip-flops, she tucked her feet underneath her and gave the other woman a complete recap of the date.

“God, he sounds perfect,” Megan said when she finished. “Please tell me you’re going out with him again.”

“You know it. He’s taking me out to dinner tomorrow night.”

Her friend high-fived her. “Excellent! At this rate, you’ll have him in your bed by the weekend. “

Simone just shook her head. She didn’t expect things to move quite that fast, but she had to admit she wouldn’t mind if they did. When she and Drake had been standing on the sidewalk, she was sure he was going to kiss her and she’d been more than ready to lock lips with him right there on the street. Who knew where it would have led? She could just imagine herself pulling him into the taxi and dragging him back to her apartment for some fun between the sheets and anywhere else they managed to end up. An image of her and Drake making love in the shower while water poured over their naked bodies was enough to make her pussy purr, and she had to bite her lips to stifle a moan. She was definitely going to have to revisit that fantasy when Megan left, this time with her vibrator.

“Earth to Simone.”

The sound of Megan’s voice pulled Simone out of her fantasy and she gave herself a shake. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The other woman laughed. “Nothing. I just figured if you were going to sit here and fantasize about having sex with your new boyfriend, I should go ahead and leave.”

Simone laughed. “I couldn’t help it.”

“No need to apologize. Drake sounds as if he’s perfect. I don’t blame you for thinking about hooking up with him. After all the lame jerks you’ve gone out with lately, you deserve someone special.”

Simone smiled. “You know, you’re right. It is nice to be dating a guy who’s normal for a change.”

She and Megan talked a little while longer before her friend announced she had an early meeting the next day and needed to get home.

After Megan left, Simone locked up, then shut off the lights and went into the bedroom. As she got ready for bed, she found herself once again replaying that moment on the sidewalk when she and Drake had almost kissed. Thinking of what that firm, sensuous mouth of his would feel like on hers, she let out a little moan as she slipped between the sheets.

Remembering her promise to spend some quality time with her vibrator while she fantasized about Drake, she opened the top drawer of the bedside table and took out her trusty toy. Long and thick, it was slightly curved at the tip so that it would touch her G-spot when it was deep inside of her. It was her personal favorite, discovered over several years of experimentation and play.

Lying back on the pillows and placing the vibrator beside her, she closed her eyes and cupped her breasts, slowly playing with them and imagining it was Drake touching her. She took her time teasing her nipples, just as she knew he’d do, taking them between her fingers, rolling them back and forth a few times before giving them a firm squeeze. Oh yes, Drake would know just how much pressure she loved on her nipples, getting her hotter and hotter until she was breathless with anticipation.

In her fantasy, Drake teased her nipples mercilessly with his fingers until she was sure she couldn’t take any more. Only then did he slowly kiss his way down her neck to take one of those swollen peaks in his mouth and suckle on it. The thought of what his warm, wet tongue would feel like as he swirled it around the tip made her catch her breath and she gasped out loud as she tugged even more on her nipples.

With a moan, she slid one hand down her tummy to the curls at the juncture of her thighs. She ran her fingers along the folds of her pussy and discovered she was already wet. That wasn’t surprising. Fantasizing about a sexy hunk like Drake would get any woman hot and bothered.

Sighing, she dipped her finger inside her opening just enough to get the tip slick with her arousal, then moved her hand up to her clit. She made slow, circular motions around the sensitive nub, pretending it was Drake. Knowing he wouldn’t ignore her breasts, she continued to play with her nipples while she rubbed her clit. The combined sensations sent a rush of tingles through her body.

Needing more lubrication, she took her finger away from her clit to slide it deep inside her pussy. The velvety walls immediately contracted around her finger and for a moment she was torn between pleasuring herself that way and going back to her clit. The throbbing in her clit was too insistent to ignore and she slid her finger out to make little circles around it again.

This time, though, she imagined that her wet fingertip was Drake’s tongue. The idea of his dark head buried between her legs while he lapped at her pussy made her writhe on the bed. Oh yeah, he’d be great at oral. Her breath came faster and faster until she was practically panting. Beneath her finger, her clit throbbed and she stopped touching herself just long enough to reach for her vibrator. Turning it on, she gently moved it over her clit, teasing herself with its magical hum.

Her pussy spasmed with need as if impatient at being ignored and once again Simone was torn about what part of her body to pleasure. Her pussy won. Taking the vibrating dildo away from her clit, she slid it down to her pussy and eased its thick length inside her wetness.

She moaned as the sex toy filled her, imagining it was Drake’s cock. Closing her eyes, she slowly thrust the dildo in and out. The toy’s vibrating hum sent shivers of ecstasy through her and her pussy clenched tightly around it. Desperate for more, she pumped the dildo faster.

Releasing her breast and sliding her hand down her tummy, she found her clit with her fingers and made quick, firm circles around it. The two forms of stimulation would have been enough to make her orgasm all on their own, but combined with the fantasy that it was Drake fucking her like this had her coming so hard she could barely manage to keep touching herself. Somehow she did, and as her climax washed over her, she threw back her head and cried out in one, long continuous moan of pleasure.

After her orgasm subsided, all she could do was lie there trembling and gasping for breath. She always came hard when she masturbated, but this time had been better than ever. Maybe it was because she’d had a guy as hot as Drake to fantasize about.

When she was finally able to move again, she slid the vibrating dildo from her still trembling pussy and set it back on the bedside table, then shut off the light and snuggled into her pillow with a sigh. As she lay there in the darkness, she thought of Drake’s sinfully sexy lips and gorgeous body and she could only wonder how much more amazing her orgasm would have been if it really had been him doing all those delicious things to her. Her lips curved into a smile. Tomorrow night couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Six

Drake spent the better part of the next day terrified he was going to go all zombie before his date with Simone. The possibility had him running into the bathroom to check himself out in the mirror nearly every fifteen minutes. Hoping to keep from going insane, he sat down at his computer and tried to catch up on some editing work. But he gave up halfway through the first user manual he tried to read. He was too wound up to concentrate.

Needing something else to distract him, he decided to exercise instead. He lifted some weights first, then ran ten miles on the treadmill. Even though he was dripping with sweat afterward, he was still so geeked up he could barely sit still. So, after checking himself in the mirror again, he knocked out two hours on the Bowflex. Thankfully, that left him too exhausted to think about anything but taking a long, hot shower.

While standing under the spray, he finally found the perfect way to keep himself from worrying about turning into a zombie—he thought about Simone and how nice it would be to have her in the shower with him. The image of her standing there naked while the water poured over her slender curves had him sporting a raging hard-on in no time.

Groaning, he reached down and wrapped one hand around his cock. He moved it up and down, imagining it was Simone touching him. Back when he used to be normal, the simple fantasy would have been a nice way to get his blood pumping, but now it was almost enough to make him explode right then. He hadn’t had a woman as beautiful and sexy as Simone to fantasize about in a long time, though, so he’d be damned if he was going to rush it.

He mimicked her movements as he envisioned her slowly rubbing her hand up and down his shaft. When she lingered on the head to tease the tip with her thumb, so did he. And when she used her other hand to cup his balls and give them a gentle but firm squeeze, he did the same.

After a few minutes, he had to back off again. In his fantasy, Simone did too, slowly rubbing the sensitive area right below the head of his cock with the pad of her thumb. He imagined her giving him a sultry smile as she leaned in to kiss the underside of his jaw, then slowly work her way down his chest until she was on her knees in front of him. Gazing up at him with beautiful blue eyes, she leaned forward to take him in her mouth.

Despite his best efforts to hold off, imagining Simone’s full lips wrapped around his cock was too much for him. Unable to control himself, he tightened his hand around his shaft and moved it up and down faster and faster. Hot cum shot onto his hand, bringing with it a rush of pleasure so intense he had to put a hand on the wall of the shower to steady himself.

With a groan, he reached out to turn off the water. Damn, that had been a strong orgasm. That wasn’t surprising. Simone was so freaking hot that just the image of her was enough to get him off. He imagined if he ever did have sex with her, he’d probably explode before they even got their clothes off.

Drake stepped out of the shower onto wobbly legs and dried off, then checked in the mirror again for any signs of rotting flesh. So far, so good. Now all he had to do was stay zombie-free long enough to have dinner with Simone.

Hanging the towel on the rack, he went into the bedroom to get dressed. After wearing nothing but jeans and T-shirts for so long, it felt strange to put on a pair of dress pants and a button-up shirt. It felt good, too. As if he was almost a normal person again.

He swore under his breath. Wearing different clothes and going out on a date didn’t mean he was any closer to being normal. The zombie in him was still there, lurking beneath the surface waiting to take over. He was just gambling it wouldn’t happen while he was with Simone.

He shrugged into his shirt, then buttoned it and shoved it into his pants. Checking his reflection in the mirror one more time, he ran his hand through his damp hair, then grabbed his watch off the dresser and put it on as he walked into the living room.

He eyed the keys sitting on the coffee table, wondering if he should take Beck’s car. As much as he didn’t like the idea of taking a cab, finding parking near the restaurant was going to be a nightmare. It’d be faster for him to sprint across Central Park and back to his apartment if he suddenly went zombie than it would be to get to the closest parking garage. Leaving the keys where they were, he headed for the door.

Figuring Simone would think he was a total loser if he showed up late for their date a second time, Drake gave himself plenty of time to get the restaurant. Even though traffic was a bear, he got to the restaurant ten minutes early. Unlike yesterday, he didn’t hang around outside, but instead went in to see if Simone had arrived yet. When he didn’t see her, he decided to wait in the entryway.

While he stood there, Drake eyed his reflection in the mirror positioned above the leather couch along one of the walls, checking for signs he might be going zombie. He tried to be as casual about it as he could, but when the two older women seated there gave him a reproving look, he hastily turned around and made a show of looking at the mural on the opposite wall. Shit. They probably thought he was some vain jerk who got off on looking at his own reflection.

Drake was still trying to pretend to be interested in the mural on the wall when a movement by the door caught his eye. He glanced over to see if it was Simone and did a double take at the sight of her.

Daaaaammn.

His mouth dropped open. He’d thought she looked hot when he had seen her at the café, but tonight she was perfection on high heels.

She had on a short, curve–hugging black dress that left her slender arms bare and showed off those dynamite legs of hers. Her hair hung loose down her back and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to run his hands through the silky strands. God, she looked gorgeous.

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to start panting in another minute.

Simone walked over to him. “You’re here already.”

His mouth twitched. “I made sure to give myself plenty of extra time. I didn’t want you to think I was going to show up for every date fifteen minutes late. By the way, you look beautiful.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

He glanced at the hostess, then back at her. “Shall we get a table?”

As they followed the hostess through the crowded restaurant, Drake found his gaze automatically going to Simone’s derriere. He almost groaned as he took in her pert, sweetly rounded behind. He’d always been an ass man and Simone’s was just about the most perfect one he’d ever laid eyes on. He could have stood there and watched her wiggle it all night long. He wondered if she was wearing any panties under her dress. It was so snug he was sure he would have seen lines if she was and there was absolutely nothing to disrupt the perfect curve of her ass. If she was wearing anything under there, it must be a tiny, little scrap of nothing. That thought had him hardening in his pants.

The hostess showed them to a table in the back corner. Because space was at a premium in the restaurant just like it was everywhere else in Manhattan, the booth was small and he and Simone had to sit close together. That was fine with Drake. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening than close to a woman as beautiful and sexy as Simone.

But being so close to her was as much a form of torture as it was pleasurable. Every time Simone’s perfume drifted across his nose or her leg brushed his underneath the table, he had to stifle a groan. She smelled so damn good, felt so damn good, he wanted to drag her off to his apartment like some modern-day caveman.

With thoughts like that preoccupying his mind, he had a hell of time concentrating on what she was saying at first. He had no clue what he said, either. But since Simone wasn’t looking at him as if he was idiot, he figured he must have sounded somewhat intelligent. Luckily, while they waited for their dinner to arrive, they didn’t talk about anything more complex than what kind of movies they liked.

By the time they finished the fettuccine alfredo and moved on to the chocolate mousse, however, Simone asked more complicated questions. At that point, he had to stop focusing on how hot and tempting she was and start giving some serious thought to his answers. Since he didn’t want her to know he hadn’t been outside his apartment for the past eight years, he kept his answers as general as he could. Fortunately, Simone didn’t seem to notice.

The restaurant was a lot more crowded than the one they’d gone to yesterday, so sitting around talking after they finished their coffee was out of the question. Simone’s body felt so incredible next to his that Drake hated to leave the close confines of the booth, but he couldn’t continue to put off the waitress, especially when the woman kept giving him pointed looks. So, Drake reluctantly paid the check and they left.

Once outside, Drake automatically looked for a cab, but Simone shook her head.

“It’s such a beautiful night. Let’s walk instead.”

Drake lifted a brow. “In those heels? You sure?”

She laughed. “I’m sure. I live in Manhattan, remember? I’m used to walking in them.”

And she was damn sexy while doing it, too. Then again, she’d probably be sexy walking around Manhattan in a pair of pink, fuzzy bunny slippers.

Rather than make their way down 49th Street, they decided to go down by Columbus Circle, then walk along Central Park West. As they passed by the carriages lined up along the sidewalk outside the park, Simone turned to give him a smile.

“Let’s take a carriage ride.”

Drake hesitated. The horses were already eyeing him warily. Animals had started shying away from him the day he’d been turned into a zombie. It was as if they couldn’t quite figure out what he was, but they knew they didn’t like the smell of him. It was the main reason he hadn’t gotten a dog for companionship after his self-imposed exile. Well, that and the fact he couldn’t expect a dog to just hold it on those days when Drake couldn’t take him outside.

“Drake?” Simone prompted when he didn’t answer.

She was looking up at him so expectantly he didn’t have the heart to say no. “Sure. I’d love to.”

Putting his hand on the small of her back, Drake gently urged her forward to the carriage at the front of the line. The chestnut mare kept twisting her head around trying to get a look at him and when she finally did, she flicked her tail a few times and let out a snort. At least the animal didn’t take off galloping down the street like Drake feared she would.

Drake paid the driver for an hour-long ride, then offered his hand to Simone. She took it and climbed up into the carriage, giving him a nice shot of leg. God, she had incredible legs. He could just imagine them wrapped around him. That thought had him stiffening in his pants all over again. Damn, he couldn’t go more than two minutes without thinking about having sex with Simone. It was as if he was a monk released from imprisonment, Drake thought as he climbed into the carriage and put his arm around her. She gave him a smile and snuggled up against him.

Giving them a nod, the driver climbed up into the front of the carriage and took up the reins.

“This is nice,” Simone murmured as the carriage slowly started forward.

His mouth edged up. She had no idea. “Yeah, it is.”

“In all the years I’ve lived in Manhattan, I’ve never taken a carriage ride. How about you?”

Drake shook his head. “This is my first.”

They both fell silent after that, the only sound the rhythmic clip-clop of the horse’s hoofs on the paved paths that meandered through the park. The man Drake had been in his old life wouldn’t have bothered doing anything so romantic on a date. His only goal back then had been to get whatever woman he was with at the time into his bed as fast as he could. But seducing Simone wasn’t even on his radar. He was just in this for the small pleasures being with her brought him. As much as he wanted to sleep with her, there was no way he could. Not when he could go zombie right in the middle of having sex with her. He cringed at the thought. Talk about coitus interruptus. Which meant he’d have to be satisfied with intimate dinners and romantic carriage rides.

Beside him, Simone shivered in the night air and snuggled closer to him.

“Cold?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “A little.”

Since he didn’t have a jacket to give her, the neatly folded blanket on the seat would have to do. It wasn’t as romantic as offering her his coat, but it was the next best thing. Picking it up with his free hand, he shook it out and settled it around both of them.

“Warmer?” he asked.

She smiled up at him. “Much warmer. Thank you.”

Drake gazed down at her, his attention focused on her lips. They were full and pouty and parted slightly as if they were just waiting to be kissed. All he had to do was bend his head and his mouth would be on hers. God knew, he wanted to kiss her. But if he gave in, he wouldn’t be able to stop. One taste of her perfect mouth wouldn’t be enough. He’d want more. And he couldn’t have more.

He swallowed hard and shifted a little in the seat in an effort to ease the ache in his groin. The mere thought of kissing her had his already hard cock throbbing in his pants.

Simone moved, too, resting her head on his shoulder again. As the horse-drawn carriage continued to roll through the park, Drake became excruciatingly aware of her body pressed up against his. She was all soft skin, womanly curves and tantalizing perfume, a combination that would be difficult for any man to resist, much less a guy who hadn’t been with a woman for eight years.

Just because he couldn’t do anything with Simone, it didn’t mean he couldn’t fantasize.

Drake imagined tilting Simone’s chin up and covering her mouth with his. Imagined running his hand over her sweetly curved breast and down to her hip, then sliding it underneath her short skirt and up her bare thigh. Imagined slipping his fingers under her panties—if she had any on—and running them along the slick folds of her pussy before sliding inside just to see if she was as wet as he thought she was.

Inside his dress pants, he hardened to new and painful proportions. He stifled a groan. Damn. Well, that’s what he got for fantasizing in the close confines of a horse drawn carriage while sitting next to a sexy, desirable woman.

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved when the carriage pulled to a stop on Central Park West a few minutes later. As he took Simone’s hand to help her down from the carriage, Drake decided he was a little bit of both.

“That was fun,” she said as they started down the sidewalk.

Not to mention complete torture. “Yeah, it was. I’m glad you suggested it.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Is it too chilly for you? Should we catch a cab?”

She smiled. “No, I’m fine now. My building isn’t far.”

Drake hadn’t spent much time on the Upper West Side, but when they reached Simone’s apartment building, he discovered it was on a quiet residential street near the Museum of Natural History. Well, as quiet as a Manhattan street could get, anyway.

As she led him up the steps to the second floor, he found himself wondering if she’d ask him in. And wondering what he’d say if she did. When they came to a stop outside the door to her apartment, Simone turned to give him a smile.

“I had a great time tonight.”

“Me, too.”

She caught her bottom lip between her perfect white teeth and chewed on it thoughtfully as if unsure what she wanted to say next. It was probably an unconscious gesture, something she did whenever she was thinking, but to him, it was sexy as hell and all he could think about was kissing her.

Surely one kiss couldn’t hurt. He desperately wanted to. He hadn’t kissed a woman in so long. It would be nice to see if he still remembered how.

Before he could stop himself, Drake tilted Simone’s face up to his and pressed his mouth to hers.

She tasted just as sweet and delicious as he thought she would. Her lips were soft and pliant under his as she kissed him back, her tongue eagerly seeking his out.

Drake groaned and slid his hand into her hair, deepening the kiss. Simone sighed into his mouth, running her hands up the front of his shirt to grasp his shoulders. The feel of her touch was like a tonic to his deprived soul and he let out another groan, deeper this time.

He ran his free hand up her side and around to her breast, cupping it through the soft material of her dress. He couldn’t stop himself and apparently Simone didn’t want him to. She moaned and arched against him. He could feel the heat of her pussy through their clothes as she pressed up against his hard cock. Damn, she felt good.

Drake drew her bottom lip into his mouth and gently sucked on it before slowly kissing his way along the delicate curve of her jaw. Simone clutched his shoulders and tilted her head back. He eagerly trailed a path of hot kisses down her neck, then back up, his mouth finding hers again.

Simone looped her arms around his neck, pulling him in even closer as their tongues met.

Down the hall, a door slammed, reminding him where they were.

Drake dragged his mouth away from hers, his breathing ragged as he tried to regain control. He had to get it together because he was about five seconds away from doing something really stupid. Like taking her to bed. “I should go.”

Her lips curved into a sexy, flirtatious smile. “Or you could stay.”

God, how he wanted to. But as much as he’d love to spend the rest of the night exploring every inch of her body, he couldn’t take the chance he might go zombie on her right in the middle of sex. It had been almost four days since he last turned, which meant he was already pushing his luck.

“You don’t know how much I want to,” he groaned. “But I can’t.”

Simone looked up at him with those big, blue eyes. “Why not?”

“Because I…” He hesitated, trying to come up with something that’d sound believable. “I have a column due in the morning and I haven’t even started on it yet.” She knew all about deadlines, so she would understand that. Besides, he did have a column to write, it just wasn’t due until next week. “Rain check?”

She looked disappointed, but she smiled anyway. “Absolutely. How does coming over for dinner tomorrow night sound?”

It would be crazy to agree when he could be so close to having an episode, but he couldn’t say no. Not when she asked in that soft, sultry voice. “Sounds great.”

“Good. Be here at seven.”

“Seven it is.”

She pulled him down for another long, slow kiss on the mouth. “Don’t be late.”

His mouth twitched. “I won’t.” He bent his head to kiss her again, then groaned. “If I don’t go now, I’ll be here all night.”

Simone laughed. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Not to me, but my editor at Money Issues might not be too understanding when he doesn’t find my column sitting in his inbox tomorrow.”

She sighed. “Deadlines can be a real pain in the butt sometimes. Okay, go home and write your column. I’ll cuddle up with a bowl of ice cream instead.”

He chuckled. “Sounds better than taking a cold shower, which is what I’m going to be doing when I get home.” He closed his mouth over hers once more. “See you tomorrow night, beautiful.”

Resisting the urge to pull her into his arms again, Drake turned and walked down the hallway toward the stairwell. At the top of the steps, he glanced over his shoulder to see Simone standing where he’d left her, a sexy curve to her lips.

It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to go back and pin her against the door for one more long, lingering kiss. God, what he wouldn’t give to spend the night with her. Man, it was going to take more than a cold shower to get her out of his head tonight.

* * * * *

Simone waited until Drake completely disappeared from view before going into her apartment. Closing the door behind her, she threw home the bolt, then leaned back against it with a little sigh. The date couldn’t have gone any more perfectly if she’d written it herself. She’d been half afraid after Drake had enchanted her with an intimate dinner and a romantic carriage ride, she would discover at the end of the night that he was a terrible kisser. Nothing to worry about there. The man kissed like an absolute dream.

She ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the feel of his mouth on hers. He tasted like coffee and chocolate mousse and something else she couldn’t put a name to, but it was distinctively male and incredibly intoxicating. She only wished he’d come inside when she invited him. If he had, she knew exactly which part of her body she’d have that magical mouth of his exploring right now. The thought made her pussy spasm and she stifled a moan.

Then again, maybe it was better he hadn’t come in. If he had, they probably wouldn’t even have made it to the bedroom before they started pulling each other’s clothes off. They’d most likely be half naked with Drake doing her up against the wall by now. Which wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but whatever this was she had with Drake was special and she didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast.

Tell that to her pussy, Simone thought wryly. She sighed again. She supposed she was just going to have to climb into bed and entertain herself with her vibrator for a second night in a row. All she had to do was fantasize about Drake and she’d be coming in no time.

Letting out a moan, she pushed away from the door and was just making her way to the bedroom when she heard a knock. She whirled around, her pulse skipping a beat. Hoping it was Drake coming to tell her he needed just one more kiss before he went home, Simone practically ran to the door.

When she yanked it open, it wasn’t Drake who stood there, but her elderly neighbor.

Simone blinked in surprise. “Miss Hayden.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she took in Simone’s little black dress and strappy high-heeled sandals. Simone waited for her to make some remark about the neckline being too low or the skirt being too short, but instead Emily Hayden thrust the box she was holding into Simone’s hands.

“A courier from your publisher dropped this off for you. More fan mail from your readers, I suppose.”

Probably, Simone thought, glancing down at the box. Some of her readers preferred snail mail to the internet and her publisher regularly sent over boxes of letters. Since the courier service Carrington used required a signature, Emily Hayden sometimes signed for the delivery. Simone liked to think the woman did it to be nice, but she had a sneaking suspicion her neighbor did it simply because she was nosy.

Whatever her motives behind it, Simone gave the old woman a smile anyway. “Thanks for bringing it by.”

Emily Hayden grunted something in reply that Simone couldn’t quite make out before changing the subject. “Saw that new boyfriend of yours leaving. Seems like a cut above the men you usually go out with. You shouldn’t be hanging all over him in the hallway like that, though.”

Simone’s brow furrowed. Good heavens, had the woman been spying on them?

“You gotta reel a man in slow, woman,” the other woman continued, making a motion with her hands as if she were holding a fishing rod. “You just let him have a nibble, then when he gets really greedy, you yank the line. That way, he’ll never get away.”

“Uh-huh,” Simone said. “Thanks for the tip, Miss Hayden. I’ll keep that in mind. You have a good night now.”

Afraid the woman might try to give her some more dating advice, Simone quickly closed the door. For the second time that night, she leaned back against it and let out a sigh. Had Emily Hayden really just compared the act of dating to the sport of fishing? An image abruptly popped into Simone’s head of her holding a fishing rod and reeling Drake into her bedroom. Laughing at the distinctly unromantic picture, she set the box down on the floor and headed for the bedroom. She’d read her mail tomorrow.

Dropping her evening bag on the bench at the foot of the bed, she reached around for the zipper at her back and slid it down, then wiggled out of her dress. She was just hanging it up in the closet when her cell phone rang. Thinking it was probably Megan checking to see how her date had gone, she unzipped her purse and reached inside.

Her pulse skipped a beat at the sight of Drake’s name on the call display. Smiling, she put the phone to her ear.

“Did you finish your column already?” she asked.

Drake’s chuckle was soft on the other end of the line. “Haven’t even started it yet, I just wanted to call and tell you again what a great time I had tonight.”

“I did, too. I would have liked it even better if you hadn’t gone home to work on your column, though.”

“Yeah, me too. So, are you curled up with that bowl of ice cream?”

Simone laughed. She’d forgotten all about the ice cream. “Not yet. I was just getting undressed when you called.”

“Undressed, huh?”

She walked over to the closet and pushed the door closed. “Uh-huh.”

“Do you always eat ice cream half dressed?”

Drake’s voice was a husky caress in her ear and Simone blushed at the question. “Actually, I usually eat ice cream completely naked, but I’m not quite there yet.”

“Oh, really?” He sounded intrigued. “That’s quite an image. Now you’re making me really wish I wasn’t such a dedicated columnist. I can only imagine what you’re wearing.”

She chewed on her lower lip, suddenly feeling the urge to tease him. “Well if you hadn’t rushed off to write your column, you wouldn’t have to imagine, would you?”

He let out a groan. “I know, I know. I’m kicking myself over my misplaced work ethics, believe me. But you could at least take pity on me and describe what I’m missing.”

Even though he was on the other end of a phone and couldn’t see anything at all, the thought of describing what she was wearing to Drake had her pussy purring and she squeezed her legs together to ease the ache there a little.

“I could. But that might be a little forward. We’ve only been out on two dates after all.”

“How many dates do you normally go on before talking dirty on the phone? If it makes you feel any better, from a mathematical point of view, our two dates were technically the equivalent of six typical dates.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, a typical first date usually lasts an average of two hours. Ours was six hours. Which means at the end of the first date, we’d already been on three dates.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not sure if I can agree with your math, but I see your point. What about tonight’s date, though? It wasn’t exceptionally long. How do you get it to add up to three more dates?”

“That’s easy. You have to take into account the quality multiplication factor.”

“And what exactly is a quality multiplication factor?”

“The quality multiplication factor is simply the number you multiply a typical date by to derive the level of satisfaction you get on a particular date. If a typical date is a factor of one, ours equated to a three because it was three times better than any date I’ve ever been on.”

She laughed again. Her head was spinning. She’d never heard of a quality multiplication factor, but she loved the idea anyway. “I can’t argue with your logic, mainly because I don’t understand it. Math was never my favorite subject.”

He chuckled. “Then just take my word for it. We’ve had the equivalent of six dates already. So feel free to describe anything you’re wearing. I certainly won’t consider it too forward.”

She smiled as she sat down on the bed. “Well in that case, I suppose it’s okay then. I’m wearing a black lace bra, a pair of matching panties and the high heels I had on earlier.”

On the other end of the line, she could hear Drake’s indrawn breath. “On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t have described what I’m missing. There’s no way I’m going to be able to write that damn column now, not when I’m thinking of you running around your apartment half naked.”

She leaned back on her elbow and crossed her legs. “I’m not running around my apartment. I’m sitting on the bed. What’s this column of yours on anyway?”

“Financial stuff. An article on the dangers of excessive leverage in the corporate capitalization scheme.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It is,” he agreed. “Then again, compared to picturing you sitting there in nothing but a bra and a pair of panties, anything I write a column about would be boring.”

“You forgot the high heels,” she reminded him.

He groaned. “I did, didn’t I? Did I tell you that you look sexy as hell in high heels?”

Mmm, he really knew what to say to a woman, didn’t he? “No, you didn’t.”

“I meant to. They make your legs look a mile long.”

She uncrossed her right leg to lift it high in the air so she could see for herself. The strappy sandal did make her leg look longer, she supposed. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing. Where did you say you were sitting?”

She crossed her legs again. “I’m lounging back on one elbow, actually. But since you asked, I’m on the bed. Why?”

“Just filling in the visual image, is all. So, you’re lying back in your bed, wearing nothing but a pair of sexy black panties and a bra.”

“And high heels.” She was really starting to enjoy this game. “Is there anything else you’d like to know? To help with the visual, I mean.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then Drake’s voice came back deeper, sexier. “You could describe exactly how the bra and panties look on you. Just so I can get a complete picture.”

Her lips curved. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you be without a complete picture after all. Which would you like me to start with first, the bra or the panties?”

“Decisions, decisions.” He was silent for a few moments, as if considering his choices. “Let’s start at the top, just so we don’t miss anything.”

She laughed. “Okay. Well, the bra is one of my favorites. It’s both comfortable and sexy, and it cups everything in just the right way. It gives me great cleavage, even when I’m lying back like I am now.”

“I don’t imagine you need too much help when it comes to cleavage. From what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine in that department. Every other one, too, by the way.”

Score another point for Mr. Parrish. He knew how to compliment a woman, that was for sure. Her breasts were rather modest in size compared to most other women, though. Which was why she always wore a bra that gave her a little extra “oomph.”

“Don’t be silly,” she told Drake. “All women want a little help with cleavage. It’s like money and chocolate, you can never have too much. But enough about my cleavage. You asked me to describe the bra, so let me continue.”

He chuckled. “Please do.”

“Well, as I said, the bra is black lace. Actually, it’s more lace than material.” She looked down at her breasts, considering them. “As a matter of fact, you can almost see right through it.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. From where I’m sitting, I can just make out my nipples. Which are quite hard, by the way. I wonder why that is?”

Drake made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

Simone ran her finger along the lacy edge of the bra. She’d never done this phone sex thing with a guy before, but it was a lot of fun. “That wasn’t too much information was it?”

“Definitely not. Feel free to continue.”

She let her gaze move past her bra and down her tummy to the triangle of material covering her pussy. “Would you like to hear about my panties next?”

“I would.”

“Well, they’re black like the bra, but with just the smallest little bit of lace along the top.”

“Mmm. Sounds sexy.”

“They are. Not that there’s much to them, really.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I mean, they’re nothing more than a tiny scrap of material in the front and a tiny scrap of material in the back. In fact, they barely cover anything.”

Another groan. “I bet you look hot as hell in them, too.”

“Now that you mention it, I do look pretty hot.” She blushed even as she said the words, but Drake had a way of bringing out the bad girl in her.

“You seem to be really good at this. I think my apartment is getting uncomfortably warm right now.”

Simone laughed. “Poor boy.” She ran her free hand down her stomach and over the tiny piece of material between her thighs. “Well, if just hearing about what my little panties look like got you that excited, maybe you should hang up before you hear what I have to say next.”

“And that would be?”

She smiled as she trailed her fingers up and down the slit of her pussy. “Just that this tiny little scrap of nothing I’m wearing is completely soaking wet.”

He groaned again. “You have no idea how incredibly hot it is hearing you say those words. I bet you’re even wetter underneath that little scrap of nothing. If I were there, you wouldn’t be wearing those bra and panties for much longer. I’d have them off you in no time flat.”

The words sent a delicious little shiver through her. “But you’re not here. So, I suppose I’ll just have to take them off myself.”

Simone didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she set the phone down on the bed and unhooked her bra, then wiggled out of her panties. Deciding to leave her high heels on, she lay back on the bed, then picked up the phone and put it to her ear again.

“Okay, all naked—well, except for my high heels,” she said to him. “Let’s just assume you are here, Drake. Since my bra and panties are off, what is it you’d do next?”

He chuckled. “Well, first I’d slowly kiss my way up one of those long, shapely legs of yours, starting at your ankle and moving all the way up until I got to your sweet pussy.”

Drake’s voice was hot and sexy in her ear, and Simone let out a little sigh. She could almost feel his lips on her skin as he described what he’d like to do to her.

“Then I’d lightly run my tongue along your slick folds. Up one side and down the other.”

She ran her fingers up and down the lips of her pussy, pretending it was his tongue. “You like to tease, too, huh?”

He laughed. “No. I just like to take my time.”

“I like a guy who takes his time.” She dipped her finger into the opening of her pussy to get it wet. “Then what would you do?”

“After I drive you crazy with my slow, teasing licks, you mean? I’d find your excited, little clit with my tongue and make slow circles around it.”

She moaned and mimicked his words, finding her clit with her fingers and making slow, languorous circles around it.

“I’d lick your clit like that for a little while, then I’d go back to running my tongue up and down the folds of your pussy again.”

Her fingers did the same.

“Then, after I decided I’d tormented you enough, I’d go back to licking your clit,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t let you orgasm yet, though. Not until I had you writhing on the bed with pleasure and begging me to make you come with my tongue.”

The sound of Drake’s deep, husky voice in her ear turned her on as much as the things he was saying and Simone let out another moan as she moved her finger back up to her clit and made slow, little circles again. Damn, he was good at this phone sex thing.

“And after I made you come with my tongue, I’d climb between your legs and rub the head of my very hard cock along the opening of your pussy before slowly sliding inside.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “What about my visual? Don’t you think you should tell me something about that very hard cock of yours so I can have a proper picture in mind?”

He chuckled. “Do you want me to get a tape measure?”

She laughed. “I don’t think that’s necessary. A general description will be fine.”

“Well, let’s just say my hand fits around it easily, but I’m not sure if yours will.”

Her eyes went a little wide at that. Drake had really big hands. Which meant his cock must be nice and thick. Just the way she liked it. “Speaking of hands,” she said. “Do you have one of yours wrapped around it right now?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Now that was one heck of an erotic visual. “Good. Now, where were we?”

“Before you interrupted me, you mean? I was slowly sliding inside you.”

Her pussy clenched at the thought of having a cock as big as his inside her. “Mmm. That’s right. You can go ahead and continue.”

She thought she heard a snort of laughter on the other end of the line, but it could just as easily have been a groan.

“Your pussy would feel so damn good around me I’d want to come right away, but I’d force myself to thrust slowly at first.”

Simone closed her eyes and rubbed her clit faster. She pictured him on top of her, imagined him plunging his cock into her over and over while she wrapped her legs tightly around him.

“It would be impossible to hold back for long, though,” he said “And after a few minutes, I’d start thrusting harder and faster.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” she breathed. “That’s it.”

She moved her fingers even faster on her clit. Oh God, she was so close.

“That’s right. Come for me, Simone.”

Drake’s breathing was ragged, as if he were close to orgasm, too. She thought of him sitting in his apartment, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it up and down while he pictured her lying in bed touching herself. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. The image alone would have been enough to make her come, but combined with the long, low groan Drake let out as he found his release, she couldn’t have stopped herself from going over the edge if she wanted to. She moaned, rolling her head from side to side as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her.

Simone wasn’t sure how she managed to hold the phone to her ear while she was having an orgasm, but when she finally came back down to earth, it was still clutched in her hand. She wondered if Drake had managed to do the same. She was about to ask when he spoke.

“So, was it good for you?”

She giggled at the cheesy line, unable to help herself.

On the other end of the phone, Drake chuckled. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You’re amazing, you know that?”

“You’re pretty incredible yourself. So, was the whole phone sex thing.” She paused, then added, “That was a first for me, by the way.”

“Me, too.”

That both surprised and pleased her. “I can’t wait until tomorrow night so we can do it for real,” she said softly.

“Me, neither.”

Simone chewed on her lower lip. “I guess I’d better let you get back to your column.”

“Column?”

“Yeah. You know, the one about boring finance stuff.”

“Right. I completely forgot about it. Thanks for reminding me.”

She laughed. “Anytime.”

Telling Drake to have a good night, Simone hung up and lay back on the bed, using her fingers to slowly coax the last little tremors of orgasm from her clit.

God, if Drake was this good over the phone, she couldn’t wait to see what he was like when she got him into bed.

Chapter Seven

The skin on Drake’s right forearm started to tingle a little after ten o’clock the next morning. He tried to ignore it, telling himself it was his imagination. But when his entire arm and most of his chest turned that all-too-familiar shade of grayish black around noon, he couldn’t fool himself any longer. He was going zombie again.

So much for having dinner with Simone that night.

Shit.

He grabbed his cell phone and flipped it open, then scrolled through his list of contacts until he came to Simone’s name. But then he hesitated. What the hell was he going to tell her? Sorry, I can’t come over for dinner tonight, Simone, because I’ve turned into a zombie. Yeah, that’d go over real well.

This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to have coffee with Simone in the first place. With his curse, he was going to have to blow off a lot of dates and no woman in her right mind would put up with that for very long. Sure, he could try to make up lies and hope they sounded reasonable, but sooner or later she was going to dump his ass.

Damn Beck and his stupid ideas. And damn him for being stupid enough to go along with them.

It would be best to break up with Simone now, before things got any more serious. It would save them both a lot of misery.

His heart aching, Drake dialed Simone and put the phone to his ear. This was going to hurt, but it was the right thing to do.

“Hey, Drake! I was just talking about you.”

Against his will, the corner of his mouth edged up. “I hope you were saying something good.”

She laughed. “Definitely. Hang on while I go in the other room.” There was a pause and then she came back on the line. “So, are you looking forward to tonight as much as I am?”

Her voice was as soft and sexy as it had been last night, and Drake closed his eyes. Man up, dammit. “Yeah, about that…”

He hesitated, searching for the right words. It really shouldn’t be that hard. He sure as hell had enough experience when it came to dumping women. Besides he’d only gone out with Simone twice.

“Drake?” she prompted when he didn’t say anything. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. It’s just that I’m not going to be able to come over tonight.”

On the other end of the line, Simone was silent for a long time. “Oh.”

The disappointment in her voice made Drake feel even worse than he already did. “I hate to cancel on you, but I’ve got a friend who’s going through a rough patch right now and I said I’d help him out. I hope you can understand.”

Drake winced even as he said the words. Where the hell had that come from? He was supposed to be breaking up with Simone, not giving her the most lame-ass excuse in the book.

“Of course I understand,” she said, which only made him feel that much worse. “How about tomorrow night instead?”

Just make this easy on everyone and go ahead and break up with her, dude.

But he couldn’t do it. “I’m not really sure how long this thing with my friend is going to take,” he lied. He could be in zombie mode anywhere from a few hours to a few days. “Why don’t I call you?”

God, that sounded really bad. As if he was trying to blow her off. Simone must have thought so, too, because it took her a moment to answer.

“Yeah, sure. Um, I’m having lunch with my agent, so I’d better go. I hope everything works out with your friend.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll call you. Seriously.”

Coward, Drake thought as he tossed the on the desk. Why the hell hadn’t he broken up with Simone like he was supposed to?

Because he was selfish. Breaking up with her would be the smart thing to do, but it also meant he would have to go back to the dreary existence he’d been stuck in for the last eight years. He couldn’t do that, not after experiencing how wonderful being with Simone could be.

But as his other arm slowly started turning gray, Drake wondered if he was really going to have any say in the matter.

* * * * *

“What did Drake want?” Megan asked when Simone walked back into the kitchen.

Simone let out a sigh as sat down across from her friend. Megan had come by on her lunch break to find out how Simone’s date with Drake had gone. She’d just gotten to the part about the carriage ride through Central Park when her cell phone rang.

She picked up her half-eaten container of yogurt and pushed the spoon around disinterestedly. “He called to cancel on our date tonight.”

The other woman’s eye went wide. “He did? Why?”

Simone shrugged. “He said something about helping a friend through a rough patch.”

Megan frowned. “I’m sensing you don’t believe him?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He gave me no reason to think he’s lying, but with my track record with men, I can’t help being skeptical. When I asked him if he wanted to come over tomorrow night instead, he said he wasn’t sure how long this thing with his friend was going to take and that he’d call me. That sure sounds as if he’s blowing me off.”

“Maybe,” her friend agreed. “Or he could mean exactly what he said. Just because you dated a few jerks, that doesn’t mean all men are asshole. If he’s half as wonderful as those first two dates seem to indicate, I think you ought to cut him some slack. Don’t go looking for problems where there aren’t any.”

Simone said nothing. Maybe Megan was right. She shouldn’t put Drake in the same category as the other men she’d gone out with simply because they had turned out to be losers.

She and Megan talked some more about Drake, with Simone picking up where she’d left off and telling her friend about the rest of their date last night. After that, the conversation turned to Simone’s book. The other woman was not only thrilled she’d gotten back on track, but loved the plotline, too.

“Oh hell, it’s after one. I have to get back to the office. I’m already late,” Megan said as she glanced at her watch a little while later. She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “Listen, don’t worry about Drake. He’ll call you. I know it.”

Simone conceded she was probably right, but after the other woman left, her doubts came back. What the heck was wrong with her? She’d been on two dates with the guy and he had simply postponed dinner so he could help out a friend. There was nothing tragic going on here, so why was she so freaked out?

Because Drake was the most amazing guy she’d been out with in a long time. Heck, he was the most amazing guy she’d ever been out with. Period. And she really wanted it to work with him. She just hoped Drake wanted the same thing.

Telling herself writing would distract her, Simone did her best to spend the rest of the day focusing on her book. She was mostly successful, but after dinner she found her thoughts straying to Drake again. She wondered if she should call to see how his friend was doing, just to be nice. But then she thought better of it. She didn’t want to come off like some psycho girlfriend by checking on him every few hours.

Too tired to do any more writing and not sure if she was writing anything worth a crap anyway, she curled up on the couch and turned on the television instead. Watching Bones, even if it did have David Boreanaz in it, wasn’t as much fun as spending the evening with Drake would have been, though.

Chapter Eight

Simone was in the living room working on her book the next day when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the call display disinterestedly only to do a double take when she saw Drake’s name. Pulse skipping a beat, she immediately reached out to grab her cell, but then hesitated. She didn’t want him to think she’d just been sitting by the phone waiting for him to call. That would make her seem desperate. She chewed on her lower lip, debating whether to let the call go to voice mail or not. But as one ring turned into two, then three, she knew she didn’t have the willpower for that. Picking up the phone on the fourth ring, she pushed the answer button and held it to her ear.

“Hey Drake. You just caught me. I was on my way out the door.”

She made a face. That sounded like a lie, even to her.

If Drake noticed, however, he didn’t mention it. “I won’t keep you then. I just wanted to let you know that the thing with my friend didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Do you still want to get together for dinner tonight? If you’re not busy, I mean.”

Simone wondered if she should turn him down, just on principle. She didn’t want him thinking he could stand her up anytime he felt like it and still expect her to fall all over herself when he finally got around to asking her out again. But she really wanted to see him. Besides, she wasn’t in the mood to play games.

“I’d love to,” she said. “Is seven still okay?”

“That’s great,” Drake said. “I’ll see you then.”

Simone smiled. “I can’t wait.”

She glanced at the clock as she hung up. Crap, it was almost five and she had a ton of things to do before Drake got there. She would like to have finished the sex scene she was writing, but she just didn’t have time.

“Sorry, guys,” she told her characters as she closed her laptop. “You’re just going to have to keep yourselves entertained until tomorrow. I’ve got a dinner to make.”

Despite having worked at a cooking magazine for more than three years, Simone was a dreadful cook. There were only two things she was comfortable making—quiche and meatloaf. Since it was a safe bet Drake wasn’t a quiche kind of guy, she decided to go with the meatloaf.

Throwing the ingredients together, she put them into a loaf pan and stuck it in the oven along with the baking potatoes, then made the salad. Once she finished, she hurried into the bedroom to find something to wear.

The short, sexy skirt and sleeveless top were an easy choice, but picking out the perfect bra and panties to go with them required a little more thought. It wasn’t as if she planned to drag Drake off to the bedroom the moment he came in the door, but she was hoping they’d end up there at some point.

Did she want to go with something demure, like a simple bra and matching bikini panties, or something racy like a super-duper push-up bra and lace-trimmed Brazilian cut panties? She thought about it for a little while, then decided on the racier lingerie. She really wanted to knock his socks off the first time he saw her half naked. Just the thought of modeling the sexy underwear for Drake was enough to make her pussy tingle.

Stifling a moan, Simone went into the adjoining bathroom to take a quick shower and wash her hair. As she was putting on her makeup twenty minutes later, she felt a silly little flutter in her tummy. She couldn’t remember being this excited about a date since she was in high school. Was it because Drake was such a great guy or because she figured they might end up in bed tonight?

Maybe it was a bit of both. Drake was serious boyfriend material—at least from what she could tell from the other two dates. And after the erotic phone sex the other night, she was definitely eager to find out what sleeping with him would be like.

As she dried her hair, she wondered if Drake would be as slow and teasing in bed as he was over the phone. God, she hoped so. The idea of him going down on her the way he’d described over the phone had her pussy soaking wet and her clit positively throbbing.

Which made putting on her bra and panties a few minutes later interesting. It took all her willpower to keep from slipping her hand between her legs and giving herself a quick little orgasm. But she resisted the urge. She’d rather keep herself on edge. That way it would be even better when Drake finally did touch her. Ignoring her arousal, Simone finished getting dressed and went back into the kitchen.

She’d just finished setting the table and was about to check the meatloaf when the doorbell rang. Quickly wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she hurried into the living room to answer the door.

At the sight of Drake standing on the other side of it, all she could do was stare. Casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair slightly tousled as if he’d just run his hand through it and a trace of stubble on his square jaw, he looked good enough to eat. Damn, she’d almost forgotten how handsome he was. Maybe she could just turn the oven off and drag his good-looking ass straight to the bedroom.

“I’m not too early, am I?” he asked when she didn’t say anything.

Simone blushed and let out an embarrassed laugh. “No, not at all.” She took a step back and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

As he walked past her, Simone caught a whiff of his cologne and inhaled deeply. Whatever brand he was wearing, it didn’t overpower his masculine scent but instead seemed to bring it out even more, and it was all she could do not to throw herself at him and bury her nose in the side of his neck. Resisting the impulse, she forced herself to shut the door.

“These are for you,” Drake said when she turned around.

Simone looked down to see him holding out a bouquet of flowers. She’d been so distracted by the man himself, she hadn’t even realized he had anything in his hand. While roses might have been a little over-the-top at this point in their relationship, the colorful daylilies were perfect.

She gave him a smile as she reached out to take them. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Going up on tiptoe, she kissed him gently on the mouth. One taste of him had her thinking she should just skip the idea of dragging him into the bedroom and go ahead and tear his clothes off right there instead. But once again, she controlled herself. “I’ll go put these in water.”

He followed her into the small eat-in kitchen. “Dinner smells great.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at him as she filled a vase with water. “Hope you like meatloaf.”

“Love it.”

She unwrapped the plastic from the flowers and put them in the vase. “Good. Because it’s one of the few dishes I can actually make.”

He lifted a brow. “I thought you said you used to work for a cooking magazine.”

She laughed. “I did, but that just means I can write, not that I can cook.”

“Point taken,” he said, chuckling. “Do you need help with anything?”

Simone looked at him over her shoulder as she set the vase on the table. She wasn’t used to guys asking if she wanted help in the kitchen. Yet another point in Drake’s favor. “You could open the wine, if you wouldn’t mind.”

While he did that, Simone took the meatloaf out of the oven and transferred it to a serving dish. When she turned to carry it over to the table, she was surprised to see Drake standing beside her chair. She was confused for a moment, then realized he was waiting for her to sit so he could push it in for her. She wasn’t used to men doing that, either. Okay, that was it. If he passed the bedroom test, he was a keeper for sure. How a great guy like him wasn’t married was beyond her.

Simone had as much fun talking to Drake at her kitchen table as she did on the first two dates. With most other guys, conversation usually started to dwindle on the third or fourth date, but she and Drake found just as much to talk about this time. There weren’t any of those uncomfortable silences that sometimes happened when two people didn’t know what to say next, which was nice.

Even though Simone told Drake to sit while she cleared the table after they finished dinner, he insisted on helping her clean up. She’d never really thought of doing dishes as enjoyable, but as Drake washed and she dried, she had to admit it was a heck of a lot more fun than it usually was. Of course, that probably had something to do with the fact that she got to watch his muscles flex underneath his tight-fitting T-shirt every time he moved. She was almost sorry when they finished. Until she discovered that putting the dishes away was even more fun. Since the kitchen was so small, it gave her plenty of opportunity to brush up against him. She tried to be subtle about it, but when she went out of her way to press her body up against his more than once, the glint in his eye made her think he might be catching on.

She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes as her breasts grazed the hard muscles of his chest yet again. “Sorry,” she said softly. “It’s really tight in here.”

His mouth curved into a sexy smile. “You don’t hear me complaining.”

Simone forgot all about the serving dish still sitting on the counter as she gazed up into his eyes. This close, she could see that they were flecked with gold and edged with a deep, rich chocolate brown. And filled with desire.

Drake reached out and gently brushed her hair back from her cheek. The feel of his fingers on her skin made her breath catch and she leaned toward him, her lips parting of their own accord as she silently begged him to kiss her. To her dismay, he hesitated. Okay, time to pull out her secret weapon. Eyes locked with his, she slowly ran her tongue over her lips. That did the trick. With a groan, he slid his hand in her hair and bent his head to kiss her.

His mouth was tender and demanding at the same time, and she let out a little sigh of pleasure as his tongue swept her mouth to take sweet possession of hers. She ran her hands up the front of his chest to his shoulders. He was a solid wall of muscle beneath the T-shirt he wore and she murmured her approval against his mouth.

Drake tightened his hand in her hair, tilting her head back and kissing his way along the curve of her jaw and down her neck. The feel of his mouth on the sensitive skin made little goose bumps chase each other all over her body. His free hand found the hem of her top and slipped underneath, slowly making its way up to cup one satin-covered breast. She gasped and arched against him as he gently massaged her through the fabric. She could feel the heat of his hand through the thin material and she yearned for him to yank her bra out of the way so he could touch her bare skin.

Just when she thought he might do just that, he released her breast to slide his hand down her side and over her hip. Cupping her ass, he pulled her firmly against him. His cock pressed into her tummy, letting her know exactly how much he wanted her. Mmm, that was quite a package he had hidden in his jeans. Heat pooled between her legs as she wondered if he was actually as big as he felt.

He traced a path of hot kisses back up to her mouth, capturing it in another searing kiss before lifting his head with a groan. “I want you, Simone.”

She moaned and rubbed herself against his hard-on. “I can tell. I want you, too.”

He kissed her again, suckling gently on her lower lip. “Which way is the bedroom?”

Simone was so hot for Drake she was tempted to ask him to take her right there on the kitchen counter. But the thought of hot, sweaty sex in her big, comfy bed with the eight-hundred thread count sheets she’d splurged on was too inviting to resist.

Rather than answer, she gave him a naughty smile, then took his hand and led him out of the kitchen. Halfway down the short hallway that connected the living room to the bedroom, Drake gave her hand a tug and pulled her into his arms for another kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, turned on even more by knowing he couldn’t seem to wait until they reached the bedroom. As he pressed her up against the wall, his mouth moving over hers urgently, she decided sex up against the wall would be just fine with her. The sheets would have to wait for round two.

She ran her hands down his chest and past his belt to the sizeable bulge in his jeans, then gave it a firm squeeze. Oh yeah, he was definitely packing some serious heat down there. She wondered if he had a license for that weapon. This was New York, after all, and concealed weapons were strictly prohibited. Apparently, no one had ever told Drake that. Thank God.

Drake groaned against her mouth. “Do you know what you do to me?” he rasped.

She let out a husky little laugh and gave him another firm squeeze through his jeans. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Taking her hands in both of his, he pulled her the last few steps into the bedroom. Okay, the bed it was then. The closer they got, the faster her heart beat. She’d never experienced desire like this, never wanted a man this much. She thought she might actually orgasm before he even got her clothes off.

In a hurry to get them both naked, Simone stopped where she was and tugged him close. Eager to see all those gorgeous muscles he was hiding, she slid her hands underneath his T-shirt and urgently pushed it up. Drake must have gotten the idea because he reached over his shoulder, grabbed a handful of material and pulled off his shirt.

Simone was vaguely aware of him tossing the T-shirt away, though she had no idea where it ended up. She was too mesmerized by the smooth expanse of his chest and the washboard abs to go with it. Damn, he was built.

She would gladly have spent the rest of the night running her hands all over his scrumptious torso, but Drake was already reaching for the hem of her shirt. Thrilled at the realization he wanted to see her naked, too, she lifted her arms obediently. He pulled her top over her head and sent it flying across the room to join his T-shirt. Then he was unzipping her skirt and before she knew it, she was standing before him in just her bra and panties.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The hunger on Drake’s face was unmistakable as he stepped back to take in her half-naked body. “But you’re still wearing way too many clothes.”

Simone couldn’t help but smile. Reaching around, she unhooked her bra and slowly let it drop to the floor. “Is that better?”

His mouth curved. “Much.”

He gently cupped her breasts in his hands and took her nipples between his fingers, slowly rolling them back and forth before giving each of them a firm squeeze. Little tingles of pleasure shot through her and she moaned. Dear God, he was only touching her with his fingers and she was already in heaven.

Giving her a wolfish grin, Drake bent his head and took one rose-colored peak in his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the pert little bud slowly at first, but then suckled on it more hungrily, lashing her nipple with his tongue over and over until she thought she’d go insane from how amazing it felt. As he feasted on one breast, he massaged its twin with his other hand and she had to grasp his shoulders to steady herself.

Only when he had properly devoured the first nipple did he turn his attention to the other one, giving it just as much loving. Damn, he was good at this. No wonder he was such an awesome romance writer. He could write an entire book on how to make love to a woman’s nipples.

Which was why she almost protested when he lifted his head. Sheesh, he was just on chapter three. He could have gone to chapter ten at least. But that thought disappeared when he slid his hands around to cup her ass through the silky panties she was wearing. He tightened his grip, pulling her more tightly against his erection. He had strong hands, she thought as he massaged her ass and ground her panty-covered pussy against his hard-on. She liked that in a man.

While rubbing against his jean-covered cock like this was sexy as hell, it was also frustrating, too. Okay, enough foreplay. It was time for him to lose the rest of his clothes.

With that thought in mind, she shoved her hands down between their bodies in search of his belt, but he nudged her back onto the bed before she could get to it. Any protest she had was muffled by another kiss and by the time he lifted his head to trail hot kisses down her body, she completely forgot what she was going to say.

Then Drake was hooking his fingers in her panties and pushing them down over her curvy hips. When she was naked, he stood back to gaze down at her with those beautiful dark eyes of his.

“I’ve been fantasizing about your naked body since the first time I saw you, but my fantasies didn’t even come close. You’re absolutely perfect.”

The hunger in his eyes made color rise to her cheeks. “You’re pretty perfect yourself.” She grinned. “At least the part I can see anyway. Why don’t you take off those jeans so I can see if the rest of you measures up?”

Drake chuckled, his hands going to his belt. She pushed herself up on her elbows and waited impatiently while he made short work of his jeans and boxer-briefs. His legs were long and well-muscled without being bulky and when his hard cock sprang free, she caught her breath. His shaft was everything she’d imagined it would be and more. He was thick, long and beautiful, just as he had described during their phone sex session. Her only quandary was whether she wanted him in her mouth or her pussy first.

He lifted a brow, his mouth twitching. “Do I measure up?”

Her lips curved into a slow smile as she remembered his comment about the tape measure the other night. While she had to admit she was curious about his official size, that would have to wait until later. “Most definitely.”

Simone expected him to join her in bed, but Drake surprised her by spreading her legs, then leaning forward to bury his face between them. The move took her breath away and she gasped as his tongue found her clit. He cupped her bottom with both hands, groaning as he lapped hungrily at her pussy. She thought he’d continue his slow, teasing exploration of her pussy like he had the rest of her body, but his eagerness was fine with her. There had been enough teasing already. She was ready for some serious oral action.

And Drake definitely didn’t disappoint her. He made love to her pussy like no other man ever had. While he ran his tongue up and down her dewy folds occasionally, he focused most of his attention right on her clit, which was exactly how she liked it. Usually when a guy was going down on her, it took a while for her orgasms to build, but not with Drake. His mouth couldn’t have been on her for more than a few moments before she started to come. She writhed on the bed and clutched at the sheets as pleasure surged through her.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned. “Please don’t stop.”

In response to her words, Drake tightened his grip on her ass and moved his tongue even faster. Simone threw back her head and cried out, coming over and over until she was dizzy from it. When the tremors of her orgasm finally subsided, all she could do was lie there panting for breath. She’d never come that hard from oral sex before. Drake certainly knew how to pleasure a woman.

He lifted his head to look at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good?”

Her lips curved. “Mm-hmm. But that’s because you have such a talented tongue. How ’bout I return the favor?”

As Drake stood up, Simone rolled over onto her stomach and wiggled to the edge of the bed. Wrapping her hand around his thick cock, she leaned forward to take the head in her mouth, then swirled her tongue ’round and ’round it. Above her, Drake groaned and slid his hand in her hair, pushing his cock in a little deeper. She let out a husky moan of her own and surged forward to take even more of his length in her mouth. When the head of his cock touched the back of her throat, she let it stay there for just a moment before sliding her lips back up until they were barely touching the tip. She repeated the motion over and over with agonizing slowness, teasing his cock with her tongue the whole time.

She was just starting to wonder how long he could last when Drake tightened his fingers in her hair, gently pulling her away. She looked up to find him gazing down at her, his eyes full of desire. Well, she supposed that answered her question.

“If you keep that up, I’m going to come in your mouth,” he growled softly. “And while that definitely isn’t a bad thing, I want to be inside you the first time.”

She liked that idea herself. Scooting back on the bed, Simone waited while he grabbed a foil packet from the pocket of his jeans. She licked her lips in anticipation as he rolled the condom onto his cock. As much fun as exploring him with her mouth was, she couldn’t wait to have him inside her. Her pussy was already quivering with excitement.

Climbing onto the bed, Drake settled himself between her legs. Bracing himself on his muscular forearms, he rubbed the head of his cock back and forth along the opening of her pussy before slowly easing his thick shaft into her in one smooth motion.

Although Simone was soaking wet and ready for him, she couldn’t help but gasp as he entered her. His cock was so hard it pulsed inside her and she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him in even deeper.

Drake groaned. “God, you’re so tight.”

She could only moan in reply, but even that was muffled as his mouth closed over hers in a hot, searing kiss. He started thrusting into her slowly, but within a few strokes, he was already picking up the pace.

Simone lifted her hips to meet his. “Oh, yeah. Hard and fast, just like that.”

She was just on the edge of orgasm when Drake suddenly rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. Simone sat gazing down at him, her breath coming in huge gasps.

Drake cupped her ass in his hands, urging her up and down. “Ride me.”

Simone eagerly obeyed. Placing her hands his chest, she leaned forward to kiss him as she made slow, teasing, rhythmic circles on the top half of his cock. She yearned to take him deeper, but resisted the impulse. She wanted to make it as good for him as he was making it for her.

She clenched her pussy, squeezing his cock as she undulated above him. Drake made a sound that was half moan, half growl against her mouth and she pulled away to give him a smile.

“Does that feel good?” she asked as she took him a little deeper.

“Oh God, yes,” he breathed. “But I can’t take it anymore.”

Tightening his grip on her ass, he yanked her down on his cock and pumped in and out of her forcefully. Each thrust pushed her closer and closer to the precipice until she was once again teetering on the edge.

“Harder!” she demanded. “Fuck me harder!”

He did as she ordered, thrusting into her faster and harder until she was crying out in one long, continuous scream of ecstasy. Beneath her, Drake groaned hoarsely as he found his release. Knowing he was coming with her made her pleasure even better.

When her climax finally subsided, Simone collapsed forward on his chest and gasped for breath as she listened to the pounding of his heart. Only when her heartbeat returned to something approaching normal did she lift her head and smile at him.

“Drake Parrish, where have you been all my life?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He gave her a lazy grin. “I guess that means you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed it?” She laughed. “Yeah, I suppose you could say I enjoyed it.”

Drake chuckled. “Well if you enjoyed that, then just wait for the encore.”

Chapter Nine

It had been so long since Drake woke up beside a woman he thought he must be dreaming when he found himself wrapped around a soft, feminine body the next morning. But when sweetly curved ass cheeks rubbed up against his rapidly hardening cock, he knew she wasn’t a fantasy. His imagination wasn’t that good. And now that everything he and Simone had done was coming back to him, he had to admit last night had been the best sex of his life. Of course, that could be because he hadn’t had sex with a woman in eight years. But more likely it was because Simone was hot as hell in bed.

She was just as hot out of it, too. His mouth curved as he remembered the way she’d pulled him out of bed after making love the first time last night and dragged him into the hallway so they could have sex up against the wall. He’d done a lot of things with a woman before, but that had been a first for him. And just when he thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, she’d led him over to the couch afterward and done absolutely incredible things to his cock while kneeling on the floor between his legs.

Most of the actual dinner had been a blur. Simone had looked so damn sexy when he’d walked in that all he could think about was carrying her off to the bedroom and making love to her. Which made sitting across from her at the table pure torture. But somehow he’d forced the X-rated thoughts to the back of his mind and had a normal conversation with her. While the meatloaf she made was great, he couldn’t honestly say he’d given it his wholehearted attention. Instead, he spent the entire time being mesmerized by her luscious pink lips. Of course, looking at her delectable mouth made him think of kissing her and that led directly to thoughts of the phone sex they’d had, which in turn filled his mind with fantasies of what it would be like to actually do all those things they talked about.

His lust had only intensified after dinner. He didn’t know washing dishes could be such an arousing experience, but being that close to her had driven him absolutely crazy. He’d wanted to abandon the dishes, pick up Simone and put her on the counter, then push that flirty little skirt of hers up to her waist so he could find out exactly what kind of panties she was wearing. Or if she was wearing any at all. He hadn’t been too sure where things would go from there, but he knew having her legs wrapped around him was definitely part of the equation.

Then they kissed and all rational thought completely disappeared from his mind. He didn’t even remember how they had gotten to the bedroom. He vaguely remembered telling himself he should take it slow, but the first taste of her pussy had nearly driven him insane and he hadn’t been able to get enough of her. She tasted so unbelievably sweet he’d wanted to run his tongue up and down her pink folds all night long.

He was a little surprised when she came so quickly. But pleased, too. It’d been a long time since he had gone down on a woman and it was good to know he could still do it right.

He hadn’t even thought about her returning the favor until she’d wrapped her hand around his shaft and taken him in her mouth. The feel of her lips around his cock almost made him come on the spot and he had to start reciting baseball stats to himself as quickly as he could. Anything to prolong the exquisite pleasure of her tongue. But when she deep throated his cock, even Babe Ruth’s rookie season record couldn’t distract him from an approaching orgasm.

That was why he’d urged her head up. Coming in her mouth would have felt incredible, he was sure, but he wanted his first time with her to be more than incredible. He wanted it to be absolutely unforgettable.

By the time he got the condom packet open and rolled the sucker on, he’d cooled down enough to take things slowly. At least in the beginning. That hadn’t lasted very long, though. Her pussy had been too tight and wet around him for that. Even changing positions hadn’t been able to delay his orgasm and when he came, it was as if a dam had burst inside him.

Though their lovemaking had been slower each time after that, it had been no less intense. He and Simone had gone at it most of the night before finally falling into an exhausted sleep. He’d been so worn out by then he hadn’t even thought to duck into the bathroom to check himself in the mirror for signs he was going zombie.

Shit.

Drake tensed. How the hell could he have forgotten something so important?

Heart in his throat, he lifted his head to look at the arm he had draped over Simone and was relieved to see the skin was its normal color. His chest looked okay, too. At least the part he could see. Careful not to disturb her, he lifted the sheet slightly to check out the rest of his body and let out a sigh of relief. No signs of decaying flesh anywhere. Then again, he’d just had an episode yesterday. That meant his inner zombie shouldn’t be making an appearance for another two days. If it stayed on schedule, that was.

Relaxing, Drake wrapped his arm around Simone again. She stirred and put her arm on top of his, pulling him closer and wiggling her ass against him as she sighed into the pillow.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

He nuzzled her neck. “Good morning to you, too, beautiful.”

She laughed. “Beautiful, huh? Your eyesight must be really bad in the morning. My hair is probably a mess and I’m sure my makeup is, too. If I even have any on.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Well, I think you look beautiful.”

“I see you’re not the only one who thinks so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone is poking me in the bottom, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He chuckled and pressed his cock against the cleft of her ass even tighter. “Is he?”

“He?” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Are you trying to say your penis is doing that completely on its own?”

“Hold on and I’ll check.” He lifted up the sheet and made a show of looking at his cock before he covered them again. “Yup, he’s doing that completely on his own.”

She giggled and ground her ass back against him. “Really? And what does he have in mind?”

Drake groaned as his cock began to throb. “Well, it’s a little difficult to be sure since he doesn’t communicate very well when he’s in this condition, but I imagine he’s thinking about sliding inside that hot, wet pussy of yours for round five. Or is it six?”

“I lost count, but who cares? I just like the way he thinks.”

He slipped his hand between her legs to run his finger along the lips of her pussy. She was wet and ready for him. “So I see.”

She moaned into the pillow. Reaching out, she grabbed a condom off the night table and handed it to him. A moment later, he was sheathing himself deep inside her.

Simone’s pussy was unbelievably tight and Drake buried his face in her shoulder with a groan. As he slowly thrust in and out, he wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers finding her clit among the downy curls at the juncture of her thighs and making little circles around it.

Simone rotated her hips in time with his movements, her pussy clenching tightly around his cock as she instinctively matched his rhythm. This was definitely the way to wake up in the morning. In this position, he could take his time thrusting as slowly as he liked and still play with her clit at the same time.

“Do you like that?” Drake asked, brushing her ear with lips.

“Mm-hmm. Don’t stop.”

He pressed his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. “I won’t stop. I’m going to keep touching you like this until I make you come, baby. Just so I can feel your pussy clench around me again like it did last night. Would you like that?”

“Oh God, yes,” she breathed.

He closed his eyes and buried his face in the curve of her neck. He loved hearing the passion in her voice and knowing he was the one responsible for it. He focused on keeping his thrusts slow and deliberate as he continued making little circles on her clit. When Simone’s breath started coming faster, she reached down to cover his hand with hers, urging him to speed up the pace.

“Oh yeah,” she moaned. “Just like that.”

A moment later, she started thrusting her ass back against him with soft, little sounds of pleasure. That was the signal he’d been waiting for. He added more pressure to her clit with his finger while at the same time pounding his cock into her pussy as deeply as he could go.

He knew she was coming even before she screamed out his name because her pussy began to make those little spasms around his cock. It pushed him over the edge along with her and he let out a hoarse groan against her neck as he reached his climax.

When his orgasm had subsided, Drake didn’t pull out right away. Instead, he kept his cock buried deep in her pussy as he continued to gently move his fingers on her clit. Only when she became too sensitive did he stop touching her and slowly slide out.

Simone rolled over and looped her arm around his neck, pulling him close for a slow kiss. “Mmm. I could wake up to that every morning.”

He gave her a lazy grin. “It definitely beats an alarm clock, that’s for sure.”

She laughed and gave him another kiss, then put her head on his shoulder. He thought they might fall asleep again, but after a moment, she lifted her head to look at him.

“What do you say we take a shower, then I make you breakfast?”

Eight years ago, he would have bolted for the door if a woman he’d just spent the night with had said that to him. Back then, he was only in it for the sex and having breakfast with a woman after a sack session would have definitely sent the wrong message. But it wasn’t like that with Simone and he decided he’d like nothing better than to have breakfast with her.

But then Drake realized how stupid he was being. Last night had been wonderful and the sex they’d just had definitely made that morning the best in the last eight years. Every minute he stayed with her increased the chance that he might start to turn into a zombie, though. It would be safer to bail on breakfast.

Drake opened his mouth to tell Simone he had to leave, but she chose that moment to hop out of bed and bend over to pick up a piece of clothing they’d tossed on the floor the night before. The sight of her sexy ass completely obliterated every thought in his head. Then she started describing a new sex move she’d read about in Cosmo—one that involved a hot, steamy shower and him taking her from behind. He was out of the bed and after her like a shot. Ah, the hell with it. He might be a zombie, but he was a man too, and there were just certain things a man couldn’t pass up. Showering with her was one of them.

When he got to the bathroom, Simone had turned on the water and was already waiting for him in the glass-enclosed shower. Despite having had sex with her less than an hour ago, his cock was hard and throbbing with need again and it was all he could do not to pick her up and plunge himself inside her the moment he joined her. But as she lathered body wash between her hands, then ran them over her breasts and down her taut tummy with the sexiest come-hither look he’d ever seen, he decided he could deny himself a little longer if it meant being treated to such an erotic show.

As he watched, Simone slid one hand between her legs to tease her pussy provocatively before moving back up to cup her breasts. Giving him a sexy smile, she caught her lower lip between her perfect teeth and squeezed her soap-covered nipples.

“You have no idea how turned on you’re making me,” he said hoarsely.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Her smile broadened. “Or better yet, come over here and show me.”

As much as he wanted to watch her touch herself some more, the desire to run his hands over her silky skin was just too powerful to resist and he found himself closing the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around her, he slid his hands down her back to cup her ass. She moaned as he gave her cheeks a squeeze.

“That feel good?” he asked.

“Very good.”

He moved his hands around to the front to cup her breasts. Her nipples were hard as little pebbles between his fingers and he gave them a firm pinch. “How about this?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Sliding one hand down, he dipped his finger in her pussy. She was hot and wet, a sure indication that she was just as ready to have sex again as he was.

He kissed his way along the curve of her jaw to suck on her bottom lip. “I think it’s time we try out that sex position you were telling me about.”

“I think you’re right.”

Giving him a long, slow kiss on the mouth, she turned around so that her back was to him. Bending his head to kiss the curve of her neck, Drake reached around to cup her sex in his hand, gently finding his way between the downy curls and fingering her plump clit. As he made slow, lazy circles around it, Simone rotated her hips in time with the movements. Every time she wiggled, her ass rubbed up against his hard cock. While it felt incredible, it also made it very difficult to concentrate on what he was doing. Unable to help himself, he let out a groan.

Simone reached up to bury her fingers in his hair. He lifted his head from the curve of her neck to find her gazing up at him.

“I need you inside me,” she said in a breathy whisper. “Now.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, but instead spread her legs and bent over, placing her hands against the wall. In that position, he was not only treated to a view of her heart-shaped ass, but the pink folds of her beautiful pussy as well, and he let out another groan. Eight years of solitary confinement was a small price to pay for the opportunity to make love to a woman like Simone.

As tempting as it was to immediately thrust himself deep inside her, Drake couldn’t keep from rubbing the head of his cock up and down her wet slit. The moan that escaped Simone’s lips was his undoing, though, and a moment later he grasped her hips and plunged into her pussy in one smooth motion.

Her pussy was so tight and wet around him that he thought he was going to explode right then. He stayed where he was until he got himself under control. Then he tightened his hold on her hips and pumped into her as slowly as he could manage. That technique worked until Simone shoved her ass back to meet his thrusts.

“Harder,” she demanded, looking at him over her shoulder.

Drake was powerless to resist her. “Your wish is my command.”

Gripping her hips, he pounded into her harder and harder. The sound of their wet skin slapping together in the small confines of the shower was so damn arousing it was all he could do to keep from coming just from that alone. Closing his eyes, he growled as he fought back the urge. He wouldn’t come yet, not until he made her scream first.

Fortunately it didn’t take that long, as her moans soon turned to cries of ecstasy. Only then did he allow the dam inside him to burst, squeezing her hips hard and thrusting into her as hard as he could. With a groan, he pulled her back against him one last time and buried his cock up to the hilt in her heat as his orgasm rushed through him.

Breathing ragged, Drake braced one hand on the wall, then collapsed forward, burying his face in the curve of Simone’s neck. In twelve hours, they’d had sex more times than he could remember, and yet he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough of her. He’d never been with anyone so amazing.

Drake didn’t know how long he and Simone stayed like that, but by the time they got out of the shower and dried off, it took every ounce of strength he had left to drag himself into the kitchen for the breakfast she promised him. He naturally assumed she’d been talking about bacon and eggs, possibly even pancakes, when she said she would make him breakfast, so he was a little surprised when she set a bowl of oatmeal in front of him instead.

Simone must have seen the stunned look on his face because she put a banana down beside the bowl, gave him a grin and reminded him she could only make two dishes and neither of them were appropriate for breakfast.

“Besides, oatmeal is good for you,” she told him as she sat down.

Drake hadn’t had oatmeal since he was a kid and he didn’t like it much then, but as he ate, he had to admit the extra cinnamon she’d added made it pretty damn good. Maybe his taste had changed as he’d gotten older. Then again, maybe it was the short robe Simone was wearing. With all the cleavage she was showing, he probably could have eaten cardboard and thought it was delicious.

Drake intended to leave after breakfast, but then Simone asked if he wanted to take a look at her book. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he found himself agreeing. He just couldn’t say no to her. Okay, he would read what she’d written, give his opinion, then go.

At least that had been his plan. But the minute she grabbed her laptop and headed for the bedroom, he knew he was in trouble. He promised himself he’d keep his pants on and just help her with the editing.

It didn’t quite work out that way. When they got to the part of the book where the hero and heroine were about to have sex, Simone teasingly ran her hand over his belt and suggested they act out the scene.

“Just to see if it’s possible,” she added, giving him a naughty smile.

Drake couldn’t move the laptop aside fast enough. Though he did wonder how they were going to act out the sex scene considering the lovers in Simone’s book were making out atop a wine barrel in the middle of a winery.

Her grin widened. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”

Curious, Drake lifted a brow, but when he asked, she merely took his hand and led him around to the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

“Now, you sit here and imagine you’re on top of that wine barrel,” she said. “Does it make sense that the heroine could climb on top of the hero’s lap and wrap her legs around him while she rides his cock?”

His mouth twitched with amusement at the way she said it, as if they were conducting some sort of science experiment. This was definitely the kind of research he didn’t mind taking part in. He unbuckled his belt. “Why don’t we find out?”

Lips curved into a smile, Simone untied the sash at her waist, then let her robe fall to the floor. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she climbed on the bench so that she was straddling his lap, then slowly lowered herself onto his hard cock.

Drake let out a husky groan as her hot, wet pussy enveloped his shaft. She felt so good sitting on top of him that he almost didn’t want her to move. But as she slowly began to ride up and down on him, he decided that felt even better.

Simone buried her fingers in his hair, then tilted his head back and kissed him. As her tongue teased his, it occurred to him that they weren’t exactly mimicking the characters in her book. He was wondering if he should point that out to her when he felt her shift her weight. Instead of wrapping her legs around him like he thought she was going to do, however, she placed her feet on the bench so that her knees were bent, then she leaned all the way back until her arms were stretched out behind her and she was touching the floor. Drake could only gaze at her in amazement. He’d never been with a woman who was so damn flexible.

As Simone began to rock back and forth against him, Drake stopped marveling at her flexibility and focused on enjoying the benefits of it. Not only did the move give him a full-frontal view of her naked body, but every time she rocked forward, her pussy clenched his cock so tightly he thought he might actually pass out from how good it felt.

From the look of ecstasy on Simone’s face, the position was just as good for her. Knowing how to make it even better, he rested one hand on the inside of her thigh and made slow, deliberate circles on her clit with the fingers of the other. At his touch, Simone caught her breath, her eyes going wide.

“Too much?” he asked, stilling his finger.

She shook her head. “God, no. It feels wonderful.”

He started making circles with his finger again. “Think I could make you come like this?”

Her eyes flared with excitement. “Let’s find out.”

Drake was definitely up for the challenge. As he continued to rub her clit, though, he got the feeling bringing her to orgasm in this position wasn’t going to be that difficult. If the way her breathing quickened was any indication, then she was already on the verge of climaxing.

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned. “That’s it. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Come for me, baby.”

Simone rocked against him faster, her breath coming in quick pants, her pussy squeezing him tighter and tighter until he wasn’t sure he could hold back any longer. But in this position, she was controlling the pace. He couldn’t thrust at all. He could only sit back and watch her come. When he finally heard her scream in pleasure, her pussy clenched so tightly around him that it felt as if she was milking him. That was all it took and he toppled over the edge, coming with a hoarse groan.

After both their orgasms had abated, Drake took Simone’s hands in his and pulled her upright. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh.

“That was off-the-charts good,” she said softly.

“I won’t argue with that,” he agreed.

“It wasn’t exactly how I wrote it in my book, though,” she pointed out. “I’m thinking I might just have to rewrite that part. Or add in another sex scene.”

He chuckled.

When he and Simone finally got their breath back, they moved to the bed where they spent the rest of the day alternately working on her book and talking about anything and everything imaginable. Drake couldn’t remember having so much fun doing absolutely nothing, but Simone made everything enjoyable. As he listened to her tell a story about the time she went fishing with her dad and freed all the worms because she didn’t want to hurt them, he realized this was the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

Too bad he had to get turned into a zombie to get to this place.

Oh, hell. Thinking about being a zombie reminded him again of the risk he was taking by staying. Lately, he’d been turning on a fairly regular schedule, but that didn’t mean a random episode couldn’t happen at any time. He needed to leave before he went all walking dead again.

But then Simone suggested ordering take-out from Chan Lee’s for dinner and even though he knew he was pushing his luck, he once more found himself putting off going home. He just couldn’t make himself leave. Somewhere between last night and that story about the fishing worms, he had fallen in a serious way for Simone Kent. And so he convinced himself it would be okay to stay just a little while longer.

Getting her to eat the chicken with black bean sauce straight out of the carton when their dinner arrived took some persuasion on his part, but she finally gave in. As she sat cross-legged on the couch, wearing nothing but that short, sexy robe and digging out little pieces of chicken with a pair of chopsticks a few minutes later, Drake had to admit she looked damn cute doing it.

“So, was I right about it tasting better when you eat it out of the carton?” he asked when she set her empty take-out box on the coffee table beside his.

Simone laughed. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but it was pretty good. And less mess to clean up.” She picked up the two fortune cookies sitting on the table and handed one to him.

He arched a brow. “You don’t actually read the fortunes in these things, do you?”

She gave him a surprised look. “Of course. It’s part of the fun. Don’t you?”

“Not usually.”

“Well, you should,” she said, then grinned. “It makes the cookie taste better if you read the fortune.”

Drake chuckled. He supposed he couldn’t argue with that logic. He tore open the wrapper and broke the cookie in half. Beside him, Simone did the same. Pulling the tiny piece of paper free, she held it up and read it aloud.

“Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “Well, you’ve certainly caught my eye.”

His mouth quirked. “And what about the second part?”

Her lips curved into a teasing smile. “It’s too early to tell yet, but there’s definitely some potential there.” She broke off a piece of cookie and nibbled on it. “What does yours say?”

Potential was good. Drake broke open the cookie and took out the fortune tucked inside, then read it to himself. He groaned inwardly. Now he remembered why he never read these things.

“What does it say?” Simone asked.

When he didn’t answer right away, she leaned closer so she could see the slip of paper in his hand.

“It is wise to disclose what cannot be concealed,” she read aloud, then gave him a teasing smile. “Oooh, now that sounds mysterious. So, what are you concealing, Mr. Parrish? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “I know. You’re a super spy working undercover as a consulting editor.”

Drake chuckled and tossed the piece of paper on the coffee table. “Now I know why you became a writer.”

She laughed. “Okay, so maybe that was a little far-fetched. You used to be an accountant for the mob and now you’re in witness protection.”

His mouth twitched. “Living in Manhattan? I think they relocate people to places like Iowa or Montana.”

“It’s easier to blend in if you live in Manhattan.”

If she only knew, Drake thought. When a guy spent half his life as a zombie, it was hard to blend in anywhere, even a city like New York. He didn’t mention that to Simone, though. Instead, he put his arm around her and pulled her close for a kiss.

“I’m not super spy or an accountant on the run from the mob,” he said. “I’m just a simple consulting editor having an affair with one of my authors.”

She laughed. “Oooh, having an affair. That makes it sound so illicit.”

He tugged her onto his lap. “Illicit affairs are the best kind.”

Drake kissed her again and slid his hand under her robe to run his finger along her pussy. She was already wet.

“So, is it eating Chinese food out of the carton that has you so excited?” he murmured against her mouth. “Or is it the idea of us having an illicit affair?”

She untied the sash of her robe and shrugged it off her shoulders, then reached for his belt. “Neither. It’s just being in the same room as you.”

That answer worked for him.

He pulled his shirt over his head, then helped her get his jeans off. Once he was naked, he gently tugged Simone down to give her another kiss. As he let his hands roam over her slender curves, he took his time exploring her mouth, alternating between soft, gentle pecks and firmer, more urgent kisses before drawing her bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it.

Lifting her head, Simone gazed down at him with pure, unadulterated desire in her blue eyes. With a moan, she bent to kiss him long and hard on the mouth. He slid his hand in her hair, intending to leave her just as breathless as before, but she pulled away to kiss and nibble her way down his chest and stomach until she came to his hard cock.

Drake groaned as Simone wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and bent to swirl her tongue over the head, licking the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there. He waited for her to take him completely in her mouth, but she seemed content to run her tongue up and down his penis. Although what she was doing was extremely pleasurable, he was impatient for her to suck on him. He was at the point of thinking he might have to actually beg when she finally closed her lips over him and took him deep.

He sucked in a breath, only to groan again as she moved her mouth up and down on him.

“God, that feels good,” he rasped.

She murmured something unintelligible against his cock as she continued to slowly bob her head up and down. He knew from the blow job she’d given him last night that she was extremely good at it, so he was all set for her to get him off like that again, but after one more swirl of the tongue, she crawled up his body to straddle his hips. Apparently, she wanted him inside her. That was fine with him.

Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she rubbed her pussy against his erection before slowly and deliberately taking him inside her.

Drake closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of her pussy as she surrounded him. He couldn’t remember being with a woman who fit around him so perfectly. Or knew how to ride him so damn good, he thought as she placed her hands on his chest and slowly undulated her hips.

He cupped her ass, urging her up and down. As she bounced, her long hair fell over her shoulder to both brush against his chest and give him tantalizing glimpses of her nipples as her breasts jiggled. The sight was enough to make him groan.

Drake tightened his grip on her ass and thrust into her harder. Simone began to breathe faster as she gyrated more wildly on his cock. The way she was moving felt incredible. He could feel every time her pussy squeezed and relaxed, as if she was urging him to come.

But he wasn’t ready yet. He wanted to just lie back and watch Simone enjoy herself. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she looked right then, her face all aglow, her eyes half closed, her lips parted. Damn, she was gorgeous.

His orgasm started before he even realized it. A long, slow drawn-out release that had him clenching his teeth as he felt his whole body tighten. He tried to hold back and wait for Simone to come, but there was just no way.

As his cum splashed into her, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and let out one long, continuous moan, and he knew she was coming, too.

Afterward, Simone fell forward on his chest, her breathing ragged, her pussy still enveloping his cock. Putting one arm behind his head, Drake wrapped the other around her.

“You know what I could really go for right now?” she said softly.

“A nap?” Drake asked, his eyes half closed.

She laughed and lifted his head from his chest to look down at him. “That does sound tempting, but I was thinking more of gelato.”

He lifted a brow. “After Chinese food?”

“Sure. Ice cream goes with everything. And there’s this great little Italian café around the corner that makes the best. Let’s go get some.”

Simone didn’t wait for him to answer, but instead grabbed his hand and jumped off the couch, pulling him with her. If he had a single brain cell still working in that head of his, he would get his ass out of there before some part of his body started looking as if it had reached its expiration date, but Simone looked so excited about going out for gelato he decided to put off leaving until they got back. It wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes anyway. Just to be on the safe side, he ducked into the bathroom to check himself in the mirror while Simone got dressed. Luckily, he didn’t see anything to make him think he was going to turn anytime soon.

When Drake walked into the bedroom a few minutes later, Simone was just pulling on her jeans and he stifled a groan as she wiggled them over her curvy hips.

“Ready?” she asked, turning around to face him.

To make love to her again? Hell, yeah. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. But he knew she was talking about the gelato. “Whenever you are.”

She grinned and shoved her feet into a pair of low-heeled sandals. “Let me just grab my purse.”

Simone was right, the café did have some of the best gelato Drake had ever tasted. And watching her lick the Italian ice cream off the spoon ten minutes later made him extremely glad he hadn’t gone back to his empty apartment yet.

As he walked Simone back to her place a little while later, he told himself he couldn’t put off leaving any longer. He tried to think up a convincing lie to tell her. Maybe something about another deadline he had.

Simone was just unlocking the door to her apartment when Drake’s cell phone rang. He considered letting it go to voice mail, but then realized it could be Beck. Pulling it out of his pocket, he held it to his ear without looking at the call display.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Beck. You have to get out of your apartment. Now.”

Drake’s brow furrowed as he followed Simone inside and closed the door. “I’m not at my apartment. I’m at Simone’s place. Why?”

His friend let out a sigh. “Good. Stay there.”

Drake’s frown deepened at that. “Why?”

“Because I finally tracked down that old Voodoo woman of yours. The bad news is she’s in New York and looking for you.”

Drake’s hand tightened on his cell phone. “Why the hell would she be looking for me?”

“From what I gather, she somehow found out you’re in a really good place right now and she went back up there to put an end to it.”

How could that old bat know he’d found happiness with Simone? And what the hell could she do to make him suffer any more than she already had? Drake wanted to ask Beck if he knew what she had in mind, but he didn’t want to talk about it in front of Simone. He was just about to step out in the hall for some privacy when he saw Simone wrinkling her nose.

“Ugh. What is that?” she muttered. “It smells as if something died in here.”

Drake hadn’t noticed it before, but at her words, he sniffed the air. Shit, it did smell as if something had died in there.

“Fuck,” Beck swore. “Drake, grab Simone and get the hell out of there. Now!”

Frowning in confusion at his friend’s words, Drake was about to ask Beck what he was talking about when two men came out of the kitchen. At least Drake thought they were men at first. But one look at their black, rotting skin, lifeless eyes and shambling gait told him they weren’t human. They were zombies. And they were going straight for Simone, who was standing there rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with shock as one of the ugly bastards reached for her.

Chapter Ten

Shit.

Drake snapped his cell phone closed and shoved it in his pocket. Grabbing Simone’s arm, he pulled her behind him and kicked the zombie closest to them square in the stomach. The force of the blow sent the creature flying backward and knocked him to the floor. The second zombie didn’t even look at his fallen accomplice, but just continued to stagger toward Drake and Simone, his arms outstretched, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into them. The one Drake had knocked to the floor was scrabbling around in an effort to get to his feet, but he wasn’t having much luck. It was as if the thing didn’t have complete control over his limbs.

Drake grimaced. These zombies weren’t anything like him. For one thing, they couldn’t talk. All they did was moan and let out low, guttural noises. Their eyes were different, too. They were cold and black and absolutely devoid of life. Their skin was so decayed and rotted it made his worst day as a zombie seem like a minor case of eczema in comparison. The clothes they wore were just as tattered and decomposed as they were. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they had just dragged themselves out of their own graves.

Well, Drake wasn’t about to let the bastards get anywhere near Simone. He picked up the nearest weapon at hand, a straight back chair by the writing desk along the wall, and swung it at the zombie coming toward them.

The chair broke in several pieces, leaving Drake holding the back portion. The creature stumbled and fell to his knees, but otherwise showed no outward sign Drake had even hit him. Unlike the first zombie, though, this one seemed to have better coordination because he had no trouble getting to his feet.

Drake swung his makeshift weapon at the zombie’s head as hard as he could. The impact was brutal and what was left of the chair shattered into even more pieces.

The creature went down again, his head smashed in and tilted at an unnatural angle. The amount of damage Drake did should have put the bastard down for good, but the damn thing got back to its feet and advanced on them again just as it had before. When the zombie tried to snap at them this time, it couldn’t because the bottom half of its jaw was hanging off.

Behind Drake, Simone let out a scream that was loud enough for the entire apartment building to hear.

Just then, the first zombie managed to get to his feet and now both creatures were stumbling determinedly in their direction.

Drake looked down at the piece of chair left in his hand. It wasn’t much more than an eight-inch section of jagged spindle. This was worthless. He’d need a weapon a hell of a lot more serious than a wooden stake to stop these damn things. Getting Simone to safety was more important right now. Throwing the scrap of wood at the zombies to slow them down, he turned and pushed her toward the door.

“Run!”

Drake glanced back over his shoulder as he followed Simone out of the apartment. Damn. The piece of wood was sticking out of one of the zombie’s eye sockets and the thing didn’t seem to care at all. It was as if they didn’t even feel pain. How the hell was he supposed to stop these things? Swearing under his breath, Drake slammed the door shut. Hopefully, that would slow them down.

Simone threw him a terrified look over her shoulder as they ran down the hall. “What the hell were those things?”

“I’ll explain later,” he yelled. “Right now, we need to get out here. Keep running.”

She didn’t argue as she hurried down the steps. Drake followed, stopping in the lobby just long enough to look back up the staircase to see if the zombies were behind them. Though he didn’t see them, he could hear them staggering in the hallway above them. Letting out a few choice expletives, he pushed Simone out the front door, then grabbed her hand and raced down the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Somewhere far away from here.”

They ran for four blocks before Drake glanced over his shoulder again. Though people on the street were looking at him and Simone as if they were crazy, at least there weren’t any zombies chasing them down the street. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t even come out of the apartment building. If they were lucky, maybe the bastards would fall down the steps and break their necks. But since the damn things were already dead, he supposed it wouldn’t kill them. Or would it? He had no idea. In the movies, nothing could ever seem to kill them.

Interested in putting as much distance between them and the zombies, Drake led Simone down first one side street, then another and another until he finally pushed her into the shadows beside the steps of a brownstone. People walking by glanced at them curiously, but Drake ignored them. It was a little late at night for a jog and neither he nor Simone were exactly dressed for it, but fortunately, this was New York, a place where no one stuck their nose in anyone else’s business.

“We have to call the cops,” Simone said breathlessly.

Drake put his arms around her and darted a quick look out at the street before turning his attention back to her. “Those aren’t the type of things you call the cops about.”

She trembled in his arms, her eyes full of fear as she looked up at him. “What the heck were they?”

He hesitated, trying to figure out what to tell her. Luckily, he didn’t have to come up with something because at that moment his cell phone rang. Knowing it had to be Beck calling to find out why Drake hung up on him before, he pulled it out and flipped it open.

“What the hell is going on, Beck?”

“Man, when you hung up on me, I didn’t know what the hell to think. Are you and Simone okay?”

Drake’s arm tightened reflexively around her. “We’re fine. Why didn’t you tell me that old bat sent…?” He glanced at Simone, his mouth tightening. “Those things after me?”

“Because I didn’t know. But when I heard Simone say something smelled as if it had died in her apartment, I figured it out pretty damn quick. And if that old Voodoo woman sent her zombies after you, then she’s probably not far behind. Which means you need to take Simone and go somewhere safe.”

Was Beck on drugs? “There’s no way I can do that and you know it.”

“There’s more to this than worrying about Simone finding out you’re a zombie, Drake. She’s in as much danger now as you are. That old bat has obviously figured out Simone is the reason you’re happy and apparently she’s pissed off about it enough to come out of hiding after eight years. I don’t want to think about what she’d do to Simone if she got her hands on her. Your little zombie curse may look like a walk in the park in comparison.”

As much as Drake hated to admit it, Beck was right. Simone was in danger because of him, so it was his responsibility to protect her. He only prayed he didn’t turn into a zombie before they could find a way to get this Voodoo bitch off his ass. He didn’t want Simone to find out what he was.

“You’re right,” he said into the phone. “Any idea where can we go?”

On the other end of the line, Beck let out a sigh. “What about my place?”

“If she knows about Simone, she knows about you. Two minutes with a phone book and she’d figure out where we went. We’re going to need to go somewhere else.”

“Good point.” Beck said. “Okay, listen. I worked a case for a guy who has a cabin up in the Catskills. He’s out of the country and he owes me a favor, so he won’t mind if you stay there. I’ll text you with the directions. He doesn’t keep the place stocked with food, so you’ll need to get some supplies, but he leaves a key hidden in a fake rock beside the front steps.”

A fake rock? Drake didn’t know people really used those things. “You sure there’s no way she can find us there?”

“I don’t think so. There’s no obvious connection between the guy who owns the cabin and me anymore. And there’s definitely nothing to tie him to you.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I can’t get a flight out of Louisiana until tomorrow at the earliest, but I’ll come up to the cabin as soon as I can.”

“Sounds good,” Drake said. “Listen, watch your back, okay? If she can’t find me, she could come looking for you.”

“I will.”

Drake snapped the phone closed with a sigh.

“What was all that about?” Simone asked.

He reached up to gently brush her hair back from her face. “I’ll explain on the way.”

She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “On the way to where? Why do we need to go anywhere? Who were you talking to and what the hell were those things in my apartment?”

“Simone, it isn’t safe to talk here. I’ll tell you everything once we’re out of the city.”

“Out of the city?” In the light coming from a nearby streetlamp, her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on.”

Drake clenched his jaw. Damn, she could be stubborn. And from the determined tilt of her chin, she looked as if she was going to stand her ground. While picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder was tempting, it wasn’t really an option, so he reluctantly told her what she wanted to know.

“I was talking to my friend, Beck. He’s a private investigator.”

“Was he the friend you were helping out the other night when you couldn’t come over for dinner?”

Drake shook his head. “No.”

She said nothing as she considered that. “Okay. What about those things that attacked us in my apartment?”

That was a little trickier. Somehow, he didn’t think she would believe they were average guys wearing really good Halloween masks. “They were…” he hesitated. “They were zombies.”

“Zombies?” She stared at him incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish.”

She shook her head. “That’s crazy. Zombies aren’t real.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but you have to trust me. Zombies are very real and as you just saw, very dangerous.”

Her brow furrowed. “Okay, let’s just say I believe you about the zombies. What were they be doing at my apartment?”

“They were after me.”

“You? Why would zombies be after you?”

“Because I got on the bad side of a Voodoo priestess a while back and she’s out to make me pay. Now that she knows about you and our relationship, she wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you to get to me.” He cupped Simone’s cheek. “I’d die before I let her hurt you, I swear. But I can’t keep you safe here in the city, which is why we need to leave.”

She chewed on her lower lip, indecision clearly written on her face. He held his breath, praying she would agree. Finally, she nodded.

“It’s hard not to believe you after seeing those things for myself.”

“Does that mean you’ll come with me?”

She nodded again. “Yes, but only if you tell me where we’re going.”

His mouth twitched. Yeah, he supposed he should have mentioned that. “Beck knows a guy who has a cabin up in the Catskills. We can hide out there until we figure out what to do.”

“I don’t suppose we can go back to my place to grab some stuff, can we?”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea. We can pick up whatever we need on the way.”

Simone didn’t look pleased at that, but she nodded anyway. Drake gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then checked for zombies before taking her hand and heading toward the parking garage.

* * * * *

Simone wondered how she and Drake were going to get up to the Catskills. A cab would cost a bundle, but she didn’t really like the idea of taking a bus, especially at this time of night. Drake surprised her by leading her to an old, four-door sedan in a nearby parking garage.

“I didn’t know you owned a car,” she said as he opened the door for her.

“It isn’t mine. It’s Beck’s. He’s out of town, so he let me borrow it.”

Simone nodded. While most people in the city didn’t bother to own a car, she could see why a private investigator would need one. How else would he be able sneak around and take incriminating photos of sleazy guys cheating on their wives? She looked over her shoulder into the back seat, expecting to see a pile of old coffee cups and take-out containers, but it was surprisingly clean.

As they left the lights of Manhattan behind, Simone gazed out the window, not quite sure if what was happening was real. Zombies. Voodoo. Fleeing the city to hide out at a cabin in the mountains. It sounded more like a plot from one of her books. Only it wasn’t a book and those creatures that had tried to attack them in her apartment had been all too real.

She glanced at Drake. His eyes were fixed on the road, one hand tightly gripping the wheel. In the dark, his expression was unreadable. Maybe one of the reasons the whole scene back at her apartment seemed like something out of a book was because Drake had played the part of the hero so perfectly. When those things had lumbered toward her, all she could do was stand there and stare, completely frozen with fear. But Drake had put himself between her and the two zombies, unconcerned for his own safety. Not only was he gorgeous, fun to hang out with and great in bed, but now it turned out he was a real-life action hero, too. And the way he had promised to keep her safe? She couldn’t imagine writing that line better herself.

Though that did answer the question as to why a guy as wonderful as Drake wasn’t married already. She supposed being on the run from a Voodoo priestess and her zombies would put a serious crimp in anyone’s social life.

Simone wanted to ask Drake what he did to make the priestess angry enough to send zombies after him, but the adrenaline surge and lack of sleep the night before had finally caught up with her. Before she knew it, her eyelids were drooping and she was falling asleep against Drake’s shoulder. The next thing she knew, she was being chased through Central Park by two huge zombies like the ones in her apartment. She jerked awake just as one of the ugly things grabbed her and sank its teeth into her shoulder.

A strong arm pulled her close. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” Drake’s voice was soft and comforting in the darkness. “It was just a bad dream.”

Simone blinked at him, wondering how he knew she had a bad dream, but then realized suddenly jerking awake and gasping for breath had probably given it away. Realizing they were no longer moving, she pushed her hair back from her face and looked around curiously. They were in the parking lot of a grocery store. She gave Drake a questioning look.

“Beck said the cabin isn’t stocked with food and since I don’t think we’ll have much luck getting take-out up here in the sticks, I figured we’d better stop to get some stuff,” he said.

The store was bigger than the ones in Manhattan, so they had a lot more to choose from, but since she and Drake didn’t know how well equipped the cabin was when it came to modern conveniences, they kept it simple, buying stuff that didn’t take much preparation. According to the directions Beck had texted Drake, the cabin was a little over thirty minutes outside the small town where they stopped, so they could come back and get more provisions if they needed to.

An hour later, they were carrying the groceries into the cabin. Simone looked around as she set the bag down on the kitchen counter. She’d never been in a log cabin before, but this one was nice. The living room looked like something out of one of Emily Hayden’s Field & Stream magazines, complete with a few mounted fish on the walls and a pair of crossed oars hanging above the fireplace. She imagined her elderly neighbor would absolutely love the look.

The kitchen wasn’t what Simone would have expected, though. With its six-burner stove, a stainless steel refrigerator and expensive granite countertops, it would have looked right at home in any high-priced New York loft.

As she put the groceries away, Simone decided the cabin would have been a nice, romantic getaway for her and Drake. If they weren’t being chased by zombies. Thinking of zombies reminded Simone of the questions she had wanted to ask him earlier.

She glanced at him as they unpacked the groceries. “That wasn’t the first time you’ve seen a zombie, was it?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “You don’t think they’ll be able to follow us up here, do you?”

“Here? No.”

“You’re sure?”

He pulled her into his arms. “Of course, I’m sure. Besides, even if they did try to follow us, it’d take them a week to get here as slow as they move.”

Despite her fear, Simone couldn’t help but laugh as she remembered the way they had walked. “They did move kind of slow, didn’t they? Like the zombies in the horror movies.”

He chuckled, the sound a deep rumble against her ear. “Exactly like that.”

“Even so, they still freaked me out.” She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn as she looked up at him. “What did you do to get on that woman’s bad side anyway?”

Drake sobered, all trace of amusement gone from his face. “It’s a really long story and we’re both exhausted.” He reached up to gently cup her cheek. “Why don’t we go to bed and get some sleep? I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

Simone would rather hear the story right then, but when she opened her mouth to tell him as much, all that came out was another yawn. She reached up to cover her mouth with her hand again. “I guess we should go to bed. But you have to promise you’ll tell me the whole story tomorrow.”

He bent his head to kiss her tenderly on the mouth. “I promise.”

The bedroom had a pair of French doors that led out to the deck, as well as a fireplace along one wall and a huge king-size bed. If she and Drake were up there on a romantic getaway, Simone would have said the hell with getting some sleep and suggested making love in front of a roaring fire instead. But she was too exhausted and freaked out to do anything but take off her clothes, brush her teeth and fall into bed. Drake put an arm around her, pulling her close, and as she lay there with her head pillowed on his shoulder, she couldn’t help but feel safe.

Chapter Eleven

Waking up beside Simone the next morning seemed like the most natural thing in the world to Drake. God, he could definitely get used to this.

He turned his head to look at her. She was curled up on her side, her back to him, her hair spilling over the pillow, her beautiful ass pressing up against his hip beneath the blanket.

His mouth curving into a smile, he rolled on his side and put his arm around her waist. He was just about to get a little closer, maybe nudge her cute ass with his rapidly hardening cock, when he noticed the skin on his arm was completely black.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Resisting the urge to immediately jump up and run into the bathroom, Drake forced himself to slowly and carefully slide out of bed so he wouldn’t wake up Simone. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him looking like a zombie. She snuggled into her pillow, but didn’t stir. Thank God.

Grabbing his jeans and T-shirt from atop the chest at the bottom of the bed, he went into the bathroom and quietly closed the door, then locked it. He held his breath as he switched on the light.

Drake had hoped the discoloration would be limited to his arm, but as he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw that the ugly decayed skin was covering his shoulder and half of his chest as well.

Fuck.

He ran his hand through his hair and paced back and forth across the tiny room. After a moment, he stopped in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection again. What the hell was he going to do?

His gut told him to get the hell out of there before Simone woke up and saw him. He could leave her a note saying he’d run to the grocery store to pick up something, then go somewhere to hide until he was back to normal. And what if he didn’t go back to normal for days? Abruptly, he remembered the thought that had occurred to him before Beck had gone down to Louisiana to find the Voodoo priestess. What if Beck had pissed her off so much she made the zombie curse permanent? What if he never turned back to normal again?

Drake suddenly found it hard to breathe and he gasped for air. Calm down, he told himself. Just calm down. There was absolutely no reason to think he wasn’t going to turn back into a normal human being just like he always did.

He just had to find someplace to hide until he did. But as he reached for his clothes, he realized he couldn’t go anywhere. Not only would Simone be horribly worried, she’d be stranded at the cabin, too. He couldn’t do that to her.

He was just going to have to stay there and pray this was the shortest zombie episode he’d ever had in eight years.

Turning away from the mirror so he wouldn’t have to look at himself, Drake pulled on his jeans. On the off chance Simone did see him, he didn’t want her seeing all of him. She’d never able to look at him in a sexual way ever again after that.

As he pulled his T-shirt over his head, it occurred to him he should have worn long sleeves. If he had, he might not have to hide out in the bathroom. Providing he didn’t go zombie all over, of course.

But when he turned around to look in the mirror again, he saw his face already beginning to turn that pukey shade of gray.

Sonofabitch.

He was definitely going zombie all over. Maybe waiting it out wouldn’t be such a good idea, after all.

But he couldn’t leave. He’d already decided that. Drake sat down on the edge of the tub. There was no need to panic yet. By the time Simone woke up, maybe his skin would be back to normal.

Two and a half hours later, however, he was still in zombie mode and looking even more unpleasant than usual. He was just wondering how late Simone would sleep when there came a soft knock on the door.

“Drake, are you in there?”

Ah hell.

“Um, yeah,” he called. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

Right. A couple of hours was more like it. He couldn’t go out there looking like this. What the hell was he going to do?

* * * * *

Deciding to put her time to good use while she waited for Drake to finish up in the bathroom, Simone got dressed and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Even though she and Drake didn’t know if the cabin had a coffee pot when they’d gone grocery shopping the night before, they decided to pick up some anyway. Now, as the aroma of freshly brewing coffee filled the kitchen, she was glad they did. It wasn’t Starbucks, but it was pretty damn close.

Taking two mugs out of the cabinet, she set them on the counter, then went around opening the drapes. She caught her breath at the landscape that met her eyes. Trees and hills seemed to go on for miles and to one side of the cabin, she could just make out part of a lake. She’d lived in the city for so long she nearly forgot how nice nature could look, but the view from the windows was breathtaking. It was almost enough to make her think what had happened at her apartment last night had been a dream.

Letting out a little shiver at the memory, Simone turned away from the window and went back in the bedroom to see if Drake had come out of the bathroom yet. To her surprise, the door was still closed. Her brow furrowing, she walked over to knock on it again.

“Drake,” she called. “Are you okay?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before he answered. “Um, yeah. I’m just…um…going to take a shower.”

Smiling, Simone opened her mouth to suggest she join him when she heard the water turn on. Her smile faded. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t suggest it.

Thinking Drake would probably be at least another ten minutes, Simone figured she might as well have some coffee while she waited. When her stomach growled in protest as she walked into the kitchen, she decided some cereal might be called for, too. Just a little, though. She didn’t want to ruin her appetite for breakfast.

Thirty minutes later, she was standing in the kitchen gazing out the window and absently munching cereal out of the box when it occurred to her that Drake still hadn’t come out of the bathroom. She glanced at her watch and frowned. He’d been in the bathroom for over an hour. What man stayed in the bathroom for so long?

Closing the box of cereal, she put it in the cabinet, then went into the bedroom to find the door to the bathroom still closed. The shower was no longer running, though.

Crossing the room, she knocked on the door. “Drake, are you okay in there?”

Silence. Then, “Um, yeah, I’m fine. I’ll just be a few more minutes.”

Now she was starting to get a little worried. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to tell her. She folded her arms and fixed the door was a frown. “You said that an hour ago. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”

Simone was tempted to demand he open the door and let her in, but decided against it. She’d give him ten more minutes. If he wasn’t out by then, she was going in, even if she had to pick the lock.

Turning on her heel, she walked over to the chest at the foot of the bed and sat down on it, her gaze fixed on the bathroom door. What the heck could he possibly be doing in there? Admittedly, she’d dated a few guys who spent more time in the bathroom than she did—which was saying a lot considering she was a complete girly girl—but this was ridiculous.

Simone checked her watch. Eight minutes. Close enough.

Getting to her feet, she marched over to the door. “Drake, it’s been a few more minutes. Are you coming out or not?”

“I…um…I’ll be right out.”

“You’ve already been in there over an hour. You’re starting to freak me out.”

“You don’t have to freak out.” His voice sounded closer than it had before, as if he was right on the other side of the door now. “I’m fine. I just can’t come out right now, that’s all.”

Okay, she had passed worried, zoomed right by freaked out, and was now a few inches from a total meltdown. If Drake could stand right on the other side of the door and talk to her, why couldn’t he come out?

“What do you mean, you can’t come out?” she asked. “Is something wrong with you? Are you sick?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence met her words.

That did it. She put her hands on her hips and glared at the door. “If you don’t open this door right now, I’m going to call the cops and have them come break it down.”

“Don’t do that, Simone!”

What the hell? He sounded positively panic stricken at the idea.

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s exactly what I’m going to do if you don’t come out right now.”

Drake was silent for so long Simone thought she actually might have to make good on her threat. She was just about to go out to the car to grab her cell phone when he spoke.

“Okay. I’ll come out. But first you have to promise you won’t run out of the cabin screaming.”

She frowned at that. “Drake, now you’re really scaring me. Please, just come out.”

“Promise me, Simone.”

This was just too weird. But she was afraid he might spend the rest of the day in the bathroom if she didn’t do as he asked. “Okay, I promise. Now, open the door.”

When Drake didn’t answer, she thought he’d changed his mind about coming out, but after a moment, she heard him unlock the door. As it slowly opened, she took an involuntary step back.

Then froze when she saw him.

His skin was a mottled color, white in some places, gray in others, and almost completely black in the rest. He looked exactly like the zombies in her apartment. All she could do was stare in astonishment.

“Oh God,” she breathed when she finally found her voice. “You’re one of those…those…things.”

“No, I’m not.” He took a step toward her. “I mean, I know I look like—”

Simone held up her hand, backpedaling away from him. “Stay back!”

He took another step. “Simone, please just listen—”

She backpedaled some more until she was almost touching the bed. She looked around for a weapon, her eyes locking on the poker beside the fireplace. She reached out and grabbed it, holding it like a baseball bat. “I mean it! Stay back!”

Drake stopped where he was and held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Just calm down”

“Calm down? Right. Like you’d be calm if I walked out of the bathroom looking like you.” Her hands tightened on the poker. “You got bitten back at my apartment, didn’t you?”

He frowned, confusion clear on his face. “Bitten? What are you talking about?”

“Like in the movies. A zombie bites a person, then they turn into a zombie.”

“Oh,” he said. “No, I didn’t get bitten. I was like this before the zombies showed up at your apartment.”

Her brow furrowed. “Before? I don’t understand.”

“I can explain everything. Let’s just go into the living room and sit down.”

Simone chewed on her lower lip. He might sound exactly like Drake, but he sure as hell didn’t look like him. Then again, maybe he did. He still had the same facial features, chiseled jaw and soulful dark eyes. His skin was just a funny color. And he didn’t act like the zombies that had attacked them in her apartment. She supposed she could at least listen to him and hear what he had to say. As long as he kept his distance.

“Okay.” She gestured with the poker. “You first.”

Drake’s mouth tightened as he eyed the poker, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned and walked into the living room. As Simone followed, it occurred to her that he didn’t move slowly and awkwardly like the zombies in her apartment. Maybe that meant Drake hadn’t completely turned yet.

Drake frowned at the poker in her hand as he sat down on the couch. “You can put that down, you know. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Simone sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, resting the poker on her thighs. “I think I’ll hang on to it, thanks.”

He didn’t look pleased at that, but he didn’t protest.

“You said you could explain why you look like a zombie,” she reminded him. “So, explain.”

“Remember the Voodoo priestess I told you about?” When she nodded, he continued. “Well, eight years ago, she cursed me and turned me into this.”

He’d been like this for eight years? If she wasn’t looking at him, she would think he was putting her on. “A zombie, you mean?”

Drake nodded. “Yes. But not like the kind that came to your apartment. I’m sort of a…part-time zombie, I guess you could say.”

Part-time zombie? He had to be joking. “How can you be a zombie and not look like one all the time? Because I know you sure the hell didn’t look like this when we were in bed together.”

He shrugged. “I can’t explain it. It’s just how the curse works. It comes and goes. I have no idea when it will happen or how long it will last.”

She regarded him in silence as she tried to imagine what it would be like to live like that, never knowing when she might turn into a zombie. It must be horrible for him. “What did you do to make her turn you into this?”

“I made the mistake of breaking her granddaughter’s heart.”

Relief flowed through Simone. She’d been afraid he’d done something really horrible like murder someone or something else equally horrific she wouldn’t be able to get past. She could deal with a guy who had dumped a woman. That wasn’t too bad.

Wait a minute. What was she saying? Her boyfriend was a zombie. She wasn’t sure she could even get past that.

“Turning you into a zombie over something like that seems a little harsh. It’s not as if you meant to do it, I’m sure.”

He gave her a rueful look. “Actually, I did.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, you meant to break her heart? Why would you do that?”

“Remember on our first date when I told you I didn’t like the kind of person I was turning into when I worked on Wall Street? Well, I wasn’t just greedy and arrogant. I was a womanizing bastard, too.”

“Go on,” she prompted when he hesitated.

“I met Cia Devereaux at Graystone and Burke. She was a pretty college intern working there for the summer. I didn’t pay much attention to her until one of the brokers I worked with bet me a hundred dollars I couldn’t get her into my bed. He said he’d tried and she turned him down, saying she was saving herself for marriage. I didn’t need his money, but being the asshole I was back then, I took him up on the bet anyway. Just to prove I was better than he was.”

Simone found it hard to believe Drake could ever be so cruel. It just didn’t seem like him. A part of her wanted to tell him to stop right there, that she didn’t want to know any more, but she needed to hear the rest. She needed to understand why the woman had cursed him. “What happened?”

Drake swallowed hard. “I approached the task like I did any other challenge in those days, with drive and determination. I wooed Cia like she was a princess and made her think I was smitten with her. I made her think she was the girl who could turn a big-city playboy like me into a devoted boyfriend. I used every romantic trick in the book to do it, too—intimate dinners at fancy restaurants, romantic picnic lunches in Central Park, late nights working together in my office. My plan worked perfectly and she fell for it. Unfortunately, she also fell for me. She even confessed her love for me the night we had sex. The idea she might fall in love with me had never even entered my mind. I was used to women who were as cavalier about going to bed with someone as I was. I didn’t even feel bad for her when I dumped her the next day at work.”

He shook his head. “I thought she’d throw a coffee mug at me, call me a bastard and be done with it. But instead, she burst into tears right there in my office. From the way she started sobbing, I thought she was going to have a complete nervous breakdown. I didn’t have a clue how to deal with her, so I took an early lunch and let my secretary handle it. By the time I got back, Cia had left Graystone and Burke for good. The thought I had hurt her barely even registered with me. I had proven I was a better Casanova than my coworker and won my lousy hundred bucks. I look back now with nothing but revulsion over what I did. Cia was a sweet, naïve girl and I destroyed her just to win a bet.”

Simone chewed on her lower lip, regarding him thoughtfully. Even though Drake was no longer the cruel, selfish jerk he was back then, she could understand why the girl’s grandmother had been angry enough to do what she did.

“As you can imagine, my life went to crap after I was cursed,” he continued. “I didn’t even know what was wrong with me until some woman at a Voodoo shop in Brooklyn told me I’d been turned into a zombie. I would have done anything to be normal again, but according to the woman at the shop, the priestess who put the curse on me was the only one who could remove it and I was never able to find her. Since then, I’ve lived the life of a recluse, trapped in my apartment and having barely any contact with the outside world.”

Drake paused to give her an earnest look. “What I did to that poor woman was reprehensible, Simone, but I was a different person back then. I didn’t care about anything but money and power and all the things that went along with them. I’m not that same man now. You have to believe that.”

“I know you aren’t,” she said softly.

While she was disgusted by what he’d done to Cia Devereaux, Simone couldn’t help but feel her heart go out to Drake. Because of what he did, he’d been forced to live in seclusion for the past eight years like some sort of outcast. That must have been terrible for him. She couldn’t imagine going without normal human interaction for so long. She wondered what made him decide to deviate from his routine and go out with her.

“What made you agree to meet me for coffee that day?” she asked quietly.

The corner of his blackened mouth edged up. “When we talked on the net, you made me feel almost normal again. You can’t imagine how good that was. When you asked me out for coffee, I couldn’t say no.”

Despite how he looked, the words tugged at her heart. “You took a huge chance. How did you know you wouldn’t turn into a zombie right there in the middle of our date?”

“I didn’t. But the episodes have been getting pretty regular and I can usually feel when I’m going to turn. Plus, I brought a mirror with me.”

She gave him a small smile. “I saw you checking yourself out. I thought you were just really vain.”

He snorted. “I wish that’s all it was. Beck was waiting around the corner in his car. He was supposed to get me out of there if it looked as if I was about to turn.”

Her eyes went wide. “Your friend Beck knows you’re a zombie? And he’s okay with it?”

Drake nodded. “He’s known for years. His friendship has been one of the few things that have kept me sane.”

Simone thought of her own friends. While they were all great, she wondered how many of them would hang around if they found out she was a zombie. That said a lot about the type of person Beck must be.

Her brow furrowed as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “The other night when you called and said you couldn’t come over for dinner. It wasn’t because you had to help a friend, was it? It was because you’d turned into a zombie.”

He nodded.

Simone chewed on her lower lip as she looked him over from head to toe. Even his feet were zombified. “So, is this as zombie as you get?”

“Pretty much.”

“Are you like that,” she gestured toward him, “everywhere?”

“Yeah.”

She’d been afraid of that. “Do you eat…brains?”

“No, definitely not.”

That was a relief. “When you’re like this, are you…you know…alive?”

“Do I have a heartbeat, you mean?”

She nodded.

“No. I don’t have a heartbeat or any blood flow. But I’m not dead in the same way those zombies that came to your apartment are. I don’t need to breathe or eat or anything like that, but I can still think and talk and feel.” His mouth quirked. “Hell, sometimes I even run on the treadmill when I’m a zombie. I’m not sure if it improves my fitness, but it helps pass the time.”

The image of Drake jogging on the treadmill—or doing anything else for that matter—while he looked like he did was something she never, ever wanted to visualize again.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Simone, I know you’re freaked out, but I’m still the same guy who spent the weekend making love to you.” He winced. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to bring up while I look like this. But what I’m trying to say is that I care about you and I don’t want what I am to come between us.”

Simone swallowed hard. The words were so heartfelt she wanted to throw herself into Drake’s arms and tell him it wouldn’t come between them. It wasn’t as if she’d just found out he was a vegetarian or something, though. He was a zombie. She cared about him, too, but she wasn’t sure if she could deal with that.

Drake was regarding her expectantly, his eyes full of anguish. As much as she wanted to tell him what he wanted to hear, she couldn’t make herself say the words. Tears suddenly clogged her throat and she choked back a sob.

“I…I need some time alone,” she murmured.

Before he could stop her, Simone got to her feet and made a beeline for the door. She didn’t even realize she still had the poker in her hand until she was outside on the deck. Tightening her grip on it, she turned to look over her shoulder, half afraid she’d see Drake coming after her. But he was still sitting on the couch, his head bent, his shoulders slumped as if in defeat. The image was so heart wrenching it was all she could do not to go back inside and comfort him.

Though it hurt her to see him looking so despondent, Simone kept her distance from Drake for the rest of the day. Not because she was afraid of him, but because she couldn’t bring herself to be in the same room with him looking like he did.

Around sunset, however, she couldn’t stay out on the deck for much longer. Not only was it getting dark, but she was starting to get hungry, too. That little bit of cereal she’d snacked on earlier was long gone.

Picking up the poker, Simone got up from the Adirondack chair and walked over to the door. She didn’t go inside right away, though. Instead, she gazed at Drake through the glass. He was still sitting on the couch, staring down at the floor. He didn’t look as if he’d moved from that spot all day.

Simone took a deep breath and opened the door. Drake lifted his head as she walked in. To her relief, he was almost back to normal, the dark circles under his eyes the only reminder he had been a zombie. She could almost believe she’d imagined the whole thing. But she knew better.

“It’s getting dark,” she said. The words sounded stiff, almost forced, and she cleared her throat to cover up how uncomfortable she felt. “I thought I’d make something to eat.” She didn’t look at him as she walked into the kitchen. “Peanut butter and jelly okay?”

God, that sounded so normal, as if they were just a regular couple about to have dinner. They were anything but a normal couple.

She set down the poker, leaning it up against the wall beside the fireplace, then went over to the kitchen sink and washed her hands. Behind her, she heard Drake get to his feet and walk into the kitchen, too. She stiffened, then immediately chided herself. Underneath that zombie exterior, Drake was still the same man. He said he’d never hurt her and she believed him. Or at least she wanted to.

That thought didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder to see where he was and what he was doing. But he was only leaning back against the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his broad chest. She waited for him to say something, but he simply gazed out the window while she made the sandwiches.

To say dinner was awkward was an understatement. Neither she nor Drake spoke the entire time. Drake didn’t even comment about the glass of fat-free milk she’d poured for him. He’d complained incessantly at the grocery store about getting that kind of milk instead of regular. The silence got so uncomfortable Simone actually fidgeted in her seat a few times and she was glad when they finally finished eating.

Though Simone wanted to help Drake wash the dishes, the awkwardness of the situation made even something as mundane as that difficult. So instead, she murmured something about going to bed. After spending the better part of the weekend making love, it seemed odd to expect him to sleep on the couch, but despite wanting him to come to bed with her, she was relieved when he didn’t join her.

Once in the bedroom, Simone closed the door and leaned back against it, tears welling in her eyes. What was she going to do? Yesterday, before the whole stupid zombie thing had happened, she thought Drake might be “The One.” But how could she be with a man who was a zombie half the time? How could she be that understanding? She hadn’t been able to make it work with the psychiatrist who was obsessive compulsive. She hadn’t been able to make it work with the guy who lived at home with his mom. She hadn’t been able to make it work with the guy who was chronically unemployed.

So, how the hell was she supposed to make it work with a guy who was dead on a part-time basis?

Chapter Twelve

Drake rested his forearms on the railing that lined the deck of the cabin and stared out at the woods unseeingly. Even though it was almost noon, Simone hadn’t come out of the bedroom yet. He wanted to think it was because she was still sleeping, but he knew better. She was avoiding him. That knowledge hurt, especially after the two glorious days they’d spent together. Last night, he thought the pain of losing her would lessen come morning, but he’d been wrong. If anything, it was even more agonizing. It was as if he had died inside.

Once again, he had no one but himself to blame for his pain. He knew from the very beginning that trying to have a relationship with Simone could never work out. But he’d gotten caught up in the moment and convinced himself that somehow it would work. Well, it hadn’t. Simone had discovered what he was and she was repulsed by him.

The look of horror on her face when he walked out of the bathroom yesterday had been almost more than he could take. Even though he knew nothing he said would erase the image of him looking like a zombie from her mind, he’d hoped she might be able to see past the ugliness to the man he was underneath all that decaying skin. But instead she’d withdrawn from him. It had taken everything in him not to get down on his knees and beg her not to shut him out of her life. The only thing that stopped him had been the knowledge that it was too late. Her mind had been all but made up the moment she’d looked at him.

He dropped his head and shoved his hands through his hair. Staying here now was never going to work, not when Simone couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. But what was the alternative? He couldn’t let her go back to her apartment until he knew it was safe. He was stuck here protecting a woman who was disgusted by the sight of him.

He wished now he hadn’t let Beck talk him into going out for coffee with Simone. Drake knew Beck had only been trying to help, but he felt more alone now than he had when this whole mess started eight years ago. The things he’d lost back then hadn’t been important, not compared to Simone. In losing her, he’d lost something that was impossible to put a value on. He didn’t know how he was going to go back to the way he’d lived for the past eight years, puttering around his empty apartment writing his financial column and editing romance books. There just didn’t seem any point to it now.

Drake was still trying to figure out what he was going to do when the door to the cabin opened and Simone stepped outside. He straightened up and slowly turned to face her. He waited for her to say something, but she just stood there, hugging herself with her arms and looking anywhere but at him. He wondered why she’d come out. Maybe she just needed some fresh air after being cooped up inside the cabin all morning. He supposed he should give her a little space.

He cleared his throat. “You probably want to be alone.”

Drake headed for the door, expecting her to give him a wide berth as he passed, but to his surprise, she reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Stay.”

He stopped in mid-step. Although her hand was pleasantly warm on his skin, her touch was bittersweet. He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel it again, but at the same time, it reminded him of what he had lost. Even so, he was still sorry when she moved her hand away.

She took a deep breath. “I did a lot of thinking last night.”

He stiffened. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I know that after what happened yesterday, things are different between us and that the last place you want to be right now is stuck in this cabin with me. But you’re still in danger, which means you can’t go back to the city, and I really don’t want you staying here alone. I haven’t thought all this out yet, but my friend Beck is going to be back from Louisiana today. As soon as he gets up here, I can ask him to stay with you until we figure out what to do next. You only have to put up with me until then.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t want Beck to stay with me.”

“I realize you don’t know him, but you’ll be safe with him. I promise.”

“Drake, it’s not that.” She took a step closer. “I don’t want you to leave.”

It was his turn to frown. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. “Like I said, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ll admit I was freaked out yesterday when you came out of the bathroom. I mean, it was a little hard to take in all at once. But since then, I’ve had a chance to think about everything.”

Hearing her say it out loud was more than he could take right now. “Simone, you don’t have to tell me any of this. I know how you feel about me.”

She gave him an annoyed look. “No, you don’t. Now, let me talk.”

He braced himself, but held his tongue.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “You’re a zombie. I get that. And I won’t lie and say this is going to be easy to deal with. But what I have with you is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced with another guy. You’re completely different.”

“That goes without saying,” he put in dryly. “I’m a zombie.”

She looked so frustrated he thought she might actually stomp her foot. “Will you stop interrupting me? I’m trying to say something important here.”

He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Go ahead.”

“I’m saying that what we’ve had over the last few days is more meaningful than any relationship I’ve ever had. And while I’m not sure I’m ready to give a name to the things I feel for you yet, I know I’m not willing to throw everything away just because you’re cursed.”

Drake stared at her in disbelief. He couldn’t have heard her right. Was she honestly saying she was okay with him being a zombie? No, he told himself. She must be having a mental breakdown. No woman could be that understanding. But as he gazed into her eyes, he realized Simone just might be. Which shouldn’t really surprise him. Simone had been different right from the start. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place.

He slowly reached out, worried she’d pull away. Just yesterday, she’d threatened to brain him with a fire poker, after all. But she didn’t so much as flinch. She even leaned forward into his touch as he caressed her cheek. That part of his heart he thought had died suddenly came back to life. The sensation was so overwhelming, tears welled up in his eyes. Oh God, don’t cry. She already knows you’re a zombie, you don’t want her to think you’re a wussie, too.

“You don’t know how much I wanted to hear you say something like that,” he said hoarsely. “I just never imagined you would. I thought once you found out what I am, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Then you don’t know me nearly as well as you should. If you did, you’d know I never give up that easily on someone I care about.”

Drake throat tightened. How the hell had he gotten so lucky? Not trusting himself to speak, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. She hugged him back just as fiercely.

After a long moment, he pulled back to gaze down at her. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she was, but one look at her beautiful face and the words suddenly didn’t seem enough. Bending his head, he kissed her instead.

Simone melted against him, her lips parting as her hands slid up the front of his T-shirt to grip his shoulders. Her kiss was just as passionate as it had been before she’d discovered his horrible secret. It was as if yesterday had never happened. Only a few minutes ago, he thought he’d never get the chance to kiss her again and now that he was, he didn’t want to stop. He could go on kissing her forever. He let out a groan and slid his hand into her hair as he delved into her mouth to find her tongue.

Simone wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, letting out a little sigh. Drake let his mouth explore hers, trailing light kisses from one corner to the other before slipping his tongue back inside to tangle with hers once again. He repeated the move over and over until they were both almost breathless from it. Only then did he nibble his way over to her earlobe and gently suck on it before dipping his tongue in her ear. She shivered, tightening her grip on his shoulders, and he chuckled softly as he traced a moist path with his lips down her neck to her collar bone. Since neither of them seemed able to catch their breath any better now than they had been before, he decided to go ahead and capture her lips again, plunging his tongue in deeply and losing himself in her taste.

He only intended to kiss her, then suggest they have lunch, but he discovered his hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It slid up her rib cage to cup her breast through her T-shirt. Not that he minded what his hand was doing. Because God knew, he wanted her. But he didn’t want to push her into having sex with him right away. Expecting her to sleep with him after she’d just found out he was a zombie was asking way too much. He lifted his head, reluctantly releasing her breast to slide his hand back down to her waist.

She gazed up at him from beneath lowered lashes. “What do you say we continue this in the bedroom?”

He should be given a medal for having the fortitude to refuse an offer like that. “We don’t have to. You don’t have to prove anything to me, Simone.”

She frowned, confusion clear on her face. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I don’t want you to think we need to jump into bed to make up for what happened between us yesterday. The fact that you can stand here and kiss me is enough.”

She regarded him mutely, then laughed and thumped him playfully on the chest. “Well, it’s not enough for me. I’m not trying to prove anything to you, you big dope. I asked if you wanted to go inside because standing out here kissing you like this is making me hot as hell. So, stop being such a gentleman and just take me to bed already.”

Drake’s heart constricted in his chest. Simone wasn’t just the most amazing woman in the world. She was the most amazing woman in the universe. He had no idea what he did to deserve her. If she wanted him to make love to her, then he was certainly willing. Though he had to admit, he didn’t really see the purpose in going into the bedroom when there was a perfectly suitable Adirondack lounge chair behind him.

He pulled her close again. “Well, if kissing out here gets you so hot, why don’t we just make love out here, too?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the suggestion, but then after looking around at the surrounding forest, she gave him a sexy little smile.

That was all the reply he needed. Sliding his hand underneath her T-shirt, he pulled it up. Simone lifted her arms so he could take it off the rest of the way, then reached for the buttons on her jeans. He caught her hands in his, wanting to have the pleasure of undressing her himself. She seemed content to let him take charge, obediently wiggling her hips as he pushed her jeans down. By the time he draped them over the railing, however, she’d already taken off her bra and panties and was walking over to the lounge chair.

At the sight of her perfect ass, his cock throbbed in his jeans, a reminder that he was still uncomfortably dressed. He discarded his clothes as he headed over to join her.

He’d planned on lying back on the lounger and having Simone straddle his lap, but she clearly had ideas of her own. Sitting on the edge of the chair, she leaned back and gave him a come-hither look as she spread her legs wide.

Dropping to his knees in front of her, he took one of her long legs in his hand and kissed his way up its length until he reached her wet pussy. She leaned back even further and moaned as he slowly traced his tongue up one side of her folds and down the other. The scent and taste of her arousal had his cock crying out for relief and it was all he could not to plunge himself into her right then.

Patience, he told himself. This was the woman he’d waited his whole life for. There was no need to rush.

Simone grasped his head in her hand, gently tugging it where she wanted his mouth to go. He went without protest but deliberately kept his touch light. He didn’t want her to come until he was inside her. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease her unmercifully. To make sure he did just that, he alternately flicked his tongue over her clit until he had her panting, then he moved away to dip it inside her soaking wet pussy. And in between that, he stopped licking her pussy altogether, instead turning his head to nibble on the inside of her thigh for one long delicious moment before repeating the whole sequence over again.

Only when he was sure he had her on the verge of going insane did he stop licking her and stand up. He took her hand to pull her to her feet, but she resisted. Scooting to the edge of the lounger, she wrapped her hand around his rock-hard cock.

“Two people can play at this game, you know,” she said softly.

Leaning forward, she swiped the head of his cock lightly with her tongue. He caught his breath, waiting for her to take him deep in her mouth like she had the other times she gave him a blow job, but she didn’t. Instead, she simply continued to lick the tip of his shaft like it was an ice cream cone. When he threaded his fingers in her hair in an attempt to urge her to take him deeper, she only nipped at his cock playfully.

“Be good,” she told him. “I’m in charge here.”

Drake opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a deep groan as she went back to using her tongue on him. By the time she finally stopped teasing him, it felt as if his cock was so hard he was going explode from the pressure. He’d never been with a woman who was so good at going down on him.

She gave him a coy look. “Now, what was it you were planning on doing before?”

He didn’t answer right away, but just pulled Simone into his arms for another long kiss before sitting down on the lounge chair in the exact spot she’d been in. He wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and waggled it invitingly at her, the corner of his mouth quirking.

“I was planning on having you straddle my lap and ride my cock until the sun goes down. Think you can do that?”

“Until the sun goes down, huh?” She chewed on her lower lip as if considering that. After a moment, she climbed on his lap, letting his cock slip slowly inside as she sank down on him. “Oh, I think I can definitely do that. The question is, do you think you can last that long?”

Drake let out a groan as she clenched his shaft tightly and moved up and down on him. He grabbed her ass to slow her down. “Well, if I can’t, then I’ll just have to leave it up to you and that talented mouth of yours to get me hard again so I can.”

She ignored the hands that were trying to control her movements and started to move faster. “I can do that.”

While Drake had to admit he was in heaven, he knew he wasn’t going to last nearly as long as he wanted to, not with the way Simone was riding up and down on his cock. He needed to do something to slow her down a little bit and having his hands on that gorgeous ass of hers gave him the perfect idea on how to do it.

“If you don’t slow down, you’re going to get yourself into trouble,” he warned.

He knew she wasn’t going to listen even as he said the words and he was right. She just smiled and continued to do what she was doing. If anything, she started going faster.

“Okay, I warned you.”

Lifting his right hand, he brought it down firmly on one rounded ass cheek.

Simone jumped and let out a startled little gasp, looking at him in surprise. “Did you just…?”

His mouth twitched. “Spank you? Yes, I did. I warned you that you’d be in trouble if you didn’t slow down. And if you notice, spanking you did have the desired effect. You’re not moving at all now.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it and chewed on her lower lip, as if she was trying to figure out what to do. She must have reached some conclusion because she stopped chewing and rode up and down on his cock again, more slowly this time.

He leaned back and gave her a satisfied grin. “Much better.”

Her self-control didn’t last very long, though. Within minutes, she was bouncing up and down as fast as she had before.

He didn’t even bother to warn her this time, but simply smacked her left ass cheek, then the right in quick succession. He didn’t do it very hard, but he suspected the slaps had to sting a little.

Simone didn’t seem surprised by the spanks this time, though. Instead, she just gave him a pretty little pout then went back to slowly riding his cock.

Drake’s mouth quirked. Damn, this spanking thing was hot. Considering how many times they’d made love that weekend, he couldn’t believe he and Simone hadn’t tried it before this. Watching the expressions that crossed her face after he gave her those little smacks on the ass was almost as much fun as the spanking itself.

They didn’t make it thirty seconds before Simone started speeding up again. Only this time she put a little wiggle in her hips so she was gyrating on him, not just going up and down. Shit, that felt good. So good in fact that he was seriously tempted to forget all about taking it slow and just going ahead and making a dash for the finish line.

It was then that he caught the mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. She was riding him like that on purpose. She wanted him to spank her again, the little minx.

Simone must have figured out he’d realized what she was up to because just then a blush colored her cheeks. I’ll be damned, he thought. He’d had no idea his sweet Simone was such a bad girl, but he sure as hell liked it.

And if she wanted him to spank her some more, he certainly didn’t mind obliging her.

His mouth curving, he smacked her ass again. Not just once or twice like before, but over and over this time, first on one cheek, then the other.

Simone let out a little squeal after each spank, but other than that, she didn’t protest at all. All she did was close her eyes and move up and down on him in time with the smacks. With each little motion, her breasts bounced deliciously and he followed their movements from beneath half-closed lids as if mesmerized. God, that had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

The more he smacked her ass, the faster she rode him. Any thought he might have had about lasting until sundown went out the window because the spanking he was giving her got him as hot as it did her. Feeling her ass grow warm under his hands was one of the most arousing sensations he’d ever experienced. He wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer.

Drake let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a groan. Unable to control himself, he stopped spanking her and instead gripped her ass with both hands, yanking her down forcefully on his throbbing cock.

She gasped as he squeezed her ass cheeks. The look of lust he saw in her eyes was enough to trip his climax well before he intended. He tried to hold off, but it was no good. He threw back his head and howled as his orgasm exploded through him.

Simone came with him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she cried out his name over and over.

Even after he’d finished coming, Drake kept a firm grip on her ass, continuing to move her up and down on his cock until he had coaxed every last little trace of orgasm from her body. Only when he finally stopped did Simone collapse forward on his chest, her breathing ragged. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. As they slowly regained their breath, he realized their hearts were beating in time with each other. He had never noticed that with anyone else. Maybe because Simone wasn’t like any woman he had ever been with.

Being there with her in such a tranquil setting was so perfect he probably could have fallen asleep right there on the Adirondack chair, especially since he hadn’t slept at all the night before. In fact, he was just starting to drift off when his cell phone rang. Simone stirred at the sound and lifted her head to blink up at him drowsily. Keeping her balanced on his chest, he stretched out his arm and grabbed the cuff of his jeans to pull them closer. Fumbling in the pocket for his phone, he held it to his ear.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Beck. I’m back in New York. Are you two doing okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“I take it you haven’t seen any more zombies then?”

The corner of Drake’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Only in the mirror.”

“Shit,” Beck muttered. “Did Simone see you?”

Drake glanced at her. “It was kind of hard to hide it. But she’s dealing with it better than I thought.”

“Really? Good. Listen, I learned some more stuff down in Louisiana. The little town where I caught up to that old hag is some kind of Voodoo hot spot. I talked to a Voodoo priest who was familiar with the curse she put on you and according to him, there’s a way to break it.”

Drake’s heart pounded. “There is? What is it?”

“You have to kill her. Unfortunately, that may be hard to do. Others have tried and she’s not easy to get rid of. But if you can do it, the curse will end.”

Simone waved her hand to get Drake’s attention. “What’s he saying?” she asked in a whisper.

Drake held up a finger to forestall her question, then frowned into the phone. “You’re not seriously suggesting I do that, are you?”

On the other end of the line, Beck sighed. “Right now, I don’t have a better solution, do you? Besides, she might not give you much of a choice. She’s not trying to track you down to make nice with you.”

Considering how much the old woman hated him, Drake thought his friend was probably right. He still didn’t like the idea of killing anyone, though, especially an old woman. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Let’s hope. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find her. Don’t suppose you might know where a Voodoo priestess would hang out in New York, do you?”

Drake thought a minute. “No, but I know someone who might. Remember that Voodoo shop on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn I told you about—Madame Bijou’s?”

“You think she might be able to point me in the right direction?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Drake said. “If not, she might be able to at least give us some idea of how to deal with any more zombies if they come after us.”

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Beck said. “According to the Voodoo priest I talked to, zombies don’t have a lot of weaknesses and since they’re already dead, you can’t kill them. But they do have a real aversion to salt. “

Drake’s brow furrowed. “Salt? Like in the movies?”

“Yeah. I guess Hollywood got that right. From what he said, zombies will go out of their way to avoid it. It you stuff a zombie’s mouth with salt, it will break the priestess’s hold on them and they’ll return to whatever grave they crawled out of.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. How the hell do you get salt in a zombie’s mouth?”

“I don’t know. Ask it to open its mouth and say, ahhh? The Voodoo priest didn’t go into that. But if you have some salt up at the cabin, I’d have it handy just in case.”

Drake told Beck he’d check the kitchen cabinets, but didn’t expect to find any. Besides the food they’d brought with them, the place was damn near empty. He and Beck talked for a few more minutes before he hung up. When Simone looked at him expectantly, he conveyed the conversation he’d had with Beck, leaving out the part about killing the old woman. That wasn’t something he wanted to mention to her.

“Salt?” Simone echoed. “Does it bother you if you eat it?”

Drake frowned as he considered that. “No, but then again, I’ve never eaten anything when I’m a zombie, so I wouldn’t know.”

She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. “You don’t think they’ll find us here, do you?”

Drake gently brushed her hair back from her face. “No. We’re safe, sweetheart.”

Simone nodded, but didn’t look very reassured.

“Come on. Enough talk about zombies,” he said. “What do you say we get something to eat, then take a walk in the woods and check out this beautiful area?”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Thirteen

Unless she counted Central Park, Simone hadn’t spent any time in the woods since she’d moved to New York City. But as she and Drake walked through the forest of oak, hickory and maple trees a few hours later, she realized how much she missed the beauty of nature. While Central Park was an oasis in the middle of the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, it wasn’t the same as a real forest. Wandering hand in hand with Drake along the natural trails with the late afternoon sunlight peeking through the trees, she could almost believe things like curses and zombies and evil Voodoo priestesses didn’t exist. But Drake was walking, talking proof that they did.

When she’d come out of the cabin that morning, the look of sadness in his eyes as he’d turned to face her had almost broken her heart. She’d stayed up all night wondering what she was going to do. At first, she just wanted to run back to her life in New York and act as if none of this had ever happened. While that seemed like the easiest solution, it didn’t really work for her. For one thing, leaving Drake didn’t guarantee the Voodoo priestess wouldn’t still come after her. But more importantly, Simone couldn’t see herself running out on Drake and their relationship.

She wasn’t quite sure when this thing with Drake had gone from a sexual fling to a relationship, but it had. So what if the issues he was dealing with made all of her previous boyfriends’ hang-ups seem like a joke? Somewhere between last night and this morning, she’d come to the startling realization that a guy’s issues didn’t seem nearly as monumental when she really cared for him. And she cared for Drake more than she’d ever cared for any man in her life. Even when he was in his zombie state, in the back of her mind she’d been more worried about whether he’d been in pain than if he was a danger to her.

So, in the early morning hours, she decided she was going to stick this out with Drake. Of course, it had taken her until noon to work up her courage to actually face him. But if she had any doubts about her decision, they’d completely disappeared the moment she’d seen the sadness in his eyes. How could she ever possibly have thought of walking away from him?

She and Drake wandered through the forest, not going in any particular direction, but not straying too far from the cabin either, and Simone was surprised when they suddenly emerged from the trees to find themselves in a clearing. She halted in her tracks at the sight of the grave markers sticking out of the ground. The hair rose on the back of her neck. She hadn’t realized the cabin was so close to a graveyard, and a very old one at that. Under normal circumstances, graveyards were eerie, but with their recent run–in with the walking dead, graveyards took on a whole new level of creepy.

Despite how warm the day was, Simone shivered. “Let’s go back,” she said to Drake. “Graveyards give me the creeps.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Leave it to Beck to find us a desolate cabin in the woods right next to a graveyard.”

She and Drake weren’t nearly as leisurely on the walk back to the cabin. He must have sensed she was still a little uneasy because he locked the door and closed the drapes the moment they got inside. When he was done, he put his arms around her and pulled her close.

“You’re freezing,” he said. “How about I make a fire?”

She nodded. “That’d be nice.”

While he did that, Simone went into the kitchen to make dinner. As she looked over the meager selection of food they’d bought, she wished she’d thought to pick up some salad stuff when they were at the store. But since she hadn’t, she supposed they’d have to make do with grilled cheese sandwiches. They would have to go to the store tomorrow and buy some real food. Drake might be okay with eating sandwiches for both lunch and dinner, but she wasn’t.

Doing something as ordinary as making grilled cheese sandwiches went a long way toward helping Simone relax and put the creepy graveyard out of her mind. It didn’t hurt that Drake came up behind her while she was working and put his arms around her waist. She smiled and flipped the sandwiches over to cook on the other side, then leaned back against him. He felt so strong and solid behind her that she couldn’t help but feel safe.

When the sandwiches were done grilling, she transferred them to plates and carried them over to the table. They just started to eat when Simone heard a noise outside. It sounded like someone snapping dry twigs.

She tensed, her eyes darting to Drake. “What was that?”

He set down his glass. “I don’t know. I’ll go check it out. Wait here.”

“Like hell I will,” she muttered.

Pushing back her chair, she got to her feet and hurried after him. Drake scowled at her over his shoulder but made no comment. Walking over to the window above the sink, he cautiously pulled back the curtain. Simone held her breath, half expecting a zombie to be staring back at them, but nothing was there.

Maybe she’d just imagined the noise. She opened her mouth to tell Drake as much when she heard it again, this time coming from the front of the house. She was about to ask Drake if he heard it, too, but he’d already turned around and was looking in that direction.

Glancing at her, Drake started for the living room. Simone followed, her heart pounding. She peered around him as he pulled back the curtain. In the moonlight, she could see a heavy fog rolling in from the woods where she and Drake had gone for a walk earlier.

“That doesn’t look right,” he said. “It’s too damn warm for fog.”

She was about to ask him what he thought it meant when a figure emerged from the thick mist. Though she couldn’t make out what the man looked like in the dark, she knew from the slow, shambling gait it was a zombie. And he wasn’t alone. She took an involuntary step back as half a dozen more zombies appeared behind him. Oh, crap!

“Drake—”

But the rest of what she was about to say was cut off by the sound of breaking glass. Simone spun around, her eyes going wide at the sight of a zombie trying to climb through the kitchen window. The creature bore little resemblance to the ones that had attacked them in New York. While it still had some pieces of ragged clothing, it was nothing but bones with just enough ligaments and tendons to hold it together. She cringed in revulsion. How the heck could the thing even move?

Drake gave her a little push. “Go into the bedroom and stay there.”

She spun around to look at him in surprise. Was he crazy? “I’m not going to let you fight all of them by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine. Go in the bedroom.”

In the kitchen, the zombie had almost managed to get his decrepit body through the window. “But—”

“Simone, please just go.”

She wanted to argue with him, but Drake was already heading for the kitchen. Simone stayed where she was just long enough to see him yank one of the oars off the wall before she bent down to pick up the poker beside the fireplace. Then she followed his instructions and hurried into the bedroom.

Once inside, she closed the door behind her. She knew it was risky not to lock it, but if Drake needed to get in, she didn’t want to have to fumble with the darn thing.

She stood there staring at the door, afraid to even breathe. Outside in the living room, she could hear Drake fighting with the zombies. How many were there? And how many could he possibly manage to fight by himself? Drake was big and strong, but there were just so many of the damn things. How could he hold them all off, especially when they couldn’t be killed?

For several long, tense moments, all she heard was the sound of Drake’s oar smashing into one zombie after another. Interspersed with that was the sound of breaking glass. They must be coming in through the living room window, too.

Simone was just about to say the hell with waiting and run into the living room to help Drake when she suddenly stopped. She couldn’t quite say what it was, but something made her shiver. Heart hammering in her chest, she slowly turned around, dreading what she was going to see behind her.

Standing outside the pair of French doors looking at her was an old, black woman dressed in a long, gray dress. She was tall and reed thin, her black hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, her dark eyes cold and full of hatred.

Oh, God. This had to be the Voodoo priestess.

Simone tried to take a step back, figuring it was safer out in the living room with Drake and the zombies than it was in the bedroom with the old woman, but for some bizarre reason, she couldn’t make her feet move. Terrified, she opened her mouth to scream for Drake, but nothing would come out. It was as if she was being controlled. That was when Simone realized the old woman’s lips were moving. The Voodoo priestess must have put some kind of spell on her.

Smiling, the woman lifted her hand and crooked a finger at Simone. The poker slipped from Simone’s hand to drop to the floor and her feet moved of their own accord, taking her toward the French doors. She tried to resist with all her might, but it was useless. She had no control over her body at all. She couldn’t do anything but obey the Voodoo priestess’s commands. It was as if Simone was one of her damn zombies. Coming to a stop in front of the doors, Simone watched in horror as her hands reached out to open them.

The old woman stepped into the room, her smile widening to display rotting teeth. “You are even more lovely in real life than you were in my visions, chere. It will be a shame to have to kill you. But he must suffer, which means you must die.”

The words made Simone’s heart pound even faster. By “he,” the old woman obviously meant Drake. Simone tried to force herself to turn and run, but she was powerless. All she could do was stand there and watch as the Voodoo priestess pulled a wicked looking knife out of the leather sheath dangling from the braided belt around her waist. She lifted the weapon, clearly intending to plunge it into Simone’s chest.

Simone stared at the blade as if transfixed by it, the old woman’s words echoing in her ears. He must suffer, which means you must die. Tears stung her eyes. Thinking about what her death would do to Drake gave Simone a strength she hadn’t known she possessed.

Suddenly, Simone regained control over her body. It was as if when she’d stopped thinking about her pain and started thinking about Drake’s instead, it weakened the priestess’s hold on her. With a cry of desperation, Simone caught the old woman’s knife hand in both of hers and twisted it away from her as hard as she could. The move caught the Voodoo priestess by surprise and Simone saw her eyes widen as the blade she’d intended to use to kill Simone was suddenly pointed at her. Though she wasn’t sure how she did it, Simone somehow managed to slash the other woman across the face with it.

The old woman stumbled back with a horrific scream and dropped the knife. More blood spurted from the wound than Simone would have thought possible. It went everywhere, including on her.

Simone ignored it. Free of the Voodoo priestess’s hold, she shoved the woman outside and slammed the French doors closed. Whirling around, she ran for the living room, bending down to scoop up her poker on the way.

* * * * *

Drake froze at the sound of a scream coming from the bedroom. Simone. Smashing the zombie in front of him one last time with the oar, he turned and ran toward the bedroom.

He was just reaching for the knob when the door flew open and Simone ran out of the room straight into his arms. There was blood on the front of her shirt and his own ran cold at the sight of it.

Still gripping the oar in one hand, he reached out to steady her with the other. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”

She looked down at herself as if in surprise, then made a face. She shook her head, her breath coming fast and hard. “It’s not mine. It belongs to the Voodoo priestess. She tried to kill me.”

Drake clenched his jaw, Beck’s words coming back to him. Any qualms he had about killing the old woman disappeared. He’d do whatever he had to do to protect Simone and that included killing the evil bitch.

Putting Simone behind him, he strode into the bedroom, intending to confront the Voodoo priestess, but she was nowhere in sight. Drake hesitated, debating whether to go look for her, but that meant leaving Simone by herself and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that.

Thinking the bedroom might be the safest place right now considering the rest of the house was rapidly filling with zombies, Drake grabbed Simone’s hand and pulled her back inside. Only one zombie at a time could get through the bedroom door, so he should be able to keep them at bay. But then he heard the sound of breaking glass behind him and he turned to see two large zombies awkwardly climbing through what was left the French doors.

“Shit,” he muttered. So much for that plan.

Tightening his grip on Simone’s hand, he bolted into the living room and ran toward the kitchen, only to be intercepted by half a dozen more zombies coming from that direction. The Voodoo priestess must have emptied out the whole fucking graveyard.

Drake swung the oar as hard as he could, sending the zombies flying in every direction. But it did no good. For every zombie he knocked down, two more took its place. He kicked one square in the center of the chest, knocking it backward into the fireplace. Even that didn’t stop it, though. The damn thing crawled out with half its head on fire.

“We’ll never make it to the front door,” he shouted to Simone. “Head for the kitchen!”

Getting there was easier said than done, especially since the zombies stood between them and it. Gripping the oar tightly, Drake swung the makeshift weapon left and right, taking out every zombie that came at him. He aimed for their heads and though the big oar was really good at breaking zombie skulls, the fucking things didn’t seem to need much of a head to keep coming at them.

That was when Drake decided it was more effective to aim for their legs. One good whack on the knees and the zombies crumpled to the floor, their legs crushed and useless. They still scrabbled around on the floor in a vain attempt to get at him and Simone, but they were a whole hell of a lot slower.

As he fought, Drake tried to keep an eye on Simone. After the way she reacted at her apartment, he wasn’t sure how she’d deal with a horde of zombies, but he was relieved to see she was doing a pretty good job of taking care of herself. She swung that poker like Babe Ruth. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at how strong and capable she was.

He was just taking the legs out from under a fairly fresh-looking corpse when he heard Simone scream behind him. He spun around to see two zombies holding her by the arms as they tried to bite her throat. Their bony fingers were digging into her skin so hard they were drawing blood.

Drake launched himself at them, smashing the first zombie on top of the head with the oar so hard its skull shattered into pieces. Even though it still had hold of Simone, Drake was more worried about getting the second zombie’s rotting teeth away from her tender flesh. He could only imagine what kind of infection came with a zombie bite. Even worse, what if the movies had gotten it right and a zombie bite turned a person into one? He didn’t even want to think about that.

The zombie’s head was too close to Simone to get a good swing at it, so Drake shoved the tip of the oar in its jaws. Then he pushed with all his strength, forcing the zombie away from her. Simone let out a cry as the creature’s bony fingers tore at her arm as he let go of her. Once she was free of that one, she used the poker to bash at the arm of the headless zombie still holding onto her. Within a few moments, she’d knocked the zombie away, then turned to help Drake finish off the first one. Drake was relieved to see she wasn’t hurt too badly, despite the blood running down her arms.

Between the two of them, they were managing to make a pretty good dent in the local zombie population. But Drake knew they wouldn’t have the upper hand for long. Both he and Simone were starting to get tired and there appeared to be no end to the zombies streaming into the cabin. Sooner or later, one of those zombies would get its teeth latched onto him or Simone and they’d be done. He glanced toward the kitchen door and his heart sank. There was no way they were going to get out through there. There were at least twenty zombies on the deck waiting their turn to get in the door.

“Head for the basement door!” he yelled at Simone.

She swung her poker at a zombie, catching the thing on the side of its ugly head. “The basement? We’ll be trapped in there!”

“We don’t have any choice!” he shouted. “We’re not going to be able to hold them off up here for much longer.”

Simone looked as if she wasn’t too crazy about the idea, but she gave him a nod and started backing toward the basement. Drake did the same, beating off the zombies that came at him while she opened the door. Once she started down the stairs, he ducked inside after her, shoving the zombies away with the oar so he could slam the door shut.

He pressed his weight against it, praying there was some way to lock it. He ran his hand up and down the doorjamb and was relieved to find a deadbolt there. He slammed it closed just as Simone turned on the light.

Drake tensed as the zombies beat against the door. It shook a little, but didn’t give.

Beside him, Simone eyed the door nervously. “Will they be able to get through that?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It looks pretty strong. Come on. Let’s go downstairs and see if we can find another way out.”

She nodded and started down the steps. At the bottom, she turned to look at him.

“I don’t suppose you thought to grab the salt shaker off the table as you were fighting your way through the kitchen, did you?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Afraid not. I was a little busy.” He took her hand and moved her closer to the light so he could examine the ragged scratches on her arms. “I wish I had something to clean these. I hate to think what those zombies had all over their hands.”

She looked down at her arms and grimaced. “They look worse than they are. They barely even hurt.”

Drake doubted that, but he didn’t call her on it. Still holding her hand, he looked around the basement. It was large and unfinished with lots of exposed rock. Other than a set of shelves along one wall and a furnace on the other, it was pretty much empty. He’d hoped there would be a door leading outside or at least a casement window they could break and climb out of. But there was nothing.

However, in the dim light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, he was able to discern the outline of what looked like a trap door in the floor. He frowned. Who had a freaking trap door in their basement?

Simone must have seen it the same time he had. “Do you think that leads outside?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. For all we know, it could lead to a bomb shelter or a root cellar. There’s only one way to find out, though.”

Drake walked over to it, Simone at his heels. Resting the oar against the wall, he dropped to one knee and grabbed the ring attached to the trap door, then gave it a yank. To his surprise, it didn’t budge. Then he saw the dead bolt set into the wood above the handle and it dawned on him. If the trap door did lead outside, the owner of the cabin wouldn’t want anyone to be able to get in that way. He leaned down to get a better look at the lock. It required a key to open and it looked seriously heavy duty. Even the floor around the lock had been reinforced, probably so no one could force the door open from underneath.

“Can we bust the lock or something?” Simone asked.

Drake shook his head. “I don’t think so. And if there’s a tunnel under here, any noise we make trying to get the door open might attract whatever zombies could be outside. I wouldn’t want to open the door to find a tunnel filled with those ugly-ass things.”

She ran her hands through her hair in obvious frustration. “What are we going to do then?”

He glanced up at the door at the top of the stairs. “Wait until they leave, I guess.”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you really think they will?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

She chewed on her lower lip. “Can’t you…I don’t know…communicate with them?”

Drake lifted a brow. “Communicate with them?”

“Yeah. You know, talk to them. One zombie to another.”

His mouth twitched. “Sorry, but my zombie is a little rusty.”

Her cheeks colored. “I just figured you could talk to them since you’re related.”

“I never really had much contact with that part of the family,” he said dryly. “I guess we’re just going to have to wait it out.”

She looked up at the door at the top of the stairs where the zombies were still pounding on it, then back at him. “Maybe we should call your friend Beck and see if he can help.”

Jealousy immediately shot through Drake at her words. He clenched his jaw, irritated that Simone expected a guy she’d never met to come and rescue them. Simone was his girlfriend. He was supposed to be the one saving her. Besides, what was Beck supposed to do that he couldn’t?

He swore under his breath. What the hell was the matter with him? This wasn’t a competition. Simone was right. Beck might be at Madame Bijou’s by now. If there was anyone who could help, it would be the old Voodoo woman. It was a long shot, but it was better than hanging around waiting for the zombies to go away. If the damn things didn’t figure out a way to get the door open first.

Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, he pulled out his cell, only to discover that after his ridiculous bout of jealousy, he had no reception anyway. Great.

“I can’t get a signal in here. It must be the stone walls,” he said, putting the phone back in his pocket. “We’re back to waiting.”

Simone didn’t look too thrilled with that idea. To be honest, neither was he. While he was confident the zombies couldn’t get into the basement, he didn’t think they were going to give up trying. Which meant he and Simone could be down there a very long time. With no food and no water.

“Do you smell smoke?” she asked abruptly.

Drake frowned and sniffed the air. Shit, she was right. He could see smoke coming from underneath the door at the top of the stairs. He didn’t think zombies even knew how to start a fire. Then he remembered the one he’d knocked into the fireplace. It had crawled out with its head aflame. That would certainly explain how the fire had gotten started.

“New plan,” he said to Simone. “We’re just going to have to risk attracting more zombies. We have to get that trap door open.”

Picking up the oar from where he’d rested it against the wall, he shoved it through the trap door’s pull ring. Maybe with the added leverage of the oar, he could snap the dead bolt.

Something snapped all right, but unfortunately it was the pull ring, not the dead bolt. “Shit.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Simone. “See if you can find me something on those shelves I can bust open the lock with.”

“Like what?”

“A chisel. A crowbar. A sledgehammer. Anything heavy like that.”

She nodded and ran across the room as he continued to bash at the trap door with the oar. Behind him, Drake heard her rummaging through the boxes on the shelves. She was back a few minutes later, a hammer and chisel in her hands.

“This is all I could find.”

Those were exactly what he needed. “That’s perfect.”

Drake glanced up at the ceiling to see smoke coming through the floorboards. A lot of it. Fuck.

He dropped to one knee and studied the lock. At first, he thought about trying to punch the chisel through the lock mechanism and hopefully draw the bolt out that way. But now that he really looked at it, he didn’t think that was going to work. It was a damn serious lock. He was going to have to try something else.

He examined the floor around the area where the dead bolt went into it. Although it had been reinforced with a metal plate, it looked like the weakest part of the lock. If he could chisel out enough wood from the floor around the metal plate, he could get the trap door to come up.

He glanced at the ceiling again before he started to work. The smoke was really pouring in now and he could hear the crackling of the flames above them. Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, he started chipped away at the floorboards around the metal plate with the hammer and chisel.

Within minutes, the basement filled with so much smoke it made his eyes burn, and he blinked rapidly. Behind him, Simone coughed uncontrollably.

“Get closer to the floor,” he said over his shoulder, raising his voice to be heard above the roar of the flames.

Drake didn’t check to see if she did as he’d told her, but instead forced himself to work even faster. It seemed to take forever to chisel out enough of the wood to free the bolt and by the time he was done, he was coughing like crazy. Wedging the chisel under the edge of the trap door, he pried it up enough to get his fingers inside, then threw it open.

In the dim light, he could just make out the bottom of the space underneath the trap door. It looked as if it had been carved out of rock and wasn’t more than three or four feet deep. Praying it really was a tunnel and not just a hole in the ground, he grabbed Simone’s hand and steered her down through the trap door. He could already feel the heat of the fire above them. If he and Simone didn’t get out of there soon, they’d both be dead.

He’d just started to follow her when the single light bulb in the basement suddenly went out. Shit. The fire must have gotten to the wiring. Not that it really mattered. The dim light hadn’t illuminated the space under the basement anyway.

The moment he dropped down into the hole beside Simone, he felt fresh air hit his face. Thank God. It was a tunnel. Small and tight, but a tunnel.

He reached for Simone’s hand and pulled her close. “Can you crawl through this tunnel in the dark?”

“I can if it gets me the heck out of here.”

Drake waited for her to go first, then quickly followed. No sooner were they inside than the ceiling of the basement collapsed. He hurried Simone forward as firebrands and smoke whooshed into the tunnel behind them.

He moved after Simone as fast as he could, but the tunnel was even smaller than he’d first thought. It left barely enough room for his shoulders to fit through as he scrambled on his hands and knees. The rough, chiseled stone floor bit into his palms as he moved forward, but he smelled fresh air ahead of them and that was all that mattered. The farther away they got from the cabin, the fresher the air became. They were going to make it.

That’s when he heard Simone yelp in surprise. He rushed forward, only to run right into her a moment later.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

“There’s a metal grate blocking the entrance,” she said. “I ran right into it.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. But what are we going to do now?”

Though it was difficult in the small space, Drake managed to crawl over Simone. He felt along the metal grating with his hand. Praying it wasn’t locked—or worse, welded shut—he fumbled around for a latch and breathed out a sigh of relief when he found one. It was a simple mechanism, but because of the way it was designed, a person wouldn’t be able to reach it from the outside. The tunnel had been meant as a one-way exit. Maybe the cabin had been a hideout for bootleggers back in the time of prohibition or something like that.

Flipping open the latch, he pushed the grating aside and crawled out through the bushes covering it. He did a quick look around to see if there were any zombies waiting for them, but didn’t see any. Taking Simone’s hand, he helped her crawl out.

Keeping an arm around her, he turned and looked toward the cabin. It was blazing and in the firelight, he could see the silhouettes of the zombies as they stood outside. He tensed, wondering if any of them had spotted him and Simone, but when none of them made a move in their direction, he realized they must have their backs to them. Thank God.

Taking Simone’s hand, Drake led her around the side of the cabin to where he’d parked the car. They were dangerously close to the zombies now, but to his relief, none of them looked their way. It was as if they were mesmerized by the fire.

Opening the driver’s side door as quietly as he could, Drake waited for Simone to climb in and slide across the bench seat before getting in himself. Knowing there was no way he could start the car without the bastards hearing it, he held his breath and cranked the engine at the same time he slammed the door. The zombies immediately turned to look in their direction, then shambled toward them.

Drake floored the gas and did a spinning turn so he could get the car headed down the driveway. If they got out of this, he promised never to rib Beck about his choice of cars again. It might not look like much, but when he punched the gas, it hauled ass.

By the time he got the car turned around, several zombies were already standing in the driveway in front of them. Even though it made him cringe to do it, Drake gunned the engine and ran them down. It was creepy the way they made no attempt to even move to safety. They just reached toward the car with their bony hands as he ran them over.

“It’s the priestess!” Simone cried, pointing at the figure in the middle of the driveway as they headed for the main road.

Drake didn’t even hesitate, not after what that bitch had tried to do to Simone. Tightening his grip on the wheel, he floored the car. But before he could get close to the old woman, she faded into a mist and disappeared. How the shit had she done that?

As they squealed onto the highway. Drake glanced in the rearview mirror. In the firelight, he could just make out zombies staggering down the driveway after them. There was no sign of the Voodoo priestess.

Chapter Fourteen

Heart pounding, Simone stared out the back window at the zombies stumbling down the road, terrified they were going to catch up to the speeding car despite how ridiculous that sounded. She wasn’t sure if logic applied when dealing with zombies, though. In the movies, the hideous things always seemed to catch up to people no matter how fast they ran.

Only when the zombies had completely disappeared in the distance did she finally turn around in the seat and relax a little. Beside her, Drake gripped the wheel tightly, his face unreadable in the darkness.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked.

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Call Beck and see if he’s been to Madam Bijou’s yet. Hopefully they’ve come up with something.”

Simone said nothing as he pulled out his cell and dialed Beck’s number. She couldn’t make out much from listening to Drake’s side of the conversation and when he hung up, she looked at him expectantly.

“What did Beck say?” she asked.

Drake shoved his phone in his pocket. “That he’s at Madame Bijou’s right now and they have a plan.”

She frowned. “What kind of plan?”

“He didn’t go into it on the phone, but I trust him.”

Simone would have felt a lot better knowing what sort of plan this guy Beck and the woman at the Voodoo shop had come up with, but if Drake trusted the other man, she would put her trust in him, too. Besides, what other choice did she have?

Drake must have sensed her unease because he took one hand off the wheel to put his arm around her. Simone slid closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

How the hell did she get here? A week ago, she thought zombies were something out of cheesy horror movies. Now she was sleeping with a man who was one. It was incredible. It was crazy. And it might very well get her killed. Yet at that moment, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with Drake. He was the only reason she wasn’t completely losing her mind right now. The guy put both James Bond and MacGyver to shame. The way he got them out of that cabin had been amazing. First, he fought off the zombies with nothing but an oar. Then he hacked through that heavy-duty door in the basement with nothing but a few common hand tools. She still didn’t know how he’d been able to do it in all that smoke. She’d barely been able to breathe, much less think enough to be able to do something like that. She promised herself if he got her out of this, he was going to be the hero in her next book. Of course, that would mean she’d have to be the heroine, but she could work with that.

Neither she nor Drake said much on the drive back to the city. He seemed too preoccupied with his thoughts and Simone’s throat was too raw to talk. That was okay. Sitting there with her head on his shoulder was fine with her. She was so exhausted she wished she could fall asleep, but she was still too freaked out by what had happened at the cabin. Every time she closed her eyes, images of zombies, the burning cabin, and the Voodoo priestess would force them open again.

It was well after midnight by the time they finally arrived at Madam Bijou’s. The street was surprisingly quiet, so finding parking wasn’t a problem. As she climbed out of the car, Simone glanced down at herself and grimaced. Her jeans were covered with dirt and soot and her T-shirt had dried blood on it. She’d almost forgotten about her confrontation with the old woman, but the dark smudges on her shirt brought it rushing back and she shuddered. She looked at Drake and saw that he was just as filthy. They both reeked of wood smoke, too. God, she could really go for a bath and a change of clothes.

Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, Drake led her to Madam Bijou’s. Simone had never been in a Voodoo shop before and she let out a little shiver at the unsettling assortment of items in the front window as Drake knocked on the door. When it opened, she dragged her gaze away from a human skull that seemed to be staring right at her to see a man standing in the doorway. Tall and good looking, he had slightly wavy hair that was a little lighter in color than Drake’s and deep, blue eyes.

He took a step back so she and Drake could enter. As the man locked the door behind them, Simone looked around the store. With its dim lighting and shelves of Voodoo dolls, jars, pots and incense, the interior of the shop was just as creepy as the outside. If she ever wrote a book with Voodoo in it, she certainly knew where to come for research. Shuddering, she tore her eyes away from a table of scary looking Voodoo dolls and stepped closer to Drake.

He put his arm around her. “Simone, this is Beck Slaten. Beck, meet Simone Kent.”

Beck held out his hand. “Nice to finally meet the woman who got Drake out of his apartment.”

Simone couldn’t help but smile at the words as she shook his hand. She wished she didn’t look like something the cat had dragged in the first time she met Drake’s best friend. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Beck jerked his head toward the rear of the shop. “Aniyah’s in the back room. Come on and I’ll introduce you.”

As she and Drake followed Beck through the store, she eyed the glass bottles and colorful little bags on the shelves curiously. She wondered what they were all for and why there wasn’t one among them that could remove Drake’s curse.

Beck led them to a doorway covered by a heavy, black curtain. He pulled it back, then moved aside so she and Drake could enter. Simone stepped into the other room hesitantly, not sure what to expect. Against the back wall was a table filled with even more small jars, candles and leather-bound books. To the left of that was a desk with a printer, scanner and laptop computer. Simone was surprised to see something so normal. She didn’t think a Voodoo priestess would have the need for such ordinary things.

At the sound of footsteps to her right, Simone turned her attention away from the desk to see a woman standing there. Tall and slender with coffee-colored skin and exotic features, she was probably around twenty-five. In contrast to her apparent age, her eyes held a sadness and a wisdom that seemed beyond her years. Since Drake had said Madame Bijou was an elderly woman, Simone knew this woman couldn’t possibly be the Voodoo priestess he’d met all those years ago.

Glancing at Drake, Simone saw that he seemed to be just as surprised at seeing the woman as she was. After a moment, his expression turned to one of recognition. Before he could say anything, however, Beck spoke.

“This is Madame Bijou’s granddaughter, Aniyah,” he introduced. “Aniyah, this Drake and Simone.”

“I remember you,” Drake said. “You were here that day I came into the shop.”

She inclined her head. “I was. It’s good to see you again. And to see that you are no longer alone.”

Drake looked around the room. “I expected your grandmother to be here.”

Aniyah’s gold eyes filled with sadness. “My grandmother passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Drake said. Simone could hear the disappointment in his voice, but he covered it up quickly. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

The woman nodded, a small smile curving her lips as she fingered the crystal pendant on the chain around her neck. “Thank you. My grandmother was always very sorry she couldn’t help you. She spent many years looking for a way to break your curse. Unfortunately, she passed away before she was able to find anything that would help you. But don’t be disheartened. When she died, she passed all of her knowledge and that of those who came before her in our family to me. It’s possible I may be able to help you where she could not.”

“I hope so,” Drake said. “Because the priestess who cursed me no longer seems content with the living hell she’s made my life. Now she’s involved Simone.”

Aniyah nodded. “Beck told me the bokor sent her zombies after you.”

“Is there a way to stop her?” Drake asked. “I’ll do anything to protect Simone.”

The woman regarded him in silence, then gestured to a door on the far side of the room. “Let’s go into my apartment and we can talk.”

They followed Aniyah into a small, neatly furnished apartment. Simone had expected it to look more like the shop outside, but besides the abundance of candles and the smell of incense, it looked like any other apartment in New York City. Perhaps a few more old black-and-white photos than one would expect, but still a very nice, cozy place.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Aniyah asked as she led them into the living room. “I could make some tea.”

Though a hot cup of tea sounded wonderful, especially after the night they’d had, Simone shook her head. She didn’t want to put the other woman to any more trouble than they already were. Drake and Beck must have thought the same thing—or more likely they simply didn’t drink tea—because they both shook their heads as well.

“Please sit down,” Aniyah said, taking a seat on one of the overstuffed chairs.

Simone and Drake both hesitated.

“We’re a little dirty,” Simone said. “I don’t want to ruin your couch.”

But the other woman waved her hand. “Don’t worry about that. The couch can be cleaned and you two look exhausted.”

Simone couldn’t argue with that, so she sat down on the couch along with Drake, while his friend took the other chair.

“Beck said you were attacked by zombies at Simone’s apartment first. Could you describe what happened?” Aniyah asked, looking from her to Drake.

He nodded. “We went out for gelato and they were waiting for us when we got back. They weren’t like me, though. They were more like the kind of mindless zombies you’d see in the movies.”

“That’s because they are the true walking dead,” the woman said. “Corpses that have been called from the grave and reanimated. The reports of freshly turned graves have already made the papers.”

Simone’s stomach churned. That was just creepy. How the heck had a pair of zombies moved around Manhattan without being seen? Then again, this was New York. Two hundred people could have walked right by the things and never even noticed them.

“Tell me what happened up at the cabin,” Aniyah said.

Drake related what happened, with Simone explaining how the Voodoo priestess had tried to kill her.

“That’s not your blood then?” Aniyah asked, gesturing to the dark stains on Simone’s T-shirt.

Simone shook her head. “No. It’s the old woman’s. When I managed to break free of her spell, I unintentionally cut her.”

Aniyah nodded, her expression thoughtful, but she didn’t say anything else about it.

“One thing I’d like to know is how the hell she even found us up there,” Drake said.

“For a bokor of her obvious power, a locating spell would be child’s play,” Aniyah said. “All she would need is a strand of your hair or a piece of your clothing, something she would have had before she cursed you the first time.”

Drake’s brows drew together. “I thought the powder she threw at me is what turned me into a zombie.”

Aniyah shrugged. “It was, but she would have had to include something personal in the powder to make sure you were turned and not someone standing beside you.”

“So, she was in my loft before she even came to my office?” he asked.

“Almost certainly. Though she could have gotten it from anywhere you frequented. And she’s been using those same personal items to keep track of you for the past eight years. She’s known where you were and what you’ve been doing every minute of your life since then.”

“You mean she put some sort of magical GPS tracker on him?” Beck asked.

Aniyah nodded. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but yes.”

Drake let out an expletive and shot to his feet. “Then I need to get out of here before she tracks me down again.”

Simone quickly stood up, catching his arm before he could move toward the door. “Drake, no!”

He turned back to her, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “I have to go. It’s the only way to keep you safe, Simone.” His expression softened and he reached up to cup her cheek with his hand. “I told you that I’d die before I let her hurt you and I meant it.”

Tears stung Simone’s eyes and she blinked them back. “I don’t care how much danger being with you puts me in, Drake. I’m not letting you leave. If you try, I’ll just follow you.”

He sighed. “Simone, please…”

Simone lifted her chin. “We’re in this together. I’m no safer if you leave.”

“She’s right,” Beck said. “We already know this Voodoo bitch can somehow tell what you’re feeling. It wasn’t just random chance she decided to come after you again days after you met Simone. She knows what Simone means to you probably more than you do. If you leave, the old woman isn’t going to say, Oh well, they broke up. I’ll leave her alone. She’s not stupid. She’d still hunt Simone down and hurt her just because she knows it would cause you pain.”

Simone threw Beck a grateful look, silently thanking him for backing her up before she turned to Drake again. “See? You can’t go. We won’t let you.”

Drake looked from her to Beck and back again, his mouth tightening. “It sounds as if you two already have this all figured out. I guess that means I’ll be staying.”

Relieved he’d dropped the testosterone-laden notion of leaving, Simone flung her arms around Drake’s neck and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Keeping one arm around her, he turned to look at Aniyah.

“Beck said on the phone you have a plan to stop the Voodoo priestess. What is it?”

Aniyah nodded. “I do have a plan, but you two are exhausted. Why don’t you get some sleep in the guest room and I’ll fill you in on everything in the morning? It will give me time to finish all of my preparations.”

Drake frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if the Voodoo priestess shows up tonight?”

The woman shook her head. “She can’t. Even a bokor as strong as this one will need to rest after raising so many zombies. She won’t be able to raise more for quite a while.”

“And if she does show, I’ll wake you up,” Beck added when Drake opened his mouth to protest.

Drake looked as if he wanted to argue, but then he nodded. “You’re probably right. Getting some rest would be a good idea.”

Aniyah got to her feet and Simone expected her to show them to the guest room, but instead the other woman’s gaze settled on Simone. Or more precisely, on the shirt she wore. “I’m sure you two would like to change out of those filthy clothes. Simone, you and I are about the same size, so my things should fit you.”

Simone saw Drake’s mouth quirk. “I hope you don’t expect me to fit into any of your clothes.”

Aniyah smiled. “I’ve had different men live here from time to time over the years. I’m sure I have something that will fit you.” She gave Simone a wink. “I like my men tall and broad of shoulder like you obviously do. Come with me and we can get those clothes.”

Simone turned to Drake and fixed him with a pointed look. “Don’t you dare try to leave while I’m with Aniyah.”

The corner of his mouth edged up. “I won’t.”

“You’d better not.”

Going up on tiptoe, Simone gave Drake a quick kiss on the mouth, then turned and followed Aniyah from the room.

“That’s one very special woman you’ve got there, Z-Man.”

Simone would like to have heard Drake’s reply, but the words were muffled as Aniyah closed the bedroom door behind them. Giving Simone a smile, the other woman walked over to the dresser positioned along one wall and pulled open the middle drawer.

Aniyah closed the drawer she’d been looking through and opened another one. A moment later, she turned to Simone, a T-shirt and a pair of jeans in her hand. “Here you go. Now, let me get something for Drake. You’ll probably want to take a shower, too. Just leave your dirty clothes in the bathroom.”

Simone smiled. “Thank you for all of this. Not everyone would take in a couple being chased by zombies.”

Aniyah laughed as she opened the closet door and started rifling through the clothes inside. “I’m a Voodoo priestess. It comes with the job description.”

“Maybe. But thanks, anyway.”

Aniyah glanced at Simone over her shoulder. “You’re welcome. You know, what you did up at the cabin was nothing short of amazing.”

Simone frowned in confusion. “What I did?”

“Breaking a Voodoo spell like the one the bokor put on you isn’t an easy thing to do, not without years of practice and study. That you did must mean you have the blood of a very strong Voodoo priestess running through your veins.”

Simone looked at the other woman in surprise. “How could that be? I’m not of Caribbean descent.”

Aniyah’s lips curved. “Not that you know of. But I bet if you researched your family tree, you’d find a relative who was.”

Simone considered that. No one in her family had ever mentioned having magical powers, so she really doubted it. Then again, Voodoo wasn’t usually the topic of conversation at family gatherings. “I suppose anything is possible.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking about magic at the cabin, though. I was just thinking of Drake and how much I care about him when suddenly, I could move again.”

Aniyah gave Simone a knowing smile as she handed her a second pair of jeans and another T-shirt. “I see. Well, love is a very powerful magic all on its own.”

“Love?” Simone echoed, stunned.

“Of course. You are in love with Drake, aren’t you?”

Simone didn’t answer right away. She’d just met Drake. It was true she felt something for him, something she’d never felt with any other man before, but could she call it love this early in a relationship?

“I…I don’t know,” she finally said.

The other woman smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Let me show you and Drake to the guest room.”

The two men were talking in low tones when Simone and Aniyah walked into the living room, but fell silent at their entrance.

“Aniyah was just going to show us where the guest room is, if you’re ready?” Simone said.

Drake nodded. “Sounds good.”

He gave the other man a nod, then walked over to follow her and Aniyah, only to stop and turn to Beck again.

“By the way, we forgot to mention something when we told you about what happened at the cabin,” Drake said.

Beck frowned. “What’s that?”

Drake shared a looked with Simone. “You said the guy who owns the cabin owed you a favor. Was it a really big favor?”

The other man shrugged. “Pretty big. Why?”

“Because the zombies set it on fire.”

Beck’s eyes went wide. “You’re not serious.”

“Afraid so.”

“We talking a little fire or a big fire?”

Drake grimaced. “Big. As in there isn’t anything left of the cabin.”

Beck swore under his breath. “Wonderful. Just wonderful.” He let out a sigh. “Well, on the bright side, the zombies will probably do me in before I’ll have to tell the guy.”

“Listen, this is my fault,” Drake said. “You don’t need to be the one to tell him. I’ll do it. Just give me his number and I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

The other man shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” Beck said. “Go take a shower. You smell.”

* * * * *

At the sight of the comfortable bed, all Simone wanted to do was crawl into it and fall asleep. But Beck was right, she and Drake did stink. Sleep would have to wait until they cleaned up. While it would have been more fun to shower together, she and Drake reluctantly decided to take turns since the apartment’s only bathroom was right off the living room, where Aniyah and Beck were still sitting talking.

Showering quickly, Simone wrapped herself in one of the oversized bath towels Aniyah had set out on the counter and hurried back into the guest bedroom. Drake was standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed in thought.

“You could have sat down while you waited for me, you know,” she said as she closed the door.

He jerked his head up at the sound of her voice, as if just realizing she was there. “I didn’t want to get the chair dirty.” He glanced at his watch. “You were fast in there.”

She smiled. “I was afraid if I took too long you’d fall asleep.”

Drake let out a chuckle. “And miss the chance to see you wearing nothing but a towel? No way.” He bent to kiss her on the mouth. “I won’t be long.”

Simone waited until he left the room before dropping the towel on the chair. She ran fingers through her damp hair and climbed into bed. Afraid she’d fall asleep for sure if she lay back on the pillows, she rolled onto her side so she was facing the door and propped her head on her hand while she waited for Drake to come back.

She didn’t intend for the pose to be provocative, but apparently it was because when Drake came in a few minutes later, he did a double take at the sight of her. She glanced down to see that the sheet had slid down to show off the tops of her breasts. She looked back up at him. His dark eyes lingered on her breasts as he closed the door.

She let her gaze run over him, taking in his muscular chest, six-pack abs, and the towel strategically wrapped around his waist. Too bad they were both so exhausted, she thought as he tossed the towel on the chair and slid into bed beside her. But she was already running on fumes. Which meant he probably was, too. Sex would have to wait until they weren’t so tired.

Drake shut off the light, then got into bed and put his arm around her. Simone snuggled close and rested her head on his chest. Beneath her ear, his heartbeat was steady and comforting. She closed her eyes and was just about to drift off to sleep when he spoke.

“You don’t know how much I wish I’d never had coffee with you that day.”

Simone lifted her head to look at him in surprise. Though the room was dark, there was enough light coming in from the streetlamp outside for her to see the sorrow in his eyes. Her heart squeezed in her chest, making it hard to breathe. “Why?”

“Because if I hadn’t, then you wouldn’t be in danger.”

She swallowed hard. “I suppose. But I also wouldn’t be as happy as I am right now.”

“How can you be happy? You’re being hunted by a crazy Voodoo priestess and a pack of unstoppable zombies.”

She sighed. “For a guy who edits romance books, you really don’t get women, do you? I can be happy because I’m with the most wonderful, caring, sexiest man I’ve ever met. A bloodthirsty horde of zombies is a small price to pay to be with you. There isn’t one thing about this past week I’d go back and change. We’re absolutely perfect for each other.”

He lifted a brow. “Perfect? I’m a reclusive, brooding zombie and you’re a beautiful, successful writer. How do you figure that makes us perfect for each other?”

She shrugged. “Because I needed a dashing, romantic man to sweep me off my feet and you needed a woman who could look past your zombie exterior and accept you for who you really are on the inside.”

The corner of his mouth curved. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

She laughed. “True, you don’t. But you’ve got me anyway.”

He shook his head. “You’re amazing.”

Simone was about to tell him that was true as well, but Drake didn’t give her the chance. Instead, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her in for a long, slow kiss.

As his mouth moved tenderly over hers, she forgot all about telling him what he obviously already knew. She parted her lips and invited his tongue into her mouth with hers.

Underneath the covers, his hand slid up her bare leg and over her hip until he came to her breast. He cupped its weight in his palm, his fingers finding her nipple and giving it a gentle squeeze. She murmured her approval against his mouth, the sound somewhere between a breathy sigh and a low, throaty moan.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Beck and Aniyah are right outside, remember?”

She had completely forgotten. “Should we stop?”

He brushed her mouth with his. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to be careful not to make too much noise.”

Simone never thought she was all that loud in bed anyway, but as Drake caressed her breasts and played with her nipples, she found herself having to bite her lip to keep silent.

Thinking that turnabout was fair play, she decided to see if she could get Drake to make a little noise of his own. She ran her hand up between his legs and tenderly cupped his balls, lightly massaging them. He groaned against her mouth.

“Shh,” she said softly. “You said we had to be quiet.”

He kissed his way along her jawline to nibble on her ear. “You’re being a bad girl.”

She laughed. “Not yet. But I’m going to be.”

As she spoke, she slid her hand up from his balls and grasped his shaft in a firm grip. She stroked him slowly, focusing on the sensitive head of his cock. She rubbed her thumb over the bit of pre-cum on the tip, using it to help her hand glide along his length.

Drake groaned again and reached down to grab her hand. “Maybe we ought to save that little technique for later. Let me touch you for a little while.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply, but instead ran his hand down her tummy to the juncture of her thighs. Always eager for him to touch her, she parted her legs, giving him complete access to her pussy. He cupped her in his palm, teasingly running his fingers along her folds before sliding them inside. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a moan as he gently pumped his fingers in and out.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured.

“That’s because I want you inside me right now,” she whispered urgently.

Simone expected Drake to either pull her on top of him or settle himself between her legs in the good old-fashioned missionary position. But instead, he lifted one of her legs slightly as she lay there on her side. She never made love face to face like this before, but as he gazed into her eyes while he slowly slid inside her, she decided she’d definitely been missing out. There was something very sensual and romantic about it, as if they were connecting on more than just a carnal level. With a moan, she wrapped her leg around him, pulling his cock in even deeper.

For a while, they just lay entwined like that, kissing and nibbling on one another’s lips. Then Drake lightly caressed her breast, teasing and playing with her nipple. The rosy peak hardened so much she thought she was going to scream against his mouth. Just when it seemed as if she couldn’t take it anymore, he slid his hand down to cup her bottom. She never realized her ass was so sensitive until she made love with Drake. But as he alternated between light caresses and firm squeezes, her pussy purred in response.

Simone sighed into his mouth and slid her hand up his chest to wrap her arm around him. She could spend the whole night locked together like this. If she were disciplined enough to stay still, that was. But of course, she wasn’t. And once she started moving, the whole idea of lasting for hours disappeared.

Drake dragged his mouth away from hers with a groan to kiss his way down her neck. After a moment, he rocked his hips in time with hers and gripped her ass in his strong hand, pulling her against him more forcefully. With each little move, her clit rubbed against the base of his cock, sending little ripples of pleasure through her.

As he slowly pumped into her over and over, Drake had to quiet her repeatedly with his mouth. But it was so damn hard to stay quiet with her clit rubbing up against him. The sensations it produced were driving her absolutely crazy. Having his thick cock buried deep inside her at the same time felt so wonderful it made her want to scream out for the whole world to hear.

Simone stifled another moan as a familiar tingle begin to build between her legs. Oh God, she was going to need a gag to hold back the scream that was going to come out with this orgasm.

Most of the time her climaxes came on her fast, like a roaring wave. But this one was different. With the minimal thrusting he was doing and the friction of his cock rubbing against her clit, Drake was pushing her steadily up a long, steep incline. When they reached the precipice, the drop on the other side was going to be insane. Like the wildest roller coaster she’d ever been on.

She was right. She gripped his hair in her fingers and bit her lip hard as she started to go over the top. She arched her body, grinding her clit against him as hard as she could. It was as if she was some adrenaline junkie in need of a rush. Her orgasm tore through her, one loop-the-loop after another as she came over and over.

She had no idea if she was still being quiet at that point or not. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if she was still on Earth.

Just as she was coming down, Drake stiffened and buried his cock deep inside her with one hard thrust, his groans of release muffled against the curve of her neck. As he emptied himself into her, Simone swore she could feel the heat of his cum. That only made their lovemaking that much sweeter.

As Simone lay in Drake’s arm’s afterward, completely and totally spent, Aniyah’s words came back to her. You are in love with Drake, aren’t you?

An hour ago when the other woman had asked her that, Simone hadn’t been able to give her an answer. But now she knew what she felt for Drake had to be love because she couldn’t imagine feeling anything stronger for any man than she did for him. If this wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.

Chapter Fifteen

Simone woke up the next morning to find sunlight streaming through the window. Squinting at the brightness, she rolled over with every intention of snuggling into the pillow again and catching more Z’s, only to blink in surprise when she saw that Drake was already awake beside her. Seeing his handsome face on the pillow reminded her of their lovemaking the night before and her subsequent realization that despite just meeting him a few days ago, she was indeed in love with him. She wanted to shout it out to the world, but decided she might want to keep it to herself for a little while. The women’s magazines always said that men got scared off by the “L–word” if a woman said it too soon.

He gave her a lazy grin. “Have I told you that you look beautiful in the morning?”

Though she appreciated the compliment, she couldn’t help making a face. “You have, but I’m not sure your vote counts since it’s a known fact that excessive sex addles a man’s mind.”

He chuckled. “I might be a little addled, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

Simone shook her head and kissed him. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon, I think.”

She hadn’t realized it was so late. Then again, she and Drake hadn’t gotten to sleep until almost four in the morning. “Beck and Aniyah must be wondering when we’re going to get our lazy butts out of bed.”

“You’re probably right. I guess we should get up.” His mouth curved. “But it wouldn’t be that hard to persuade me to stay in bed with you, if you’d like to addle me a little bit more.”

Simone laughed. In all honesty, she would rather have stayed in bed making love to him for the next fifty years or so, but they needed to get up. Beck and Aniyah were probably waiting for them. She reluctantly pushed back the blanket and climbed out of bed.

“Come on, lazybones,” she said. “I’ll addle you some more later.”

He flashed her a grin. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

When she and Drake walked into the living room a little while later, they found the apartment empty. Thinking Beck and Aniyah were probably in the shop, she and Drake went there.

Beck and Aniyah were in the front part of the shop talking to a handful of people. The strangers, two men and two women of African-American descent, looked at her and Drake curiously. Their gazes lingered on Drake for a long time before they turned back to Aniyah. Beck murmured something to the group, then walked over to Simone and Drake.

“You two sleep okay?” he asked.

Drake nodded. “Yeah.” He jerked his head toward the strangers. “Who are they?”

Beck glanced at them. “I guess you could call them the neighborhood watch. Aniyah wanted to let them know the priestess is probably going to be paying us a visit tonight.”

Alarm flared in Drake’s eyes. “She told them about me?

“Relax. She didn’t give them any details, so they have no idea you’re a half-zombie freak,” Beck assured him. “She just told them you got on the bad side of a powerful Voodoo priestess and that she’s looking to settle the score. Aniyah told them she wasn’t going to let that happen, but she wants the locals to be prepared.”

“For the zombies, you mean?” Simone asked.

The PI nodded.

Simone didn’t like the thought of innocent people getting hurt because of her and Drake. Maybe staying here wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Maybe they should try to find a place with less people around. But when she said as much, Beck shook his head.

“Don’t worry about that. The Voodoo priestess isn’t interested in hurting anyone but us. Besides, Aniyah can do a few things to help keep the locals safe and get this old bitch at the same time.”

“You mean that plan you mentioned last night?” Drake asked.

Beck nodded. “Yeah, that plan. But it’d be better if she explained it to you.” Before either of them could press him on it, he added, “You two must be hungry. I grabbed some doughnuts and coffee from the deli on the corner earlier. The coffee’s probably cold, but the doughnuts are pretty good. Why don’t you have something to eat while you wait for Aniyah to finish up?”

Simone’s stomach growled at the mention of food and she glanced at the box of freshly baked doughnuts on the counter beside them. She usually avoided the things like the plague, but right now she was too hungry to care about her diet. She and Drake hadn’t eaten anything since the grilled cheese sandwiches they’d had last night and she was starving. Taking out a chocolate doughnut, she bit into it with a little moan. Beck was right, they were delicious.

He was also right about the coffee being cold, but she was used to drinking iced coffee so she didn’t mind it. She could tell from the look on Drake’s face as he took a sip from his cup that he didn’t agree. He didn’t say anything, though.

Simone and Drake were just finishing their doughnuts when the people who’d been talking to Aniyah left. After they were gone, Aniyah came over to where Simone, Drake and Beck were standing.

“They’ll spread the word throughout the community,” she said. “By nightfall, no one will be on the street and all of the homes will be protected. If they stay inside, they’ll be safe.”

Drake’s brows drew together. “You think she’ll wait until then to send her zombies after us again?”

Aniyah nodded. “Like I said last night, she’s powerful, but not powerful enough to raise the dead and command them to do her bidding this soon. Even if she could, she wouldn’t. She knows an army of zombies walking down the street in broad daylight would arouse attention even in New York.”

Simone hoped the other woman was right. “How do we know she’ll come after us at all?”

“Because she’s already back in the city looking for you.”

Drake’s frown deepened. “How do you know?”

“I used the blood from Simone’s shirt to make a spell that allows me to know where the bokor is,” Aniyah said.

“Like the spell she used to find me?” Drake asked.

Aniyah nodded. “Yes.”

“If we know where she is, why don’t I take the fight to her and just get this the hell over with?”

Simone looked at Drake in surprise. He couldn’t seriously be suggesting he confront the Voodoo priestess on his own? If he was, she wasn’t going to let him do it. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but Aniyah spoke before she could say anything.

“Because she would know you were coming, Drake. You’re right about taking the fight to her, though. We just have to go about it a different way.”

Drake folded his arms across his broad chest. “And what’s that?”

“We wait until she attacks with her zombies,” Aniyah said. “She’s sure to send as many as she can raise, so she’ll have to be close by to command them. While she’s concentrating on doing that, we’ll surprise her.”

Simone didn’t like the sound of that. Standing around waiting for zombies to attack them seemed like a suicide plan to her.

“That’s where I come in,” Beck said. “While she’s focused on her zombies, I’ll sneak up behind her and do it.”

“Do what?” Simone asked. She had a sinking feeling he wasn’t talking about making a citizen’s arrest and handing the old woman over to the police.

The PI looked at Drake. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Simone asked.

Beck sighed. “Simone, the only way to break the curse on Drake is to kill the Voodoo priestess.”

“Kill her?” Simone echoed.

“I know how it sounds,” Beck said. “But this isn’t something the police can deal with. She’s an evil Voodoo priestess with magical powers. Do you think the cops are going to be able to help us with that? She’s not going to let you and Drake live happily ever after. She’s coming here with the intention of killing you and most likely Drake, too. Since Aniyah and I are helping the two of you, we’re probably on her hit list as well. She won’t go away just because we ask her to. Killing her is the only way to put an end to this.”

She chewed on her lower lip. What Beck said made sense and she would have no problem killing the old woman in self-defense. But he was talking about murder—as in slipping up behind the priestess and killing her when the old woman wasn’t expecting it. Simone wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She looked at Drake to see him regarding his friend with a serious expression. She was about to ask him what he thought of the idea when he spoke.

“Beck’s right. Killing that old woman is the only way to put an end to this. But I’ll do it, not him.”

Simone blinked. Concern about whether they should be killing the woman or not fled her mind to be replaced by terror at the thought of Drake being the one to face her. “Are you crazy? Drake, it’s too dangerous.”

The muscle in the side of his jaw flexed. “It’s just as dangerous for Beck. I’m not going to let him risk his life while I stay here safe from harm. He wouldn’t even be involved in this if it weren’t for me. Neither would you and Aniyah. This is my fight and I need to be the one to end it.”

The doughnut and coffee she had earlier churned in Simone’s stomach. “But Aniyah just said the Voodoo priestess would know you’re coming if you tried to confront her. You’ll never be able to get close enough to kill her.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Aniyah said.

Simone whirled around to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“If he tried it right now, yes,” Aniyah agreed. “But in the middle of the zombie attack, she’ll be at her most vulnerable. She’ll be so focused on controlling them she might not notice Drake.”

“Might not?” Simone demanded.

“I can do a spell to confuse the bokor and make her think Drake is someone else,” Aniyah explained. “The glamour wouldn’t normally fool her, but during the attack, it could work. It should at least be enough for Drake to get close to her to do what he needs to do. All I’ll need is a few drops of his blood.”

Simone shook her head. “Not good enough. I won’t let you do it, Drake.”

He reached out to take her hand in his. “I have to do it, Simone. If I don’t, she’s never going to leave us alone and you’ll never be safe.”

“But…”

“Simone, I can’t let Beck do this. I just can’t. I need you to understand that. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them back. She didn’t want to cry in front of Aniyah and Beck. She didn’t want to argue with Drake in front of them, either. So instead, she nodded and promised herself she’d talk him out of going through with this crazy plan later when they were alone.

But getting some time alone with Drake turned out to be more difficult than Simone thought it would be. Aniyah wanted to work on the glamour spell, which meant she needed a few drops of Drake’s blood. Simone watched in silence while the woman pricked his finger with a needle big enough to be used for knitting, then collected the drops in a small copper bowl. At the sight of it, Simone’s stomach churned again. She’d always been a little squeamish around blood, but knowing it was Drake’s blood made her even more queasy.

Before Aniyah went to work on the spell, she asked Drake and Beck to bring up bags of rock salt from the cellar so Simone and the two men could line the doors and windows of the nearby buildings with it.

“If the salt keeps the zombies out, shouldn’t we put it around your shop, too?” Simone asked Aniyah after the two men had left the room.

The other woman glanced at her as she walked over to a table of Voodoo dolls. “We’ll put some around the back entrance to keep them from getting behind us, but the goal is to draw the zombies to the shop. For the plan to work, we need the bokor to think she has all of us trapped here. Playing on her arrogance is the only way Drake can get close enough to do what he needs to do.”

Simone frowned at the reminder, but said nothing as she watched Aniyah pick up a small, colorful bag from another table. No matter how rational Drake tried to make it sound, this plan still scared the hell out of her. If Aniyah’s glamour spell didn’t work, Drake would be completely helpless against the priestess. She was just about to confess her fears to the other woman when Drake and Beck came up from the cellar, bags of rock salt in their arms.

Thinking she might have a chance to talk to Drake outside, Simone followed him and Beck outside. But once again, her plan was thwarted as the locals came out to help them with the salt.

Simone kept expecting the people to ask Drake what he’d done to make the Voodoo priestess curse him, or to admonish them for bringing his problems to their neighborhood, but all they did was say something to them in a language neither she nor Drake understood, then smile at them kindly before going on their way.

“They wish you luck in the coming battle.”

Simone looked up to see Aniyah standing in the doorway of her shop. She hadn’t heard the woman come outside.

“Will any of them help us tonight?” Simone asked.

Aniyah shook her head. “It isn’t their fight. But they will pray for your souls. That is enough.”

The words sent a shiver down Simon’s back. As soon as Aniyah went back inside, Simone rounded on Drake, determined to finally talk to him. But when she tried, he held up his hand.

“I know what you’re going to say, Simone. You’re going to say I don’t need to do this and that it’s too dangerous.”

“It is too dangerous,” she insisted. “Beck said—”

“That he’d do it for me,” Drake finished. “I know. But I can’t let him. If it wasn’t for Beck, I probably would have drunk myself to death years ago. Either that or taken a header off a bridge. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have had the courage to meet you for coffee that day. I owe him my life. And I’m not going to repay that by letting him risk his. Not when it’s something I should be doing.”

The tears that had been welling in her eyes while he spoke trickled down her cheeks. He wasn’t going to change his mind. And in her heart, she knew he wouldn’t be the man she loved if he did.

Tilting her face up to his, Drake bent his head to kiss her tenderly on the mouth, then took her in his arms and held her close.

“I’m going to make it through this, Simone. We’re going to make it. I promise.”

Simone hugged him back and prayed he was right.

* * * * *

After they’d put out the rock salt, Aniyah had them fill pails with salt water and soak the baseball bats Beck had picked up earlier. When Simone looked at her curiously, the other woman explained it would be easier to fight the zombies if the bats were covered in salt.

“If they hate salt so much, wouldn’t it be easier to load shotgun shells with rock salt and shoot the bastards?” Beck asked as he dumped a bag of rock salt into a bucket filled with water.

“It would be,” Aniyah agreed. “But the 67th precinct isn’t far from here. If the police hear shots, they’ll come check it out and we don’t want that. Not only would they end up getting killed, but their presence might chase off the bokor, which means we’d have to wait for her to attack us again.”

While the baseball bats soaked in the salt water, Aniyah went over the plan again, this time in more detail. At the first sign of zombies, Simone and Beck would take up defensive positions inside the shop while Drake ran down to the cellar and through the connecting passageway that linked the adjacent basements to each other. There were several exits along the passageway, so Drake would be able to use whichever one got him closest to the Voodoo priestess. As Aniyah mentioned earlier, the bokor would have to be relatively close to control her zombie army. Drake shouldn’t have to go very far to reach her.

When Aniyah came to the part where Drake confronted the Voodoo priestess, she disappeared into her bedroom, then returned a moment later with an object wrapped in a piece of soft, black material. Setting it on the kitchen table, she carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a knife with a wickedly curved blade.

Aniyah looked at Drake. “Long ago, one of my ancestors risked her life and immortal soul to recover this knife from the Other Side. This is the knife you must use to kill the bokor.”

Simone moved closer to the table. It was hard to say why, but the sharp, glinting piece of metal seemed to project some level of menace—more than one would expect from an inanimate object. The sides of the blade bore swirling designs that she realized were writing of some kind, but she didn’t recognize the words.

“You grandmother mentioned The Other Side to me before,” Drake said to Aniyah. “I thought it was a euphemism, but you make it sound like it’s a real place. And your ancestor went there to get this knife? Why?”

Aniyah shrugged. “Like now, she was facing a very great evil, and in order to do so, she needed a weapon of power. She went to the one place she was sure she could find it.”

“This Other Side,” Simone asked. “Is it like…Hell?”

Aniyah nodded. “Some call it that. But it is merely a realm of magic. Not all of it is evil, but most of it is. It exists all around our world, but doesn’t touch it. There are some places in our world that straddles the line between that world and ours. One of those places is where this knife came from.”

Drake reached out to touch the handle of the knife. “Since this knife came from there, is it evil?”

“In the wrong hands, it could be. But it has been in my family for generations, slowly being imbued with the spirit and goodness of every Voodoo priest and priestess who has used it. This blade has been turned to one purpose now—to fight dark magic.”

Regardless of her assurances, Simone wasn’t so sure she liked the looks of the thing. “Are you sure we need this?”

“If she’s as old as we think she is, she’s almost certainly cloaked herself in several generation’s worth of protection spells,” Aniyah said. “That is the only way she could have lived so long. A regular knife, or even a gun for that matter, likely wouldn’t have any effect on her. This knife is the only thing I’m sure will kill the bokor.”

Drake picked up the knife as if testing the feel of the weapon in his hand, but made no comment.

Across from Simone, Beck regarded Drake thoughtfully. “Drake, I know why you feel you have to do this, but I’m telling you that you don’t.”

Simone knew what Beck was trying to do, but she could have told him that it wasn’t going to change anything.

Drake looked at his friend. “Yes, I do.”

“Z-Man, you’ve got an awful lot to live for now,” Beck said, nodding toward Simone. “Why don’t you let me do it?”

“Because it’s my fight. And because I do have so much to live for now. I have to make sure the priestess never threatens Simone again.” Drake wrapped the knife up in the cloth. “I appreciate the offer, but I really need to be the one to do it.”

Even though she knew Drake had committed himself to doing this, it still upset her to hear him say it with such finality. She was afraid he was so determined to keep her safe from the Voodoo priestess that he’d end up sacrificing his life if it meant taking the old woman down with him. Simone prayed to God it didn’t come to that.

On the other side of the table, Aniyah pushed back her chair. “We should eat something before it gets dark. I’ll go check on the stew.”

Blinking back the tears that threatened, Simone murmured something about helping Aniyah in the kitchen and got up from the table to hurry after the other woman.

Aniyah was standing at the stove when Simone walked into the kitchen and she glanced at her as she took the lid off the cast-iron pot.

“Drake will be safe,” Aniyah said.

“How can you be so sure?” Simone asked.

The other woman smiled. “Because he has you to come back to.”

Simone said nothing. If only it were that simple.

Though her stomach rebelled at the thought of food, Simone forced herself to eat the Cajun chicken stew Aniyah had made when they sat down at the table a few minutes later. If the other woman was right about how many zombies would attack the shop later that night, she would need the energy.

To say the conversation was subdued during the meal was an understatement, but every once in a while, Drake would glance Simone’s way and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. That was enough.

The sun was just staring to go down as they finished dinner, so after quickly clearing the table of the dishes, they all went into the shop to wait. While Simone, Drake and Beck watched, Aniyah set out candles, then sprinkled what looked like cornmeal on the hardwood floor. At first, Simone thought she was just making a series of simple lines, but she realized Aniyah was making an intricate design.

“What are you doing?” Simone asked.

Aniyah glanced at her as she sprinkled more cornmeal on the floor. “Making a Vever. It represents the Loa, the Voudoun deity, to be invoked during the ceremony I’m going to do. This one is for Ogu–Fer, the warrior Loa.”

Deciding what Aniyah was doing probably required concentration, Simone didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she just watched along with the two men as the woman finished making the Vever. When she was done, Aniyah came over to where they stood and handed Drake the small bag Simone had seen her with earlier.

“Put this in your pocket,” Aniyah instructed.

“What is it?” Drake asked.

“A gris gris bag. It is filled with many powerful things. It will help keep you safe.”

As Drake put the bag in his pocket, Aniyah walked back over to the Vever and kneeled down at one end of the design. She placed a Voodoo doll on the floor in front of her along with a metal bowl filled with water, then closed her eyes and whispered softly in a language Simone didn’t understand.

Beside Simone, Drake reached out and took her hand in his. She tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it, so she gave him a nod instead. That must have been good enough for him because he leaned close to brush her cheek with a kiss.

Even though she wanted Drake to be free of the curse, as the hours passed, Simone found herself hoping the Voodoo priestess had decided not to come after all. But when she looked out the window and saw the same fog that had preceded the zombies up at the cabin moving down the street outside the shop, her heart began to pound.

From her position on the floor, Aniyah stopped whispering and turned her head to look at them. “The bokor is close. Once she finds a suitable place to cast her spells, she’ll call her zombies. Get ready.”

Aniyah didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she picked up the Voodoo doll she’d made and focused her attention on it as she murmured softly to herself again.

Remembering the purpose of the Voodoo doll, Simone glanced at Drake to see if she could see any change in his outward appearance, but he looked the same. Maybe the spell only confused the Voodoo priestess.

Simone turned her gaze to the front window of the shop again. The fog was so thick now she couldn’t even see across the street. She couldn’t see any zombies, either. She was just about to mention that to Aniyah when the woman looked at them.

“The zombies are on their way. A lot of them,” she said. “Drake, as soon as I have the bokor’s location, you need to go.”

Simone’s stomach clenched into a knot. Even though she knew this moment would come, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to let Drake go confront the Voodoo priestess by himself. When he picked up one of the baseball bats from the counter, she caught his arm.

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Drake,” she said softly. “If you can’t kill the Voodoo priestess, forget about it and come back. I don’t care that you’re a zombie or that she’s hunting us. I’ll go on the run with you forever if it means that I get to be with you.”

Drake gently cupped her face in his free hand. “I’ll come back, sweetheart. I promise. And when I do, I’m going to ask you to marry me, so while I’m out there, I want you to think about what your answer is going to be.”

Tears filled her eyes. Oh God, he was proposing. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic setting, but the place the words were coming from was what mattered. “I don’t have to think about it, Drake. My answer will be yes.”

The corner of his mouth edged up. “I’m going to hold you to that, you know.”

Simone let out a tearful little laugh. She couldn’t let him leave without telling him how she felt about him. Who the hell cared what the women’s magazine said? She opened her mouth to say the words when Aniyah interrupted her.

“I have the bokor. She’s on the second floor of a building on 28th Street, just two blocks east of here. There was a fire there a few months ago and no one has bothered to repair the place, so you should have no problem finding it.”

Drake nodded, then turned back to Simone. “I have to go.”

Her hand tightened on his arm. “Wait. I have to tell you something. I—”

“Drake, if you’re going, you need to go now,” Beck shouted from the front of the shop. “I can already see zombies coming down the street. Damn, there’s a shitload of them.”

Simone opened her mouth again, determined to get the words out before Drake left, but he didn’t give her the chance. Bending his head, he gave her a long, hard kiss, then took off for the basement at a run.

She watched him go through tear-filled eyes, begging God to keep him safe and praying she’d get the opportunity to tell him what she hadn’t gotten the chance to say.

Chapter Sixteen

Drake’s heart hammered in his chest as he raced through the narrow, underground passageway that connected one basement to the next. Simone’s words played over and over in his head. I don’t care that you’re a zombie. But he cared. Besides, it wasn’t simply about being a zombie anymore. As long as the Voodoo priestess was alive, then Simone was in danger. He’d do whatever he had to do to keep her safe. Which was one of the reasons he had insisted on confronting the bokor himself.

Although he appreciated Beck’s offer to take on the old bitch in his place, he couldn’t take his friend up on it. While Beck was obviously capable, Drake had one thing going for him the other man didn’t. Drake was in love with Simone and there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her safe. If it meant he had to die to do it, he was going to kill that Voodoo priestess.

Drake wasn’t exactly sure when he came to the startling conclusion he loved Simone. Maybe it had been up at the cabin when she’d told him she wasn’t going to give up on them just because he was cursed. Or maybe it had been this morning when he’d lain there in bed watching her sleep. She’d looked so beautiful it had made his chest hurt. He’d known right then there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect her.

Cursed or not, if he made it out of this, he was going to marry her.

He slowed to a walk as he approached the last set of stairs at the end of the passageway. They led to a door that opened onto a street only a block away from where the Voodoo priestess was hiding. He climbed the steps quietly, his adrenaline working overtime.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door and cautiously looked out. It wouldn’t help Simone if he ran straight into a mob of hungry zombies and got killed before he could even get close to the Voodoo priestess.

The fog didn’t seem to extend this far, so he was able to see well enough into the darkened alley to know there weren’t any zombies in the immediate area. He doubted they were smart enough to hide from him, but just to be on the safe side, he carefully edged around the door a little more to get a better look. When he still didn’t see any zombies, he stepped onto the street and headed for the end of the alley at a run.

Once there, he stopped and looked down Flatbush Avenue. The fog was as thick in front of Aniyah’s shop as it had been up at the cabin. Despite how heavy it was, he could still make out at least twenty zombies shuffling down the street, maybe more. Dammit. Where the hell did the Voodoo priestess find so many dead bodies in the middle of New York City? Simone and Beck were going to have their hands full holding them off. Which meant he didn’t have time to waste.

Drake turned east and ran as fast as he could toward 28th Street. He’d never seen New York City streets so deserted before, but word of the zombie attack must have sent everyone into hiding.

Just then, a figure stumbled out of an alley up ahead. From the awkward way it moved, Drake immediately realized it was a zombie. He skidded to a stop and lifted the baseball bat, prepared to defend himself. As the zombie got closer, he swore under his breath. Holy crap, to say the bastard was fresh was putting it mildly. The creature still had blood pouring out of a series of jagged holes in its chest. Since Drake knew for a fact zombies didn’t have a heartbeat, that could only mean this one had died mere minutes ago. The Voodoo priestess must be raising whatever dead bodies she could get her hands on. That included any murder victims who happened to be lying around the neighborhood.

Drake lifted the baseball bat higher, ready to take a swing at the walking corpse. But to his surprise, the damn thing didn’t even look at him. Instead, it walked past him, continuing down Flatbush Avenue as if it hadn’t seen him.

Drake stared at the zombie in confusion until he remembered the gris gris bag in the pocket of his jeans. Apparently the spell Aniyah had put on him was working.

Giving the zombie one more look over his shoulder, Drake took off at a run again. It wasn’t hard to find the building Aniyah had told him about. The result of a recent fire like she’d said, most of it was no more than a burned-out shell. The rest of it wasn’t much better. It looked exactly like the kind of place where an evil Voodoo priestess would hide out.

Taking a deep breath, he cautiously made his way over to it. As he got closer, he saw fog rolling out of what used to be the main entrance. Tightening his grip on the baseball bat, he stepped through what was left of the doorway and looked around. It wasn’t as bad on the inside as he thought it would be. Though burned here and there, most of the structure seemed to be intact. The whole place still smelled like smoke and charred wood, however.

He didn’t know what he expected to find, but he thought there’d be at least one or two zombies guarding the place. But it was empty. That made his heart beat even faster. Something didn’t feel right. He didn’t have time to puzzle it out, though. The longer he waited, the more zombies Simone and Beck would have to fight.

Remembering Aniyah said the Voodoo priestess was on the second floor, he headed for the stairs. They were littered with chunks of drywall and old carpet and he made his way up them slowly, not wanting to alert the old woman to his presence. It was hard to be stealthy when the steps were so dilapidated and he cringed every time one creaked.

To his relief, he made it up to the second-floor landing undetected. At the top he hesitated, wondering which way to go. But then he heard soft chanting coming from down the hall to his right. Knowing it had to be the Voodoo priestess, he headed that way, but stopped in his tracks when two huge zombies stepped out of one of the rooms.

Drake tensed, expecting them to come at him, but instead they just stood there and stared blankly at him.

Deciding they must be confused by the glamour spell, Drake cautiously walked toward the two zombies. He kept a tight grip on the bat just in case, but the zombies just continued to stare at him slack-jawed.

Drake didn’t understand it. Even if they didn’t recognize him for who he was, the zombies should have made some attempt to stop him from going into the room. While he was relieved they didn’t, he was concerned it might be some sort of trap. On the other hand, maybe Aniyah’s spell worked even better than she’d thought it would and the zombies couldn’t see him at all. Hopefully, the Voodoo priestess wouldn’t be able to, either.

Inside the room, the old black woman was kneeling on the floor chanting. Completely surrounded by burning candles, she had her back to Drake, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

Taking a deep breath, Drake slowly made his way across the room, carefully stepping over the debris on the floor so as not to make any sound that would give him away. It was then that he saw the two additional zombies. They were standing off to either side of the circle of candles, but like the ones out in the hallway, they didn’t appear to even notice him. Quietly setting the baseball bat down on the floor, Drake pulled the knife from his belt and moved closer to the woman. He could do this. For Simone, he could do this.

Tightening his grip on the handle, he lifted the knife over his head, prepared to plunge it into the Voodoo priestess’s back, when the chanting abruptly stopped. Drake was so stunned he didn’t even realize she’d gotten to her feet until she turned to face him.

Her lips curved into a malevolent smile. “How nice to see you again, Mr. Parrish.”

Drake stared at the old woman in shock. She looked exactly like she had that day she’d come to his office all those years ago, her face just as lined, her eyes full of that same hatred.

For some reason, Aniyah’s spell hadn’t fooled the priestess like it was supposed to. But at the moment, he didn’t care much about that. The spell had only been intended to get him close enough to the old woman so he could kill her. And he was definitely close enough to do that. One step and he’d be able to put an end to the hell she had subjected him to for the past eight years.

When Drake tried to take a step forward, he discovered he couldn’t move. He tried again, willing his feet to obey, but it did no good.

“You’re wasting your time, you know,” the old woman said, her voice dripping venom. “You can’t move. Unless I allow it, of course.”

Shit. She put a spell on him just like she had done to Simone back at the cabin. What the hell was he going to do now?

The priestess eyed the knife in his hand as she took a step closer. “I bet you’d love to plunge that wicked-looking blade right into my heart, wouldn’t you?”

Drake wanted to tell her that was exactly what he was going to do, but he couldn’t move his mouth, either.

The old woman reached out and pulled the knife from his hand as if she were taking a toy from a child. She studied it with interest before turning those black, soulless eyes on him again. “Where did you get this trinket, I wonder? Oh, I know. From that stupid woman who owns the Voodoo shop on Flatbush Avenue. The same shop where your precious Simone is waiting for you. Am I right?”

He wanted to tell her to stay the hell away from Simone, but no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t make his mouth work. The old woman must have seen the fury burning in his eyes, though, because she let out a harsh laugh.

“If looks could kill, my boy, I’d daresay I’d be as dead as my zombies, wouldn’t I? What would you say if you could talk, I wonder? Would you threaten me with harm if I didn’t promise to leave your pretty girlfriend alone? Or would you beg me for her life instead?” She eyed him thoughtfully. “Even if I did allow you to speak, threatening me would do no good since I have control over you. And begging me would be just as useless, I’m afraid. That little bitch owes me for this.” She lifted her free hand to run one long, bony finger down the jagged scar on the side of her face. “And I’m going to make sure she pays.”

The thought of the Voodoo priestess hurting Simone sent rage coursing through Drake. His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He’d never wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill the old woman in front of him.

“But don’t worry,” she continued. “When your pretty Simone realizes you haven’t succeeded in killing me, she’ll come over here looking for you. I know women. That’s what they do. They always come looking for their man. And when she does, you’ll get to see everything I’m going to do to her.”

Trapped inside his body, Drake panicked even more. Desperate, he fought against his paralyzed muscles as hard as he could, but to no avail. He couldn’t so much as blink his eyes. If he had, he would have closed them as he prayed. Please, God, don’t let Simone come over here looking for me.

The Voodoo priestess slowly circled around behind him. “What shall we do to pass the time, I wonder?”

Coming to stand in front of him again, she placed a gnarled hand on his right forearm. Beneath her fingers, his skin turned that ugly black color he was so familiar with. Helpless, Drake could only stand there and watch in horror as the putrid decay slowly spread over his entire body. After a moment, his heart slowed to a stop and his breathing ceased. He didn’t have much use for either in his zombie form.

The Voodoo priestess released his arm, then took a step back and looked him up and down as if admiring her handiwork. Behind him, the two zombies in the room moaned as if in recognition.

“Now you are like my other pets in every way. Every way but one, that is. You can still feel pain. That’s a special trick I did just for you. I’ve always wanted you to feel pain. It’s only right that you do, considering how much misery you’ve brought me.”

As if to prove her point, she lifted the knife Aniyah had given to him and pressed the tip to the side of his neck just below his ear. If Drake had any breath to hold, he would have held it, but all he could do was wait while she pushed the knife into his blackened skin, then slowly slit his throat.

The feel of the blade cutting into his skin was like a white-hot fire and if he could have made a sound, he would have screamed in pain. He couldn’t scream, though. He couldn’t do anything except stand there and take it. But he knew the pain he was feeling now was nothing compared to the anguish he’d experience if the bitch hurt Simone like this.

Please don’t come looking for me, Simone. Please.

Chapter Seventeen

“He’ll be okay.”

Simone was still staring at the door Drake had just gone through, but at the sound of Beck’s voice she turned to look at him. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.” He held out one of the baseball bats. “Ever swing one of these?”

She took the bat from him. “Not since high school. And I wasn’t very good at it then.”

He looked toward the shop’s front windows. “Well, something tells me you’re about to get a lot of practice.”

She followed the direction of his gaze to see a group of zombies standing in front of the shop. There were so many of them that they were packed shoulder to shoulder, four deep. Her hand tightened reflexively around the baseball bat. There was no way she and Beck would be able to fight so many of them. She only hoped Drake was able to kill the Voodoo priestess before it was too late.

Beck glanced at her. “Stay back here with Aniyah. I’ll hold off as many as I can.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but strode toward the front of the shop without looking back. Baseball bat in hand, Simone walked over to where Aniyah still knelt on the floor deep in some kind of trance. It looked as if she was going to have to keep Aniyah safe because the other woman was completely defenseless in her current state. Simone wished she knew what the heck Aniyah was up to right then. She doubted she would have understood the magic of it, but it would be better than just seeing the woman kneeling there as motionless as those zombies outside.

Simone nervously shifted from one foot to the other as she waited for the zombies to storm the shop, but they just stood outside staring at them through the windows, their jaws slack. After a moment, the ones closest to the windows reached up to tap on the glass.

She’d been so focused on running from the zombies the first two times they had attacked she hadn’t really taken the opportunity to look at them. But standing there now, she gazed at them in bizarre fascination. God, they were gruesome. Like something out of a low-budget horror movie. While some of them were little more than skeletons in tattered clothes, their empty eye sockets staring at her as if they could actually see, others looked more recently deceased. Their clothes were less tattered and they still had skin on their bones and eyes in their heads. As she watched, two of that kind shouldered aside the older, more skeletal zombies near the windows so they could beat at the glass with their fists. Another started to kick the door.

Their movements were so slow and mechanical Simone thought perhaps the glass might actually hold up, but the creatures were relentless and soon cracks appeared in the glass. A moment later, one of the windows broke and crashed to the floor. The zombie standing there hesitated, seemingly startled by what it just did. But then, as if figuring out that it finally had a way in, the thing hoisted itself up and crawled through the opening.

The other zombies bashed through the windows. Within seconds, they had broken every window in the shop. Once through the openings, they wasted no time in heading straight for Beck. Fortunately, they didn’t move very fast, so he was able to engage one or two at a time, keeping them at bay. But there were so many that soon he was almost completely surrounded by them. He was swinging his bat as fast as he could, but she knew there was no way he could deal with all of them. If she didn’t do something, he was going to be overwhelmed.

Simone was just about to hurry over to help Beck when something strange happened. As if in response to some command, more than half of the zombies turned away from Beck and lumbered straight toward her. She tensed as they advanced on her. Oh, crap! Well, she had wanted to help Beck. Now was her chance.

Gripping the baseball bat tightly in both hands, she spread her feet wide in a batter’s stance and swung at the first zombie with everything she had in her. He was one of the older-looking zombies in the room and when her bat connected with his head, his skull immediately shattered into pieces. The chicken stew Simone had eaten earlier threatened to erupt out of her stomach at the sight of the zombie flailing around the room without a head.

But Simone didn’t have much time to dwell on the fact she’d just knocked the head off a walking corpse because that one was quickly replaced by two others, these with more flesh on their bones. When she swung the bat at them, she discovered the younger ones could take a lot more damage. She might as well have been hitting a tree for all the good it seemed to do. And when she finally got both of them down on the floor, they still tried to reach out and grab her ankles in an effort to pull her down with them. She had to spend as much time whacking at the ones on the floor as she did the zombies that were still on their feet.

She quickly sidestepped a gnarled hand trying to grip her foot, only to yelp when she realized she’d inadvertently moved right into the arms of another downed zombie. This one wrapped his bony appendages around her leg and tried to clamp his jaws onto her leg. She swung the bat awkwardly at the creature’s head and was able to get it to release her, but not before the thing gnawed its way through the material of her jeans. Although Aniyah had assured her getting bitten by a zombie wouldn’t turn her into one, the woman also said it could result in a nasty infection that modern medicine would find hard to deal with. Simone had no desire to find out one way or the other.

Quickly moving to a clear section of floor, Simone looked around to make sure she wasn’t within reach of any more teeth before turning to confront the next zombie. She could barely hold back a scream when she found herself face to face with a huge zombie covered with tattoos. It made him look even more terrifying than he already was and she swung at his head as hard as she could. The added terror of the zombie’s appearance must have given her extra strength because the thing went down with one whack.

Simone was still standing over the tattooed zombie waiting to see if he was going to get up again when she heard Aniyah gasp. Afraid the zombies had gotten past her and to the other woman while she was otherwise occupied, Simone whirled around, fearing the worst.

But Aniyah wasn’t being attacked by a zombie. No longer in a trance, she was trembling, her eyes wide.

Simone rushed over to crouch down beside her. “What is it?”

The other woman swung her gaze on Simone, her eyes full of fear. “The bokor has broken the glamour spell I put on Drake. He’s in terrible danger. I can feel it.”

Simone’s heart seized in her chest. She knew this stupid plan was never going to work. “Beck! Drake is in trouble. I have to go to him.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, but turned and raced for the basement door. Beck and Aniyah would just have to hold off the zombies the best they could. Drake needed her.

She ran down the steps so quickly she almost fell. Once at the bottom, she didn’t even stop to catch her breath, but ran as fast as she could through the darkened passageway. She was forced to slow down as she climbed the stairs that led to the exit, but the moment she got to the top, she twisted the knob and shoved open the door.

Outside, she raced down the alley at full speed, thankful there weren’t any zombies around. When she got to the street, however, she realized she didn’t have a clue which way to go. Aniyah had told Drake to head east, but Simone didn’t know which direction east was. She looked left, then right, then left again. She closed her eyes, trying to picture the layout of the streets in her head as they looked on a map. Left, she thought. It had to be left. Praying she was correct, she headed in that direction.

When she rounded the corner and saw the dilapidated building a few minutes later, Simone breathed a sigh of relief. Holding onto the bat tightly, she ran up the front steps of the building. She wondered why there weren’t any zombies guarding the entrance. Wouldn’t the Voodoo priestess have positioned some there to keep watch? Oh God, what if that meant the woman had already killed Drake and left?

Suddenly Simone couldn’t breathe and she had to stop in the doorway to calm herself down. Stop thinking like that. Drake is alive and you’re going to save him.

Remembering Aniyah had said the Voodoo priestess was on the second floor, Simone hurried over to the staircase. The steps creaked loudly as she ran up them, but she couldn’t concern herself with that. Something told her that she had to get to Drake as quickly as she could.

At the top, she hesitated, wondering which way to go. Then she caught sight of a light flickering in a room off to her right. She started down the hallway, but then stopped in her tracks when she realized there were two huge zombies standing guard outside the door. Good heavens, they had to be over seven feet tall. How the hell was she going to get past them? She had no idea, but if it meant getting to Drake, she’d find a way.

Heart pounding, she lifted the bat in both hands and slowly made her way down the hall. But to her surprise, they made no move toward her. Instead, they only stared straight ahead as if they didn’t even see her.

Afraid they might suddenly reach out and try to stop her, Simone darted past them into the room with the flickering light, only to stop when she saw Drake.

He was standing in the middle of the room, his back to the door. Relief flowed through Simone at the sight of him. She’d been terrified the Voodoo priestess had already killed him.

Uncaring about her safety, she lowered the bat and rushed over to him. When she stepped around in front of him, her heart plummeted in her chest.

Drake had turned into a zombie again. Only this time, there was something different about him. Instead of standing relaxed and naturally like he had at the cabin, his body was rigid and tight, as if he were a statue. Or one of the two zombies out in the hallway.

Simone’s throat closed up. What if the Voodoo priestess had killed Drake and truly turned him into one of her mindless creatures?

She lifted her gaze to his face, terrified his eyes were going to be as cold and lifeless as those two monsters outside the room. What she saw there both relieved and horrified her. His eyes were blessedly alive, but held a look of terror she’d never seen before, not even when they had been fighting those zombies at the cabin. She also couldn’t help but notice a jagged wound that ran all the way down the side of his neck from his ear to his collar bone. Although it wasn’t bleeding, it still looked incredibly painful. What had that evil bitch done to him?

“Drake, are you okay?”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just continued to stand there unmoving, his eyes beseeching.

Why wasn’t he answering her? Confused and even more alarmed now, Simone took a step toward him only to stop when the Voodoo priestess materialized between them out of nowhere.

Startled, Simone took a step back.

The old woman gave her a smile. “He can’t answer you, chere, because he’s completely under my control, just like my other zombies. All he can do is stand there and watch while I kill you.”

The hatred in the other woman’s black eyes was so terrifying that Simone involuntarily took another step back. She let out a startled gasp as cold, clammy hands wrapped around her upper arms and she jerked her head around to see a zombie standing on either side of her. The one on her right reached down with his free hand and relieved her of the baseball bat she didn’t even realize she was still holding.

She struggled against their grip, but it was useless. They might be dead, but they were almost inhumanly strong.

Simone glared at the Voodoo priestess, suddenly furious with the old woman for all the fear and pain she had put her and Drake through. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?” she demanded. “I admit that what Drake did to your granddaughter was terrible, but that was more than eight years ago. He was young and stupid then and he’s regretted what he did every day since then. He told me so himself. He’s a different man now, even you must realize that. Hasn’t he suffered enough for the crime of breaking your granddaughter’s heart?”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t curse him because he broke her heart. I cursed him to a life of misery because he took her virginity.”

Simone frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

The Voodoo priestess let out a derisive snort. “I couldn’t care less about her heart. It’s her body I was interested in. You don’t get to live as long as I have—and I’ve lived a very, very long time—by eating right and getting plenty of sleep. Oh no, there’s much more to it than that. Every fifty years or so, I need a new body to inhabit.”

“Inhabit?” Simone eyed her in horror. “What do you mean?”

The other woman’s lips curved. “I mean that I was planning to use sweet Cia’s body as my own. All I had to do was rid her body of its soul and put mine in its place. But while the magic to transfer my soul is rather simple, finding a body that’s acceptable can be extremely difficult. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep track of all of your female relatives after two-hundred years? You see, the vessel I use must be a direct descendant of mine or my soul will be rejected. I know because I’ve tried to use others and the results are always messy.” She smirked. “At least for the woman whose body I try to possess.”

Simone cringed. “So, Cia’s not your granddaughter?

“More like a great-great-great-granddaughter.”

“And you were going to kill her just so you could live longer?”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t? It took me years to track her down and confirm she was truly my offspring. I was just going to New York to take over her body when Mr. Parrish destroyed my plans. The host body must be pure and chaste, never having known the intimate touch of a man, for the spell to work. Once a woman has lain with a man, her soul becomes too strong to dislodge from its body. And two souls cannot inhabit the same body at once.” She stepped closer to Simone. “I waited all that time for the perfect vessel and what does the tramp do? She runs off to New York City to work at some fancy office, then jumps into the bed of the first man who flashes her a charming smile. Morals have gotten so loose in these modern times.”

Simone swallowed hard. “You bitch! All these years, Drake has hated himself for what he did to your granddaughter, when in reality he saved her life by sleeping with her.”

The old woman laughed. “Ironic isn’t it? He saved her life and destroyed his own. I may have turned him into a zombie, but he made himself a monster.”

“You’re despicable,” Simone said.

The Voodoo priestess arched a wrinkled brow. “Despicable? Is that the best you can do? I’ve been called much worse. Turning him into a zombie like I did is no more than he deserves for getting in my way. I suppose I could have just killed him outright, but what kind of punishment would that have been? Do you know how much I detest this ancient body? And now I’m stuck in it until I find another suitable substitute, perhaps even until Cia’s baby girl is old enough.” She slanted Drake a hard look. “At least I haven’t had to go through my suffering alone. Knowing he’s been just as miserable as I was these past eight years has given me some consolation.” She looked at Simone. “But then he met you. Imagine my surprise when I learned he found happiness with someone. Well, I won’t allow it. If I have to suffer, he has to suffer.” Her lips curved into a nasty smile. “Which brings us to you, pretty girl.”

As she spoke, the woman reached out a bony finger and ran it down Simone’s cheek. Simone tried to jerk away, but the Voodoo priestess gripped her chin and held her still.

“I was planning to kill you,” she said to Simone. “But now I think it might be more fun to turn you into a zombie, too. That way he could look at you and know he was the one responsible for it.” She glanced at Drake over her shoulder. “What do you think? Shall I turn your pretty girlfriend into the walking dead like you? Maybe I’ll take her mind away completely, too, like my other toys. Would you like that? I could do it, or worse.”

A low, anguished moan answered her words.

Simone darted a quick look at Drake, hoping if he were able to moan, that meant he had somehow broken free of the Voodoo priestess’s hold. But he was still standing as immobile as he had been before, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

Simone reacted without thinking. Ignoring the two huge zombies holding her arms, she kicked out at the old woman. The toe of her sandal struck the Voodoo priestess solidly underneath the chin. While the blow didn’t knock her to the floor as Simone had hoped it would, it did knock her back several feet. It also must have momentarily broken her hold over Drake because suddenly he was throwing himself across the room at her.

Drake only made it a few feet before the Voodoo priestess lifted her head and glared at him. He stopped in his tracks as if he had hit some invisible barrier, then he was abruptly thrown backward. He landed on the floor with a thud, then lay there doubled over as if in pain.

Simone screamed and struggled to free herself from the zombies again, desperate to go to Drake, but they held her fast. The Voodoo priestess whirled around to glare at her.

“You’ll pay for that!”

Despite how terrified she was, Simone returned the woman’s glower with one of her own. “Touch him again and I’ll kill you!”

The old woman laughed. “I’m not going to touch him, girl. He’s going to do this part all by himself.” She turned her head to look at Drake. “Come here, boy. I have something I want you to do.”

At the words, Drake mechanically got to his feet and slowly walked over to them. Simone could tell from the look in his eyes that he was fighting the old woman’s hold every step of the way. But it did no good and he kept moving until he came to a stop in front of Simone.

The old woman took his right hand in hers and placed the knife in it. His fingers wrapped around the handle automatically, gripping it tightly.

“Since I think it will cause both of you more pain this way, I’ve decided to have you kill her,” the Voodoo priestess said.

Simone saw the look of horror in Drake’s eyes and her heart pounded even harder in her chest.

“Please don’t make him do this,” she begged.

The old woman ignored her. “Go ahead,” she ordered Drake. “Do it. Kill her.”

Drake’s hand trembled as he slowly lifted the knife. Simone could see he was fighting it, but after a moment, the blade was aiming straight at her heart. His fingers quivered as if he were trying to let go of the knife and Simone lifted her gaze to see determination in his eyes.

“That’s it, Drake,” she told him. “Fight her.”

Tears ran down Simone’s cheeks. As terrified as she was for herself, it paled in comparison to the agony she felt over what the old woman was making him do. It was beyond cruel.

Drake’s hand shook even more and Simone knew without a doubt that the greatest battle the world would never see was taking place inside him. She had to help him.

“Please, Drake. Fight her.” She swallowed hard. “You can do this, Drake. I know you can. I love you.”

Something flickered in his eyes at her words. Simone held her breath as Drake started to lower his arm.

The old woman swore under her breath. “Don’t listen to her. I told you to kill her. Now, do it!”

She reached out to grab his arm, as if she was going to show him how she wanted it done, but he jerked his arm away from her grip. The Voodoo priestess swore again as she reached for the blade.

“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for, boy. So be it. Give me the damn knife and I’ll do it myself.” The old woman grabbed his arm and tried to pry his fingers away from the knife, but he wouldn’t let go. “Give it to me!”

Simone watched in horror as they struggled over the weapon. She desperately wanted to help Drake, but with the zombies holding her, she was powerless. Sooner or later, the old bitch would get the knife away from him. Then there would be nothing either one of them could do to stop her.

But just when it seemed the old woman was going to wrench the knife out of his grasp, Simone saw something flicker in Drake’s eyes as if he had suddenly come alive.

“Give it to me, damn you,” the priestess screamed, jerking viciously at his arm.

Drake seemed as if he would keep resisting, but then he suddenly let the priestess yank his arm forward. Just as the old woman began to gloat over her apparent victory, Drake twisted the blade toward her and shoved with more force than she was obviously prepared for. The knife slipped from the priestess’s grip and the blade drove deep into her chest.

Simone was stunned, but the Voodoo priestess seemed even more surprised. She looked at Drake in confusion as blood stained the front of her dress.

“How?” she whispered hoarsely as she slowly collapsed to the floor.

Drake opened his mouth and blew out. Simone watched as tiny white grains drifted down to land on the priestess.

He leaned over to stare into her eyes. “Salt. I had some in my pocket and put it in my mouth after you threw me across the room. It didn’t break your hold on me completely like I thought it would, but it helped me resist you. It was Simone’s love that really set me free.”

The old woman laughed, but the sound turned into a weak cough and blood appeared at the corners of her mouth. She reached up with a weak hand to wipe it away. “Fool!” she rasped softly. “Her love might have broken my spell, but it won’t be enough to save you.”

Simone wondered what the old woman meant by that, but she didn’t say anything more. As the life left the Voodoo priestess’s eyes, the two zombies holding Simone released their grip on her arms. Startled, she whirled around and was shocked to see them shambling toward the open door away from her and Drake.

Ignoring them now that they were leaving, she turned back to Drake. He was still standing over the old woman, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. When he finally turned to face her, she saw that his skin was already starting to return to its normal color. Relief flowed through her. It had worked. The curse had ended with the Voodoo priestess’s death.

Stifling a sob, Simone ran across the room and flung her arms around him. Drake wrapped his arms around her in return, squeezing her tightly.

“It’s over,” he whispered. “It’s finally over.”

Simone pulled back to gaze up at him and gasped when she saw blood running down his neck. A lot of it. Abruptly, she remembered the gash she’d seen earlier on Drake’s neck. The Voodoo priestess must have slit his throat with the knife.

“Oh, God. You’re bleeding, Drake,” she said. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

He looked confused for a second, then frowned as his legs suddenly gave out and he sank to the floor.

Simone’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. Oh God, no. Not after all she and Drake had been through. She couldn’t lose him.

Dropping to her knees, she instinctively clamped her hand over the wound and squeezed tightly. Drake’s eyes were already getting that glassy look as if he were on the verge of passing out. If she didn’t get the bleeding to stop, he was going to die.

As she continued to apply pressure to the wound with her hand, she wrapped her other arm around him and pulled him close, rocking back and forth. Tears burned her eyes and she swallowed hard.

“Please don’t leave me, Drake,” she begged. “I love you. I can’t live without you.”

She wondered numbly if she should go and get help, but she knew Drake would die within seconds if she left him for even a moment. So instead, she just held him and waited helplessly for the inevitable as sobs racked her body.

“I love you, Drake,” she whispered, the words becoming a litany as she repeated them over and over.

Simone didn’t even feel the strong arms that wrapped around her a few minutes later until Drake spoke.

“I love you, too, Simone. More than I ever thought possible.”

Sure she must be imagining things, she pulled back to look at Drake and found him gazing up at her with clear, alert eyes.

“You’re…you’re alive,” she breathed.

The corner of his mouth edged up. “And I’ve never been more grateful for that than I am right now.”

She stared at him in disbelief. How was it possible? A moment ago, she was sure Drake was going to die and now he looked perfectly fine. Despite what her eyes were telling her, she held her breath as she slowly took her hand away from the wound. She’d been expecting the worst and was astounded to see that the wound had somehow closed. What was once a horrible, bleeding gash, was now a freshly healed scar that looked like it was weeks old.

“I don’t understand it,” she said. “The wound… It’s…it’s healing. How can that be?”

Brow furrowing, Drake reached up to run his fingers over the scar. “I don’t know. I got dizzy, then everything went black for a minute. The next thing I remember is you telling me that you love me. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was a zombie when she cut me. Maybe after I was released from the curse, the wound closed up.”

That theory didn’t make any sense to Simone. Drake hadn’t even started bleeding until he turned back into a human. Logically, he should have bled to death from the wound. But then she remembered what Aniyah had said about her having the blood of a Voodoo priestess running through her veins. Could that explain what had happened? Or was it something else? Maybe love truly was magical. Simone promised herself she would talk to Aniyah about it later, but right now, she didn’t care what the reason was. Drake was alive and that was all that mattered.

Choking back a sob, she bent and kissed him hard on the mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, holding on to her tightly. She clung to him just as fiercely and would have stayed like that the rest of the night if he hadn’t pulled away to look at her.

“I would never have killed you, Simone,” he said hoarsely. “Please tell me you believe that.”

She cupped his face in her hand. “Of course I do. I know you would never hurt me.”

“I’m glad.” Drake pulled her close and kissed her again. “I could stay here all night with you, but we need to get back to the Voodoo shop. Beck and Aniyah might need help.”

Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet, then turned his head to look at the old woman. Simone followed his gaze. The Voodoo priestess’s body looked old and mummified, as if she’d been dead two hundred years. Simone supposed that in some ways she was. It was as if the woman had been as much a zombie as the monsters she created.

Drake gave Simone’s hand a squeeze. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

She and Drake made their way down the rickety steps and back outside cautiously, afraid there might be zombies waiting for them. But the streets were empty. They quickened their step until they were both running down Flatbush Avenue.

Simone was afraid what she and Drake would find at the Voodoo shop, but when they finally got there she was relieved to see that Beck and Aniyah were unharmed. The shop and the street outside of it, however, looked like something out of a bad horror movie. Zombie parts were littered everywhere. Beck and Aniyah walked over to meet them.

“When I realized the bokor recognized you, I feared the worst,” Aniyah said to Drake.

“Me, too,” Beck said. “What happened over there?”

Since Simone didn’t know what had happened before she got to the abandoned building, she let Drake recount the story. As she listened, she couldn’t help but shudder, especially when he got to the part where the Voodoo priestess had ordered him to kill her.

“So, the salt worked,” Beck said. “Just like in the movies.”

Drake shook his head. “Not quite. I hadn’t planned on putting it in my mouth. I just shoved some in my pocket when we were spreading it around the buildings earlier today in case I needed it if I encountered any zombies on the street. I thought I might need to line a doorway or something. But when the Voodoo priestess took control of me, I remembered what you said about salt breaking her hold on a zombie and I figured it would be worth a shot. It didn’t work nearly as well as you implied. If Simone hadn’t said she loved me at just the right time, I’m not sure what would have happened. But I managed break free of the priestess’s hold and kill the old witch.”

Aniyah regarded Simone and Drake thoughtfully. “You said you loved him and that broke the bokor’s hold?”

Simone wondered why the other woman was looking at her so strangely. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened.”

Aniyah lifted her hand to run a finger down the scar on Drake’s neck. “And this? How did this happen?”

Simone explained how the wound started bleeding and how it stopped when she’d clamped her hand over it.

Aniyah shot her a quick look. “Really? How interesting.”

Simone wondered what the other woman meant by that, but before she could ask, Aniyah spoke again.

“You should go,” she said. “Once the bokor died, all the zombies that could return to their graves, did, but the police will demand an explanation for all of these miscellaneous parts lying around. They should be here soon, if I don’t miss my guess. Not to offend you, but you three look out of place in Little Haiti. It might be hard to explain what you’re doing here.”

Drake frowned. “What about you? Won’t you have a hard time explaining why there are zombie parts lying all over the floor of your shop?”

Her lips curved. “This is a Voodoo shop. I should have absolutely no problem explaining why they’re here. Now, go before the police get here.”

“Thank you,” Drake said. “For everything.”

“I’m glad I was able to help.” Aniyah said. “Go and be happy.”

Simone could tell that Drake was still reluctant to let Aniyah have to explain everything to the police on her own. So was she. But she could already hear sirens and Aniyah was right when she said explaining what they were doing in this part of the city might be a little difficult. Drake must have thought so, too, because he gave Aniyah a nod, then took Simone’s hand and started for the door. But Aniyah stopped Simone with a hand on her arm.

“You must come back sometime,” she said. “There are things we need to talk about.”

Simone knew what the other woman wanted to talk about and she really wanted to talk about it, too, so she nodded.

“What was that all about?” Drake asked as they followed Beck to his car.

Simone hesitated. It wasn’t something she could explain easily. In fact, she wasn’t even sure she understood it herself. So all she said was, “Nothing. Just girl stuff.”

Drake looked at her curiously, but didn’t ask for details.

She slid across the bench seat to sit between the two men, then rested her head against Drake’s shoulder as Beck started the car and pulled out onto the street.

“Where to? Simone’s place or yours?” Beck asked, giving them a sidelong glance.

Simone lifted her head to give Drake a questioning look to find him regarding her the same way.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She thought a moment. The last time they were at her place, there were two zombies in it and she had no idea if they were still there or not. Besides, she really wanted to see where Drake lived.

She smiled. “Yours.”

It was well after midnight when they got to Drake’s apartment building. As Beck pulled up to the curb, Drake opened the door.

“Want to come in?” he asked Beck.

The other man shook his head. “Thanks, but I want to go home and clean up. Besides, you two probably want to be alone.”

Though Simone wouldn’t have minded if Beck wanted to come in, she was glad he hadn’t taken Drake up on the offer. She wanted to be alone with him.

Taking Drake’s hand, she slid across the seat and stepped out onto the sidewalk, then turned back to the car when he leaned down to talk to Beck again.

“You said if you ever tracked down the Voodoo priestess for me that I could finally pay you for all your hard work. So, add it all up and let me know what I owe you.”

Beck waved his hand. “Forget about it. You can owe me a favor.”

Drake lifted a brow. “Considering what happened to the cabin of the other guy who owed you a favor, I think I’d rather just pay you.”

The other man chuckled. “Okay, but I’m pricey. You’d do better just owing me a favor.”

As Beck pulled away from the curb, Drake put his arm around Simone and led her up the front walk and into his building. It was a lot fancier than her walk-up on the Upper West Side, with both an elevator and a twenty-four-hour concierge. The man looked a little surprised to see Drake, though Simone wasn’t sure if that was because Drake rarely left his apartment or because they both looked as if they’d just spent the better part of the evening fighting an evil Voodoo priestess and her army of walking dead. The concierge didn’t remark on either, but just gave them a smile and told them to have a good night as they stepped onto the elevator.

Chapter Eighteen

Simone’s lips curved into a smile as she watched Drake study the skin on his forearm in the late afternoon sunlight. They’d just swung by her apartment to pick up some things and decided to stop for dinner at the same café where they’d had their first date.

“You don’t have to keep checking yourself out, you know,” she said. “You’re not cursed anymore, remember?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

She leaned over to give him a kiss. “Well, you can stop because you’re not going to turn into a zombie anymore.”

It had been a week since that awful night on Flatbush Avenue and even though Drake hadn’t so much as had a patch of dry skin, she still occasionally found him looking for signs he was going zombie on her again, as he called it.

Simone hadn’t bothered to go back to her apartment for a couple of days, mainly because she and Drake were in bed most of the time. When they finally did go to her place, they found crime scene tape across her door. It turned out Emily Hayden had called the police because she found the door to Simone’s apartment wide open and the place a shambles. Thinking Simone had met with foul play, the cops immediately launched an investigation and called not only Megan, but Simone’s parents and sisters as well. Simone had to spend the whole day calming everyone down and convincing them she was just fine.

Simone explained she and her boyfriend had decided to go to the Catskills for the weekend on the spur of the moment, but that her apartment was fine when they left. While the cops had been more concerned with who might have broken into her apartment, her parents were more interested in hearing about her new boyfriend, especially since they hadn’t even known she was dating anyone.

Of course, after finding out she was okay, Megan was more interested in the fact Simone and Drake had gone away together.

“You just met the guy and you’re already running off to a romantic, secluded cabin with him,” her friend said. “Okay, now I’ve got to meet him. Or should I just wait until the wedding?”

Simone laughingly promised they’d get together for dinner sometime soon. She even mentioned Drake had a friend she wanted Megan to meet. The other woman immediately forgot about Drake and wanted details about Beck instead.

After that, she and Drake had spent the next few days moving some of her stuff to his place. Between that and making love, she didn’t get much done on her book, but she wasn’t too worried about that now. She was confident now that she had a live-in consulting editor, writing would be a snap.

She’d also visited Aniyah’s shop quite a few times. Though Simone doubted it, the other woman insisted she had the blood of a Voodoo priestess running through her veins and wanted to start teaching her spells right away. Simone didn’t want to hurt Aniyah’s feelings after everything she’d done for them, but she really wasn’t comfortable with all that Voodoo stuff. It creeped her out. She preferred to think it was her love that had saved Drake that night. The funny thing was, when she told Drake what Aniyah had said, he sided with the other woman. It seemed he thought having his own personal Voodoo priestess for a girlfriend was a good idea, just in case he got cursed again.

Simone’s brow furrowed as she caught Drake looking at something under the table. Remembering the mirror he’d brought with them on their first date, she leaned forward a little to try to see over the edge of the table. But even though she was sitting adjacent to him this time instead of across from him like she had the first time, she still couldn’t see over the edge of the table.

She set down her glass of iced tea. “Please tell me you didn’t bring a mirror with you.”

Drake lifted his head to give her another smile. “No, I didn’t. But I did bring something else.”

That sounded mysterious. “Oh yeah? What?”

“This.”

As he spoke, Drake set a light blue jewelry box on the table and slid it toward her. Simone’s pulse quickened. There was no mistaking the jeweler that blue box had come from. The question was, what was in it? She jerked her head up to look at him.

His mouth twitched. “You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?”

She eyed him warily. “Forgotten what?”

“That I asked you to marry me right before I went over to confront you-know-who.”

Simone smiled. Drake had taken to referring to the Voodoo priestess as “you-know-who” as if he were afraid by saying her name he’d bring the curse back. Now that she thought about it, she actually did think Drake had forgotten about asking her to marry him. And while her answer had been sincere that night, when he hadn’t mentioned it again she figured it was just one of those things he’d done in the heat of the moment and that he hadn’t really meant it. She supposed she should have brought up the subject herself, but she just hadn’t been able do it. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten, but was just waiting until he bought the ring.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Drake asked.

Reaching out a trembling hand, Simone picked up the box and slowly lifted the lid. Nestled inside was the most beautiful diamond engagement ring she had ever seen. Tears of happiness blurred her vision and she blinked.

“Will you marry me, Simone Kent?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you, Drake Parrish.” Leaning close, she gave him a long, lingering kiss, then pulled back to look at him. “Will you put the ring on for me?”

He flashed her a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

After he slipped it on her finger, she held out her hand to admire it, deciding it looked even better on her finger than in the box.

Simone was about to lean forward to give him another kiss when their waiter appeared at the table with a slice of cheesecake and two forks. She looked at Drake in surprise. They hadn’t ordered cheesecake, which meant he must have arranged to have it brought over after he’d popped the question.

She was about to dig in when he stopped her. She lifted her brow questioningly, then watched as he scooped up a forkful and offered it to her. Smiling, she closed her lips over it. He let out a groan as he watched her mouth.

“You have no idea how sexy that is,” he said huskily.

Her lips curved. “I do now.”

As they ate, she and Drake talked about the wedding, where it would be held and who they wanted to invite. That conversation naturally led to discussing where they were going to live. Simone pointed out that his apartment was much nicer than hers. Bigger, too. And he had a complete home gym. That made her wonder if he was going to continue to work from home like she did.

“Are you going to go back to working on Wall Street now that you’re no longer a zombie?” she asked.

“Actually, I’m thinking of writing a romance book.”

Simone blinked in surprise. “A romance book?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s about this woman who falls for a guy who’s a zombie. Only she doesn’t know it…”

Other Books by Paige Tyler

SERIES

X-OPS Series

Her Perfect Mate

Her Lone Wolf

Her Wild Hero (Releasing Spring 2015)

SWAT (Special Wolf Alpha Team)

Hungry Like the Wolf (Releasing January 2015)

The Buckle Bunnies Series

Ride of Her Life

Team Roping

Ride ’em Hard

The Badge Bunnies Series

Seducing Officer Barlowe

Two Cops, A Girl and A Pair of Handcuffs

A Cop, His Wife and Her Best Friend

Ride-Along

Hands-On Training

The Cowboy Series

Karleigh’s Cowboys

And The Ranch Hand Makes Three

More Than a Cowboy (Special Two-Book Set)

Alaskan Werewolves Series

Animal Attraction

Animal Instinct (Releasing Soon)

The Cutler Brothers Series

Cade

Madoc

The Cutler Brides

Modern Day Vampires

Vampire 101

The Friends Series

Spicing Up Her Marriage

Taking Her Friends Advice

It’s Just a Job

INDIVIDUAL BOOKS

Western

Kayla and the Rancher

Paranormal

Dead Sexy

Just Right

The Magic Spell

Contemporary

Security Risk

The Postman Always Comes Twice

Good Cop, Bad Girl

Mr. Right-Now

Erotic Exposure

Unmasked

Sexy Secret Santa

If You Dare

Librarian By Day

Protective Custody

Spanking Sydney

The Real Thing

Not Really the Outdoor Type

The Wager

Maid for Spanking

The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Stop, or I’ll Spank

Samantha and the Detective

Nosy By Nature

All She Wants for Christmas

About the Author

Paige Tyler is a bestselling author of sexy, romantic fiction. She and her very own military hero (also known as her husband) live on the beautiful Florida coast with their adorable fur baby (also known as their dog). Paige graduated with a degree in education, but decided to pursue her passion and write books about hunky alpha males and the kickbutt heroines who fall in love with them.

www.paigetylertheauthor.com

Asmodeus

DEMON OF LUST

***

Princes of Hell

Book 1

by,

Sara Humphreys

Asmodeus, Demon of Lust Copyright 2014 by Sara Humphreys

Published by Sara Humphreys

Cover design by Hot Damn Designs

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author. Please contact the author a sara@novelromance.net. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author and her works, please see www.sarahumphreys.com

Also by Sara Humphreys

Amoveo Legend Series:

Unleashed

Untouched

Undenied (free e-short story)

Untamed

Undone

Unclaimed

Unbound (February 2015)

Dead in the City series:

Tall, Dark, and Vampire (Read on for a sneak peek)

Vampire Trouble

Vampires Never Cry Wolf (March 2015)

Chapter One

Struggling with the skeleton key, Kai swore under her breath as she fought to open the attic door of her grandfather’s old, colonial house. Her mouth was set in a firm line as she wrestled with the uncooperative lock and reminded herself it was now her house. For better or for worse, the enormous place was now hers.

Kai hadn’t ever met her maternal grandfather and if it weren’t for an old picture her mom kept she wouldn’t even have known what Jacob Kelly looked like. Kai’s parents were killed in a car crash a couple of years ago, and not only did the jerkoff skip the funeral, he didn’t even call. Not a card, a note, a text. Nothing. Not a Goddamn word.

What a prince.

Then about a month ago, Kai received a call from Ben Flaherty. He claimed to be an attorney in Idaho and said that she was the sole beneficiary of her grandfather’s estate. At first she thought it was a joke or a scam or something, like one of those emails from the guy in Kenya who said you inherited a billion dollars. But after learning a few pertinent facts, she realized it wasn’t a joke.

Ever since her parents died it was like she’d been traveling under a dark cloud of shitty luck. Kai’s little tarot shop in New Hampshire went belly up last year, her boyfriend cheated on her—again.

Needless to say, life was sucking in a big, fat way. The only soul in the world Kai could count on was her Siamese cat, Zephyr, and she was a moody little thing. So, when Mr. Flaherty had laid it all out, the inheritance wasn’t easy to turn down.

The property was in Bliss, Idaho with a whopping population of about three hundred people, but when Kai heard that Bliss was located in Magic Valley, that was when she knew it was all going to be okay. She’d always been fascinated with all things mystical and, at a young age, had discovered she had a knack for reading people, or more specifically the auras that surrounded them. Tarot cards helped her get a more in-depth reading but, in most cases, she was able to get a solid bead on people by studying the color of their aura.

When she was little, she called it the glow and only her mother knew what she was talking about because she could see it too. Kai’s dad would chuckle when his girls yammered on about auras, inner light and so forth. Kai was relatively certain her father thought it was just a silly game, but she and her mom knew better.

While Kai’s mother was happy to discuss it in private, she discouraged the idea of sharing their intuitive nature with other people. So when Kai opened the tarot shop, her mom was less than thrilled and worried that Kai might attract the wrong sort of people—the ones without light.

Her mother, Katherine, called them the Dark Ones and warned Kai they would come if Kai wasn’t careful about the kind of mystical practices she dabbled in. According to her mother’s stories, the Dark Ones were capable of stealing a person’s light—essentially they were soul- stealers. Her mother said that a Dark One could suck the soul out of a regular person, but that it was even more dangerous for people who saw auras or light the way that Kai did.

Kai shuddered but quickly shook it off. She knew her mother was being overly cautious or perhaps just flat out made up these scary stories to keep her from using her powers too freely.

Kai scoffed as she continued to fight with the lock on the attic door. The idea of a person without an aura was ludicrous because it would mean they didn’t have a soul. Kai had never met anyone without light. Some people had auras that were darker or murkier than others, but everyone had a glow of some kind because everyone has a soul. Even animals have auras.

Kai let out a short laugh as she adjusted her grip on the iron key. Right now, she’d give just about anything for one of her mother’s lectures on the mystic realm... and one of her hugs. The hole in Kai’s heart grew smaller with time but there were moments the sadness and grief would surge and threaten to overwhelm her.

Not today. Today she would reclaim this house in her mother’s memory and in honor of the twenty-five loving years her parents had shared. Kai had come out here with the intention of clearing the place out and selling it, but once she set foot on the property, something inside of her, that swirling unsettled energy that constantly battled to be let out... stilled.

With a growl of frustration, Kai swiped sweaty strands of blond hair from her forehead.

“Old man,” she muttered through clenched teeth as she tried to force the lock. “This door is as stubborn as you were.”

Holding her breath, the key slippery in her sweaty hands, Kai leaned her shoulder against the white painted door and in one final effort, the lock gave way with a satisfying thunk. Kai let out a sound of relief and gave Zephyr a thumbs up, while, in typical feline fashion she sat in the hallway giving Kai a bored look.

“Well, you could at least give me a small meow or something.” Kai said between heavy breaths. “I almost had a stroke trying to get this door open.”

Zephyr let out a short mewling sound and promptly began licking her front paw, clearly unimpressed.

“Nice.” Kai laughed as she wiped sweat from her brow and tightened her ponytail. “Some help you are. It’s just the two of us out here in the middle of nowhere so you better behave yourself or I might let the coyotes get you.”

Zephyr meowed loudly and flounced over, rubbing her furred body up against Kai’s bare calf.

“Oh, I’m just kidding.” Kai scratched the cat’s head and brushed the layer of cat hair off her skin as Zephyr trotted down the hall. “Shit, you are shedding like crazy. I can’t blame you. It’s hotter than Hades in here but something tells me it will feel downright balmy compared to the attic.”

As if answering her prayers, a cool breeze from the open window at the end of the hallway wafted over her, providing momentary relief. Kai closed her eyes and reveled in the breeze but as soon as she tugged the attic door open she got a face full of thick, stale humid air.

Kai flipped the light switch on the wall as she tried not to breathe in the stifling air. To her great relief, the bulb dangling at the top of the steps still worked, so at least she wouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark. Steeling herself, Kai climbed the creaky wooden steps with a combination of excitement and trepidation.

On one hand, she loved the idea of investigating what hidden treasures might be up there, but on the other, was the irrational fear that the bogeyman was in a dark corner waiting for her.

As Kai gripped the weathered railing, she coughed as dusty air filled her lungs, and reminded herself that the Dark Ones weren’t hiding in attic corners. Darkness, true evil, lived in the hidden parts of people’s hearts and minds, and that was more terrifying than any bogeyman.

As one Converse-clad foot hit the landing she looked around in awe. The attic was a cavernous space that ran the entire width of the house and it was filled with years worth of stuff. Dust-filled rays of sunlight streamed in from two oval windows, one at either end of the room, and Kai let out an exhausted sigh as she walked around the box-littered floor.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Kai murmured.

Zephyr rubbed against her leg again before trotting off and disappearing into the sea of clutter.

“If you find any mice, please don’t behead them and drop them at my feet.” Kai stepped over an old, steamer trunk. “It’s gross and I’m already convinced of your bad-ass ninja like fighting skills. I don’t need any more proof.”

Making her way through what looked like a path amid the clutter, Kai opened both windows, which made the space bearable. Between the open windows and the door at the bottom of the steps, a gentle breeze now flowed through the musty room.

Kai glanced over and saw Zephyr lying on top of a box in front of one of the windows, settling in for yet another nap.

“Your mouse hunting skills are rivaled only by your ability to sleep, but I guess that’s why they call them cat naps,” she laughed. “Don’t mind me. I’m just jealous. But as soon as I get through this mess, I’m taking a nap of my own.”

Several hours later, Kai had managed to dig through almost every box and pile in the stuffy attic. Most of it was comprised of old clothes, blankets, books and records. There didn’t appear to be anything of any real value monetarily or emotionally, and it became abundantly clear she was going to need to have all of it hauled away. Little of it was even in good enough shape to donate.

She’d hoped that there would be pictures of her mom as a little girl, old photo albums or something, but no such luck. Kai chalked it up to the fact that Jacob, clearly hadn’t bothered with sentiment.

Her grandmother had died soon after Kai’s mother was born and Jacob was so distraught he removed all images of his wife from the home. Kai shook her head as she stood up and brushed dust from the back of her shorts. “Charming.”

A sudden gust of wind rattled the window and slammed it shut with a nerve-shattering crack. The sound had Kai jump about a foot in the air and sent Zephyr running for cover beneath a stack of framed prints that were leaning against the beamed wall.

“Holy crap,” she said with a laugh. Kai’s hand rested on her chest as her heart thundered rapidly. “That scared the bejezzus out of me.”

Kai stepped over a few boxes and went to inspect the window, convinced the glass must have cracked from the force of the blow. To her relief the only thing that had come off was a bunch of old white paint chips that were scattered over the blanket where Zephyr had been sleeping.

“Looks like your bed got dirty,” Kai said, as she brushed away the flakes of white. She peered over her shoulder at the cat, currently hissing at Kai from her hiding spot. “Don’t be pissed at me. I didn’t make the wind blow.”

Kai turned back and noticed a blanket was covering a small crate. She pulled it off, coughing from a mouth full of dust. Beneath it was a weathered wooden box with faded symbols she couldn’t quite make out. The top was nailed shut, which only piqued her curiosity further.

“Leave it to you,” she said to Zephyr. “To find the most interesting-looking thing in the whole place. I’m gonna need a crow bar or something to open this one. Come on, girl. Let’s get it downstairs.”

Kai picked up the box and while it clearly had something inside, it wasn’t as heavy as she thought it would be. With Zephyr at her heels, Kai made her way down the steps and breathed a sigh of relief when she hit the much cooler air of the second floor.

Mystery box in hand, Kai trotted down the main staircase, which led to the front entry hall of the old colonial. She passed through the massive formal dining room that looked like it hadn’t been used in a century and took her treasure into the sunny country kitchen.

She put the crate on the weathered, butcher-block kitchen table, but as she headed for the mudroom, the sound of a car pulling up the driveway caught her attention. With Zephyr at her heels, Kai went to the front hall and peered through the screen door to see a familiar black Lexus pulling to a stop in the semi-circular dirt drive.

Smiling, Kai pushed open the creaky door and stepped out onto the covered porch to greet Mr. Flaherty. She held the door for Zephyr but the petulant feline stuck her tail in the air and went back inside, clearly uninterested in their visitor. Kai brushed her hands off and trotted down the steps to greet her grandfather’s attorney.

Ben Flaherty stepped out of the car and looked even more out of place in this rural setting than his car did. His dark suit and crisp white shirt stood out in stark contrast to the rolling, green fields and red, weathered barn. He was tall, handsome, wealthy and educated. The kind of man she would never in a million years attempt to date because the man was slick from head to toe.

Even his aura was extra bright. Most healthy people had brightly colored auras but his was an almost blinding yellow. She’d never met anyone with an aura that bright other than her own mother. The familiar feel of his aura was probably why she’d felt comfortable with him right off the bat.

His clothes were never wrinkled and so far she’d seen no evidence that he perspired, and at the moment Kai was sweating like a pig.

Mr. Flaherty flashed a big pearly, white grin as he crossed around the front of the car and extended his hand to Kai.

“What brings you all the way out here, Mr. Flaherty?” Kai asked as she shook his well- manicured hand.

“I thought I told you to call me Ben,” he said as his aura shifted from yellow to a reddish hue. “Mr. Flaherty was my father.”

Kai blushed as his hand held hers a bit longer than a typical handshake.

“Right,” Kai said, removing her hand from his. That color change in his aura was a sure fire sign that he was attracted to her and she had to admit, he was cute. “I thought we took care of everything the other day in your office.”

“We did,” he said as he took off his sunglasses and peered at her with warm, brown eyes. “But since you don’t know anyone in the area and you’re living out here all alone, I thought I’d pop in and check on you. You look like you’ve been working hard,” he said as his eyes wandered over her.

“You could say that,” Kai said, as she self-consciously brushed off her dusty tank top. “I managed to get through most of the house and today I finally tackled the attic.”

“Really?” His gaze flicked to the open attic windows and his eyebrows rose. “In this heat? You’re a brave soul, Kai Kelly. Find anything of interest?”

“Not really. Mostly old clothes and stuff.” Silence stretched out for a moment as he continued to study her. Feeling awkward, Kai jutted her thumb toward the house and squinted against the setting sun. “Would you like to come in for a glass of lemonade?”

“I’d love to but I have to get back into Gooding for a dinner meeting.” Ben glanced at his watch and then locked eyes with Kai. His voice dropped to a softer tone. “I’ll do you one better, though. How about if you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Uh, sure,” she said with a smile.
Kai stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts and instantly felt even more self-conscious than she did before. She didn’t own a single item of clothing that would be appropriate for any restaurant Ben would want to go to.

“Did you have any place in particular in mind because I saw a neat looking place in town and I wanted to try it,” she said. “Angels and Outlaws. Have you heard of it?”

“Well, sure.” Ben let out a short laugh. “But I was hoping for our first date to be somewhere more fitting of a lady. But I want you to be comfortable. So Angels and Outlaws it is.”

First date? Kai swallowed the lump in her throat and wrestled with her conflicting emotions. Ben was hot and rich and she’d be crazy not to go out with him. So why was she feeling hesitant?

“Well,” Kai began slowly as she tried not to notice the ripples of red in his aura. “I’m a simple girl and if you tried to take me to one of the fancy places you probably had in mind, I’d use the wrong fork or something. A burger joint is fine with me. How about if we meet there tomorrow night around seven?”

“Sounds good to me,” Ben said as a smile cracked his face. He slipped his sunglasses back on and walked back to the driver’s side of his car. “I’ll see you at seven tomorrow and by the way... something tells me you’re anything but a simple girl.”

Before Kai could respond Ben was in his car and driving down the driveway. As the cloud of dust settled and his taillights disappeared from view, a smile played at Kai’s lips. Maybe Bliss wasn’t going to be so boring after all?

Kai made her way back into the house and started rooting around in a box of tools that were in the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen. Crow bar in hand, she came back into the kitchen and found Zephyr sitting on top of the box again.

“What’s your story?” Kai asked with narrowed eyes as she pointed the crow bar at her companion. “I’ll make you a deal. You can have the box but I get whatever’s inside.”

Zephyr, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement, hopped off the crate and onto one of the chairs. Her large blue eyes stared intently at the box, her curiosity matching Kai’s. That phrase curiosity killed the cat ran through Kai’s mind.

“Here goes nothing,” she murmured.

Finding the seam along the top, Kai wedged the tip of the crowbar into the crack and with one big push the top popped open. She did the same thing along two other edges, and when she finally pulled the top off, what she found inside left her stunned.

A stack of old black and white photographs sat inside, and the hauntingly, familiar face of a young woman stared up at Kai through a pair of large dark eyes. Eyes that were just like hers. With shaking fingers, Kai reached in and pulled out the pile of weathered photographs.

She flipped through the stack one at a time and found that every picture was of the same woman. Based on the fifties style clothing and striking resemblance to both Kai and her mother, Kai could only assume this was her grandmother, Kristine.

All the photos showed a smiling, young woman full of life, but it was the last picture that gave her pause.

It was an image of her grandmother with a baby in her arms and Kai was certain it was her mother, when she was an infant. Tears fell freely down Kai’s cheeks as she ran one finger over the faded image. Sniffling, she flipped the picture over to see if there was a date and while there was something written, it wasn’t what she expected.

My sweet, Katherine. The next Custodian.

“Custodian?” Kai said, confused. Her grandmother was a custodian? “Do we come from some long line of school janitors or something?”

As Kai swiped at her damp cheek with the back of her hand, she spotted a small black bag that had been hidden beneath the photos. She placed the stack of photos on the table and picked up the heavy, worn, cotton bag and felt a lump inside. Kai loosened the drawstring and turned the bag over, emptying the contents into her hand.

A heavy ring made of iron, tumbled into her palm and the metal felt cool against her damp skin. Holding it between her fingers, Kai squinted and went to the light by the kitchen window to try and make out the unusual design on the round face

There were a series of four circles with some kind of lettering evenly spaced between the rings. It was so tiny and worn away by time that she’d need a magnifying glass to get a clue as to what it said. At the center of the smallest circle was what looked like a star and it had some kind of crystal in the middle.

“Why wouldn’t Jacob have given this to my mom?” she murmured.

It was beautiful. Not in a traditionally gorgeous and sparkling kind of way, but beautiful none-the-less and it was definitely old. She had no idea just how old but it really didn’t matter. This ring obviously belonged to her grandmother and that’s what made it valuable.

“Priceless.”

Smiling through her tears, Kai slipped the precious ring onto the middle finger of her right hand and found that it fit perfectly. As she held her hand up to inspect her newfound prize, a howling gust of wind ripped through the house and slammed the front door shut.

Kai yelped and spun around to see the pile of pictures blow around the room and flutter to the kitchen floor. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter behind her as she fought to still her racing heartbeat. Zephyr was nowhere to be seen and the only sound was the old, cuckoo clock that ticked loudly on the wall.

She squatted down to pick up the scattered photos and as she placed them back on top of the table, her attention was captured by something written on the side of the crate. As her gaze slid over the words, the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Custodians of the Light.

***

The disturbance in the air had been subtle, a quiet rumbling that, at first, Asmodeus mistook for the usual notification of new arrivals. Every day when a new batch of tormented souls arrived, there was a shift in the atmosphere. As one of the seven Princes of Hell and the Demon of Lust, he was responsible for the pathetic individuals who earned their ticket to hell by reveling in lust and desire.

Lust or lusting for someone wasn’t evil but, when humans allowed themselves to be corrupted by it that was when the scales tipped to damnation. The souls that landed in his little corner of hell were the worst of the worst.

Rapists, murderers, pedophiles. The humans, who in Asmodeus’ opinion, gave lust a bad name and he was more than happy to escort them into an eternity of hell and damnation.

But he could do without the paperwork.

Asmodeus had been overseeing tortured souls in Hell for several millennia and he was growing weary of it. He watched mortals, on many occasions, and envied the life, the freedoms they were given. So when they abused that freedom, there was something gratifying about implementing their punishment.

Lucifer, the leader of all demons, granted them a vacation on earth every one hundred years. However, Asmodeus, much to his dismay, wasn’t due for another trip for quite some time. Oh, he’d snuck up there a time or two to help his half-mortal son but he didn’t stay long enough to truly enjoy it.

While Asmodeus loved trips to the mortal plane he sure as shit didn’t want to get a trip to earth like this. As he walked through the tunnels of stone that led to the mortal plane, he let out a beleaguered sigh.

The first disturbance in the air had been nothing compared to the series of bone shattering sonic booms that rocked the Underworld in nauseating succession. The instant it happened, Asmodeus knew what it was. He’d heard and felt that same ear-splitting sound three thousand years before and, until an hour ago, Asmodeus and the rest of the Brotherhood thought the threat had been eliminated.

Apparently not.

The disturbance in Hell meant that someone had found the Ring of Solomon.
The ring had the ability to control all demons and if the bearer so desired, it could be used to destroy them as well. King Solomon had almost done exactly that when the guy had put Asmodeus and the rest of the Brotherhood under his complete control. Lucky for them, one hot summer day, Solomon had imbibed far too much wine and his curiosity got the better of him. He asked Asmodeus what demons could do if they had total power over humans. What powers did they truly possess?

Asmodeus promised to show him, but said he needed the ring and his freedom in order to properly demonstrate. Solomon, drunk as a skunk, handed the ring to Asmodeus, who then promptly tossed it into the sea, releasing the Brotherhood in the process.

They all thought that was the end of it. Not so much.

Someone had not only found the ring but was wearing it and, whether or not they knew it; this individual quite literally could command Hell. Since none of the demons had been summoned, it was a safe bet that the bearer of the ring had zero idea of the kind of power they had in their hands.

However, not wanting to take any chances, Lucifer chose to send Asmodeus and the rest of the Brotherhood up to earth in search of the ring. As far as Asmodeus was concerned it was like looking for a needle in a haystack and could take a century to find it.

They knew was it was somewhere in North America, but they were unable to pinpoint its location. Given the fact that the ring’s whereabouts were somehow cloaked, the wearer must be a unique human being indeed.

Asmodeus slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses as he strode out the mouth of the cave. Wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and motorcycle boots, he placed his hands on his hips and let out an exasperated sigh as he surveyed the area. Idaho. Of all places, he gets to start his search in Idaho.

There were several direct portals to Hell within the continental United States. Los Angeles, Houston, Las Vegas and New York City, just to name a few, but one of them was deep within the caves of the Craters of the Moon. The four hundred-acre lava field was one of the only places on earth that actually resembled the Underworld but it wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis.

Although, given Asmodeus’ weakness for the company of women and pleasures of the flesh, he wasn’t terribly surprised that he pulled this particular location. Having fewer ladies around meant fewer distractions and he knew that was exactly why Lucifer stuck him way the hell out here.

Great. He gets an extra chance to enjoy the mortal plane and Lucifer puts him in one of the most desolate places in North America.

“What a dick,” Asmodeus murmured as he squinted against the light of the setting sun.

Welcome back to earth, Lucifer’s voice touched the collective consciousness of the Brotherhood. Based on various disturbances in the energy fields, I have sent the six of you to the locations the ring is most likely to be. Additionally, there are certain individuals located in these areas that are descended from unique bloodlines and are the most probable candidates to be in possession of the ring.

Something glinting in the distance caught his eye. Asmodeus grinned when he saw the black and chrome motorcycle waiting for him by the edge of the deserted highway.

I’m not completely cruel. Lucifer’s voice floated around Asmodeus with his usual air of self-importance. You have each been provided with a mode of transportation and a duffle bag with money and some clothing. There is also a paper with the names and locations of the individuals you should be looking for. They’re listed in priority order for your convenience.

You’re a real prince, Asmodeus interjected. I’m sure this all looks very convenient from your corner office in Hell.

Stop whining, Asmodeus. Lucifer’s voice, edged with boredom filled his mind. You haven’t even thanked me for the motorcycle.

Asmodeus stopped dead in his tracks and dug into the pockets of the Levi’s he was wearing. His smile broadened as he pulled out the keys to the Harley Davidson and started walking again toward the bike. Lucifer might be a son of a bitch, but he had his moments. “Not bad,” he murmured. “But you’re still a dick.”

Yes, I know. Arrogance dripped from Lucifer’s every word but as the Demon of Pride and leader of the Brotherhood, it was of little surprise. We have two immediate problems, other than the obvious. Asmodeus tried to keep his attention on Lucifer, instead of the gorgeous bike. He ran his hands over the smooth curve of the handles as Lucifer’s deep, gravelly voice touched the collective minds of the Brotherhood. Since we haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact location of the ring, my concern is that has something to do with whoever is wearing it and you all know how much I loathe not having all the information. Secondly, if you’ll recall, the ring cannot be taken from its owner, it has to be given to one of you willingly.

What if the guy wearing it befalls some kind of horrible accident? Falls off a cliff? Runs into a bullet... or my fist? Satan’s voice cut into the conversation and Asmodeus smirked as he walked around and appraised the bike. Satan was the Demon of Wrath, loved mayhem and was the biggest troublemaker in the bunch. Can we take it if he’s dead?

Yes, Lucifer responded. But you know full well that we can’t harm an innocent, so I suppose you’ll just have to play that part by ear.

Asmodeus opened the duffle bag that was strapped to the back of the bike and pulled out the paper. He perused the list of names and the one at the top grabbed his attention immediately. Kai Kelly—Bliss, Idaho. His lips tilted as he folded the paper up and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. Kai was a woman’s name, wasn’t it?

What makes you think it’s a guy? Asmodeus asked as a grin cracked his face. Could be a lovely lady and wouldn’t that be far more pleasant?

Well, shit. Mammon’s irritated tone cut into the conversation. As the Demon of Envy he was always feeling slighted and as though he somehow got the short end of the stick. If it is a chick and Asmodeus finds her first, he’ll spend a month in bed with her before he gets the ring. I don’t know what part of the continent you guys got, but I’m stuck in Alaska and I’ll bet the ring is nowhere near here. Brother, if it is a broad then do us all a favor and get the ring before you fuck her.

Whatever, man. Belphegor’s bored voice interrupted them. I’m in no rush. I haven’t been to earth in a long time. You know all work and no play makes the Demon of Sloth a dull boy.

Mammon, Asmodeus responded playfully, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were jealous.

Screw you.

No thanks, brother. Asmodeus’ laugh, deep and loud touched their collective minds. You’re not my type.

If you’re all quite finished. Lucifer’s voice, sharp and curt, cut off any further banter. You will get the ring by whatever means necessary. However, Mammon raises an interesting point.

A heavy silence hung as they waited for Lucifer to continue.

I’m concerned the six of you may succumb to temptations and find yourselves distracted from your mission. I have sent you there to find the ring and bring it back to the Underworld, not to indulge in your vices. In addition, as demons you won’t be able to get within a mile of the ring without alerting the person wearing it. Chances are that the human who has found the ring has no idea the power that it holds— otherwise we’d have been summoned already. However, we can’t afford to take risks. In hindsight, having you all down there as full-blooded demons seems unwise.

Asmodeus glanced over his shoulder at the field of black rocks as a feeling of dread crawled up his back. What did he mean... as full-blooded demons?

In order for you to get anywhere near the bearer, and to assure you stay focused, I am going to make one small adjustment for your current stay. Lucifer’s voice wavered and Asmodeus could tell the son of a bitch was smiling. It’s really for your own good.

Just as Asmodeus was about to ask what he was talking about, a burning sensation fired through his body, stealing his breath. The sudden onslaught sent him to his knees as he gasped for air and agonizing pain radiated across his chest. Asmodeus’ hands hit the rocks and gravel scraped against his knees as he fought a sudden and unfamiliar wave of nausea.

Sucking in a deep breath, he pushed himself off the ground with a grunt and kneeled for a moment as he regained his bearings. He tore the sunglasses from his face, suddenly feeling the uncomfortable effects of the late afternoon sun. Up until seconds ago, the heat had not fazed him in the least. Asmodeus’ palms stung and when he lifted his hands, he swore loudly when he saw speckles of blood mixed with dirt.

Demons did not bleed.

When you find the ring, you will telepath me immediately, and if necessary I will send the rest of the Brotherhood to assist. Lucifer’s voice, calm, cool and detached whispered through Asmodeus’ mind. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how dire the situation is, but to sweeten the pot... whomever finds the ring and brings it back to Hell will earn a three-month vacation on earth.

If their minds had still been connected, Asmodeus would have surely heard the others when Lucifer laid the reward before them. One of the only things that any of them looked forward to was their time on earth, and to get an extra three months would be spectacular.

However, Asmodeus was met with silence. It was an odd sensation, to be disconnected from the rest of the Brotherhood. The pulsing energy of their minds was conspicuously absent the first time in several millennia.

As you get close to the ring, Lucifer’s voice floated into his mind but sounded far away, you will feel the pulse of its power, but your abilities will be limited. Although, you’ll be stronger than most humans, I’m not entirely sure what powers you’ll retain. The telekinesis and ability to manipulate heat may or may not remain. It may vary from brother to brother. At least that’s what’s most likely.

Likely? Asmodeus gritted his teeth as sweat trickled down his back and the pain ebbed across his chest. You have no idea what you’re doing. Do you, Lucifer?

Ignoring him, Lucifer continued.

I have also left each of you with the ability to telepath me once it’s found but not each other. Our collective mental link emanates far too much power and would definitely blow your cover... so to speak. I realize this is less than appealing but it’s the only way to protect members of the Brotherhood. Lucifer’s laugh rasped through Asmodeus’ mind as his voice faded. And to ensure you do what you need to do, there’s nothing wrong with a little extra incentive. I can’t imagine any of you want to stay on earth in this... . state.

“You mother fucker,” Asmodeus ground out as he stood up and bit back a wave of unfamiliar pain. “What did you do?”

Asmodeus held out his arms and watched as the tattoos that covered the length of his arms and ran across his back... vanished. The intricate design, seven interlocking circles with a five-pointed star at the center, was the mark of the Brotherhood and had branded his flesh for his entire existence-until now.

Lucifer made them mortal.

Chapter Two

The elderly man’s aura was a dull, sickly green and wavered around him in the dingy gas station like smoke but Kai kept a smile on her face. He was definitely ill, most likely cancer of the lungs based on the way he was sucking down his second cigarette in less than fifteen minutes. Kai usually saw that pea green color when someone was sick and as the old fella coughed up a hunk of phlegm, she was relatively certain her mojo was on point.

“I’m new around here,” Kai said as she placed a twenty on the counter for the gas she’d just pumped. “Is there anything interesting to see in the area?”

“Yup,” he rasped. His pale gray, watery eyes glanced at her briefly as he rang up her purchase on an old fashioned cash register. He adjusted his dirty baseball cap and gave her a toothy grin, which actually brightened up his weathered complexion. “This your first time in Magic Valley, I’d bet. Well, if you’re like most folks you’ll want to see them caves or take a ride over to Atomic City and see the first nuclear reactor.”

“Caves?” Kai smiled as he rang up her purchase slower than molasses in winter, and though she tried to be patient, she was starving and had to get something to eat before she fainted. “Nuclear reactors? Sounds like a lot going on for such a... remote area.”

“Yes, ma’am. Magic Valley is full of surprises.” He pushed his hat back and wiped the back of his neck with a red bandana. “I’m Clive and I’d bet my bottom dollar you’re Jacob Kelly’s granddaughter.”

Kai stilled and the smile fell from her face as she self-consciously tucked a long lock of blond hair behind her ear. While she was used to seeing inside people, it was unnerving to have someone do it to her.

“Don’t go gettin’ nervous now.” Clive waved one hand and sat on a stool behind the counter. “There are only two hundred and seventy five people livin’ in Bliss.” He shrugged and laughed through a smoker’s cough. “Folks are bound to notice when someone new comes to town. Besides, Jacob told me you’d be movin’ into his place after he passed and, if I didn’t know that, I’d sure notice you were drivin’ his old Dodge.” He jutted a thumb toward the window. “That piece of crap is almost as old as me.”

“Y—You knew my grandfather?”

“Course I did.” Clive crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the counter that was overflowing with ashes and old butts. “He came here for gas for that old beater you’re drivin’ around.”

“You were friends?”

“Ha!” Clive coughed and covered his mouth with the bandana as he laughed up a lung. “Jacob didn’t have friends but I ’spose I was as close to a friend as he ever had. Ever since his wife Kristine died, man hardly spoke a word, and then when his daughter left.” He let out a sigh and shrugged. “He just wasn’t a people person I ’spose.”

“Clearly not,” Kai said under her breath. She stopped herself from going into a tirade about a man she’d never known and forced a smile. “I didn’t know him. Never met him actually.”

“I know.” Clive nodded and gave her sad smile. “He was a cryptic old bastard. Told me that someday his granddaughter would come and take over his place. Said your grandmother, Kristine, would want that. He wanted your mama to stay but I guess Bliss just isn’t for everyone.”

“My grandmother.” Kai smiled and slipped her wallet back into her satchel. “You knew her?”

“Sure did. Kristine was good friends with my Clara... I lost her last fall.” The smile faltered and he adjusted his cap again in an almost soothing gesture as emotion filled his eyes. “Them two gals was like peas and carrots when they were young. After Kristine died, my Clara tried to get Jacob to come to church and the socials but he stayed up in that house most the time. He worked around town as a groundskeeper and back in the day, well, if he wasn’t workin’ then he was at home with your mama. But when your mama left, well,” he said on a sigh, “That was that.”

“Was he a custodian by any chance?” Kai asked as she rubbed the ring with the pad of her thumb as the words from the box drifted into her mind. “Was my grandmother?”

“Nope.” Clive lit another cigarette. “Your grandmother didn’t work and Jacob, he took care of the grounds at the school and for the town.”

“I see,” she said as she pushed her hair off her face with a sigh.

“You look exhausted, young lady.”

“I’m sure I do,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve spent the past several days cleaning out my grandfather’s place but there’s about ten tons of junk in the attic that has to get thrown out. Not to mention all the stuff out in the old barn.”

“Sounds like too much hard labor for a pretty young thing like yourself.” He dug around behind the counter, pulled out a flyer and handed it to her. “This is a local guy who hauls away junk. Give him a call, he’ll help you out.”

“Thank you, Clive.” Kai took the paper and smiled. “I may just do that. The truth is that there’s a lot of junk to drag away. Not only that, but the grounds need some help.”

“You know how those things go.” Clive sat on the stool and gave her a big grin. “He did all that stuff for a living so when he got home, probably didn’t have a mind for it. Hell, if you were a baker would you come home and bake?”

“Probably not,” Kai agreed.

The sudden rumbling of a motorcycle shattered the quiet outside and made Kai jump. She laughed nervously and gave Clive a shy smile as they watched a biker roll slowly down the road and pause for a moment before pulling into the gas station. The late afternoon sun streamed in through the window and Kai squinted against the blinding light.

“Another biker,” Clive murmured as he rose from the stool and hitched up his pants. “He’s probably headed over to Outlaws and Angels. It’s a local biker joint but they make a mean burger. Folks come from all over to check out the place.”

“Funny you mention that place. I’m meeting a friend there for dinner, which can’t come a moment too soon. I’m starving.” Kai’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in hours. It was in part because she’d been so busy and also because she was nervous about this date with Ben. “I hear their burgers are great, although it’s practically the only game in town.”

“That would be correct.” He winked. “Our little town is made up of the post office, my gas station, a motel and two bars. Not exactly a hot spot,” he laughed.

Smiling, Kai glanced back outside at the man on the motorcycle as Clive started to tell her about his favorite item on the menu. But she barely heard him because she was too busy staring at the guy climbing off the motorcycle. She knew Clive was talking but he sounded far away, as if the world around her had detached from her somehow.

Wearing mirrored aviators, the man stood and swung his leg over what had to be a Harley Davidson. Mesmerized, she watched as he gassed up his bike. He had to be at least six foot four, with a broad well-muscled back that was covered by a white t-shirt, leaving his perfectly sculpted and tanned arms in plain sight. Faded ,blue jeans skimmed over his legs and dusty, black motorcycle boots kicked up dirt as he put the gas pump back in its place.

It wasn’t his strikingly handsome profile that had Kai feeling dizzy and displaced. Kai’s heart raced and the ring on her finger felt hot against her skin as she squinted. She blinked because she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing—or more to the point—what she wasn’t seeing.

This man, whoever he was, had no aura.

Beware the Dark Ones.

As the words whispered through her mind, the man stilled and turned around slowly until he faced the storefront. Even though he was wearing those mirrored sunglasses, Kai sensed he was looking directly at her.

Sweat broke out over her flesh and her body shook, as she watched him stalk across the parking lot toward the door of the smoky shop. Maybe she was wrong and it was a trick of the light or the sun got in her eyes, blinding her and preventing her from seeing his glow.

He had to have an aura. There was no such thing as the Dark Ones.

As he got closer with each step, it became glaringly clear that he was without light. Kai backed up slowly and clutched the strap of the bag draped across her chest as fear and confusion swamped her. It suddenly felt as though it was a thousand degrees and as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. The long sundress she wore seemed to stick to her like a second skin as she started to sweat from head to toe.

The stranger opened the door and the tiny bell above announced his entrance. Kai backed into a rack of chips and froze as she stared at the man through wide frightened eyes.

The door swung shut behind him as he removed his sunglasses and looked at her with the most piercing, pale blue eyes she’d ever seen. Jet-black hair and dark eyebrows framed that intense gaze as he stared at Kai with something akin to awe.

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he breathed. A wide smile cracked the handsome stranger’s face as his eyes drifted over her. “Looks like I drew the lucky card after all.”

“Kai?” Clive, his voice edged with worry, stood from his stool and leaned over the counter. “Are you okay, girl?”

Kai gaped at the stranger and fought to catch her breath. She wasn’t mistaken. It wasn’t the sun playing tricks on her and as the reality of the situation settled over her, everything started to spin.

“Kai?” The man’s voice, deep and seductive, washed over her. “Well, then I am one lucky devil.”

“Y-you’re a Dark One,” she murmured.
The last word escaped her lips, Kai wavered on her feet and the world went black.

***

Asmodeus had been so completely taken off guard that he almost didn’t catch the beautiful blonde as she fainted but, lucky for her, he snapped out of it just in time to grab her before she hit the dirty floor. He scooped her limp body up against his chest effortlessly and the old man waved him toward the back of the store.

“Heat must’ve gotten to her,” the old guy muttered. “Bring her here. I got a cot in the back room, you can set her down.”

Asmodeus followed the man through the door and into a small room. Kai moaned softly as he set her down on the cot.

“I’ll get a cool cloth for her head.” He pointed at Asmodeus. “Just stay right there with Kai but don’t try nothin’ funny.”

Asmodeus nodded, but his attention was fixed firmly on the ring on her right hand—it was the Ring of Solomon. Though it had been almost three millennia since he’d set eyes on it, there was no mistaking it.

Lucifer had been correct. Asmodeus had felt the presence of the ring before he saw it. It was a familiar pull in his gut, drawing him, almost willing him closer.

He sat on the edge of the cot next to Kai and placed her hands on her belly, careful to avoid touching the ring. Asmodeus glanced over his shoulder, looking for the old man but he was still puttering around out in the shop, looking for a cold cloth, no doubt. Asmodeus turned back and glanced at the paper in her hands. He removed it gently and saw it was a flyer advertising a local haul away service.

Kai moaned softly. There was no denying that she was a beautiful specimen of a woman. Long strands of pale, blond hair framed an oval-shaped face with high cheekbones, wide set eyes and pink, perfectly shaped lips. Her skin had the glow of summer and her body had soft looking curves in all the right places.

Kai Kelly was born to make men weak.

Lucifer may have taken most of their powers and made all of the Brotherhood mortal, but Asmodeus had seen Kai’s energy field the moment he laid eyes on her. She exuded a soft white light that resembled moonlight through the mists and, once he spotted it, there was no mistaking what she was. A regular human, like the old man, didn’t exude light like that—at least not one that Asmodeus could see.

Kai Kelly had blood of the Fae running through her veins.

Based on the fact that she was wearing the ring, he had to assume she didn’t have any idea that she was part of a Fae bloodline. The Fae Clans—even the ones that were comprised of human-Fae hybrids—were fully aware of the Ring of Solomon and knew all too well of the power it held. If Kai had been vested in one of the Fae clans, then she would never have put on the ring and essentially sound the alarm in Hell. No. If she were connected with other Fae, then he and the rest of the Brotherhood would be at the mercy of a flock of fairies.

Asmodeus frowned. A fairy. Shit. Of all the supernatural creatures that walked the earth, he found the Fae the most difficult to deal with. Their magic was known to be some of the most powerful, even more than the witches and warlocks. Asmodeus had only tangled with one Fae in his time and that guy had been one mean son of a bitch.

“Damn,” Asmodeus said under his breath.

Kai moaned again and twitched as though she were having a bad dream. A lock of hair fell across her forehead and without thinking Asmodeus brushed the strands of gold aside. He didn’t want anything to obscure his view of her gorgeous, innocent face. The pads of his fingers brushed over silken flesh and his body tightened immediately in response as a smile played at his lips.

Kai Kelly might be part fairy, he thought as he withdrew his hand, but she was all woman. His gaze flicked down to the ring on her delicate hand as he rose from the cot. Whatever magic she possessed was of little consequence when it came to matters of the flesh and desire. In that moment, Asmodeus knew exactly how he would get the ring. He would seduce it out from under her and be back in Hell before the week was out.

“Here’s a cold cloth,” the old man said, as he shuffled in through the door and pushed past Asmodeus. He sat on the edge of the cot next to Kai and placed it on her forehead. “I got a call in to the doc but he ain’t answerin’ his damn phone. I keep tellin’ him he needs a landline but he’s only got one of them cellular phones and the signals around here are for shit.”

Kai groaned and her hand went to her head as she started to wake up.

“She’ll be okay,” Asmodeus said with his gaze fixed firmly on the ring. “Like you said, it was probably just the heat.”

“How’d you know her name?” The old guy eyed Asmodeus warily over his shoulder. “She’s only been in town ’bout a week and I ain’t never seen you around here. So how do you know her, anyway?”

“I—heard you call her by her name,” Asmodeus said with a shrug.

“What happened?” Kai’s voice wavered as she pushed herself up onto her elbows and removed the cloth from her head. “Clive, how did—”

She stopped speaking as soon as she spotted Asmodeus. Her dark, chocolate brown eyes widened as their gazes locked and Kai’s body stilled. “You,” she breathed.

“This young man caught you before you hit the floor,” Clive said. He scooted aside as Kai swung her legs over the edge of the cot and sat up. “Don’t move too fast, now. You must have had a touch of heat stroke.”

“Right,” Kai said as she continued to stare at Asmodeus warily. “That must be what it was.”

Her eyes, the richest shade of brown Asmodeus had ever seen, skittered over him like she was searching for something. He remained motionless as she continued her inspection, and he found himself in an unusual position. It wasn’t often that Asmodeus felt as though he were the one under the microscope.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Kai said to Asmodeus as she handed the washcloth to the old man. “Mister... ?”

Asmodeus paused for a moment. He couldn’t give her his real name, so he settled on the name he used whenever he took his vacations on earth.

“Miles,” he said with a wide grin. “Aaron Miles.”

“Aaron?” Kai said through a short laugh as she rose to her feet with Clive protectively at her side. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It is very nice to meet you,” he murmured.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Miles.” Kai adjusted the satchel she had slung across her body and glanced at him briefly before giving Clive a sweet smile. “Clive, I’m sorry to have caused such a ruckus. I guess I’m not used to the heat out here.”

“Don’t even give it a second thought,” he said with a wave of a wrinkled hand. “You think our summers are tough? Wait until you live through your first winter.” His smile faded and he adjusted his hat again. “I gotta tell ya, I don’t feel right about you drivin’ off without the doc havin’ a look at ya.”

“I’m fine, Clive.” Kai patted him on the arm and glanced briefly at Asmodeus. “Between the heat and needing a bite to eat, I just got a little woozy.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh man, I’m going to be late.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Asmodeus asked, as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost,” he said as he gazed at her intently.

“I’m fine,” Kai said sharply, as she shot him a narrow-eyed look.

Asmodeus may have caught her mid-faint and kept her from falling on the floor, but he could tell that she didn’t trust him. Fae, human or whatever, this woman could sense that Asmodeus was not exactly human and that put him at a disadvantage. Damn. Perhaps seducing Kai Kelly wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

“Okay.” Asmodeus threw his hands up in defeat. “Whatever you say, lady.”

“I’m sorry,” Kai added quickly. “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I guess I’m just cranky from heat and lack of food.”

“Right.” Asmodeus nodded as he pulled the wallet out of his back pocket, complete with fake ID and money. “I’ll go on record as saying this has been one of my more memorable stops.” He removed some cash. “Here’s twenty bucks for the gas I pumped earlier.”

“Don’t be silly,” Clive waved him off as he coughed into his bandana. “This one’s on me.”

“Thank you.” Asmodeus slipped the wallet into his back pocket and locked eyes with Kai. “Then I guess I’ll be on my way. Ma’am,” he said with a nod and turned on his heels.

“Wait,” Kai said.
Asmodeus paused in the doorway but didn’t turn around.
”The least I could do is buy you a dinner.”
A smile curved his lips and he turned slowly to face her. To his surprise, she had closed the distance and was standing directly behind him.
”So, how about it?”

Kai clutched the strap of her leather satchel and squared her shoulders in a challenging stance. The ring briefly captured Asmodeus’ gaze, before flicking back to those deep, brown eyes.

“Let me buy you a beer and a burger over at Angels and Outlaws to make up for fainting and for acting like an ingrate. I’m meeting a friend there for dinner in a few minutes and I insist you join us.”

“Angels and Outlaws?” Asmodeus murmured. “Sounds like my kind of place,”

“Great.” Kai nodded.
Asmodeus stepped aside and gestured to the doorway. “After you.”

As he started his motorcycle and followed Kai’s car down the dusty main road of Bliss, Asmodeus couldn’t help but smile. He had not only found the ring but a beautiful woman was wearing it, which would make the task of obtaining the ring far more satisfying. Asmodeus had never bedded a fairy before and there was nothing he enjoyed more than new experiences.

Chapter Three

Kai sat in the booth and tried to concentrate on the laminated menu in her hands instead of on the man sitting across from her, but it was an effort in futility. She’d read the contents of the menu about a dozen times, but had not retained a thing.

She glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen and no sign of Ben yet. That was just as well because she still hadn’t figured out how to gracefully explain why she had invited another man along on their date.

Kai peered at her new friend over the edge of the menu.
Mr. Aaron Miles had no light. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
He was a Dark One—and yet wasn’t. At least he wasn’t what she expected. Based on her mother’s stories, she was expecting a drooling, fanged, hunched over ball of evil. Not a super-hot hunk that catches fainting women in gas stations.

Aaron caught her looking at him again and smirked. Kai’s face heated with embarrassment just as the waitress came back to their table with the beers they had ordered.

“Two ice-cold Coronas with lime,” she said as she slid the bottles onto the scarred, wood table. The waitress, probably in her mid-forties, gave Aaron a big smile and tapped her chin with the end of her pen as she inched closer to his side of the table. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat? A hulking fella like you would probably love our Big Devil Burger.”

“That sounds right up my alley,” he said with a wink. “Thank you, Matilda. I believe I’ll take your professional advice and have that to go, if you don’t mind.”

“How’d you know my name?” Matilda giggled, as she jotted his order down.

“Name tag,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Kai watched the exchange with genuine awe. The woman was seriously ready to drop her panties, not that Kai could blame her, but the odd part was that Aaron seemed totally unfazed by it. Was he arrogant or genuinely unaware of the effect he was having on poor Matilda? He flicked his pale blue eyes to hers and winked.

Arrogant. It figures.

Kai rolled her eyes and put her menu down on the table top as she glanced past him toward the door of the bar looking for any sign of Ben.

“Oh my,” Matilda said as one hand flew to her ample cleavage. “You are a charmer, aren’t you? Most folks that come into this place don’t bother to learn my name.”

“Kai?” His voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Do you know what you want?”

The waitress huffed and gave Kai an exasperated look. She was thoroughly annoyed to have to take her attention off Aaron or have his attention taken from her.

“Oh, yes.” Kai blinked and shook her head. “Sorry, I should probably wait for my friend to get here. He should be here any minute.”

“Well, that’s fine by me,” Matilda said as she tucked the pen behind her ear. “Y’all just give me a holler when you’re ready.” She turned her attention to Asmodeus. “You want me to put your order in now or do you want to wait?”

“I think I’ll hold off until Kai’s date gets here. After all, I have to see what kind of man entices my new friend, here.” He leaned back in the booth and draped one arm along the back of it as he took a sip of his beer.

“You got it, doll.” Matilda sauntered off toward the bar.

Kai didn’t miss the seductive sway of her hips or the fact that Aaron’s gaze was fixed firmly on the waitress’ ass.

“Charming,” Kai sighed as she picked up her beer. “Well, I can clearly see what entices you.”

“What?” He asked innocently. “I’m only looking.”

“Forget it,” Kai said with a laugh as she sipped her beer. “Boys will be boys. So, what do you do aside from ogle waitresses and catch fainting women in gas stations? What’s your story, Mr. Miles?”

“Not much to tell,” he said with the shrug of one shoulder. “I guess you could say I’m on sabbatical.”

“Oh really?” Kai rubbed at the condensation on the beer bottle with her thumb. She was, in spite of her better judgment, thoroughly intrigued by the handsome enigma in front of her. “What exactly are you taking a break from?”

“Guess,” he said playfully. Aaron leaned both elbows on the table and leveled a challenging look in her direction. “I dare you.”

Kai’s stomach fluttered as those intense, light blue eyes locked firmly with hers. Her gaze flickered over his stubble-covered chin and along his tanned, muscular arms, until she came to his large, masculine hands. Long, strong fingers were curled around the glass bottle and in a flash she pictured them curled around her arms... pulling her closer...

She cleared her throat and sat back in the booth, as her body warmed at the thought of his hands wandering over her body. Kai sipped her beer, attempting to cool the sudden and unexpected flare of desire. What in the hell was wrong with her?

Given everything her mother had told her about the Dark Ones, Kai should be running in the other direction—instead, she invited him to dinner. She was inexplicably and undeniably drawn to the stunningly, beautiful man in front of her. Mr. Aaron Miles was danger and desire all rolled into one, but above all he was unique... and forbidden.

Kai’s eyes locked with his once again and met his challenge.

“Based on your build and the look of your hands, it’s clear you’re not afraid of hard work. You ride a motorcycle and from what I can tell, you only have one duffle bag, which means you are a man who travels light. You have a weakness for women and it would seem, based on Matilda’s reaction, they have a weakness for you.”

“Do you?” He asked in a low seductive tone.

Kai’s breath caught in her throat as she held his stare. She gripped the bottle tighter as heat crawled up her back, but before she could answer him a familiar voice interrupted the moment.

“I’d like to know the answer to that question as well.”

Kai blinked and looked up to see Ben standing at the end of the table wearing a perplexed look on his face as he glanced between the two of them. His aura glowed bright orange as he folded his arms over his chest. He was obviously annoyed and Kai couldn’t blame him.

“Like I said, Kai,” Ben began in an even tone. “You are anything but simple. You see, a simple woman wouldn’t bring another man out on a date.”

“Ben!” Kai scrambled out of the booth and stood next to him. She didn’t miss the amused look on Aaron’s face as she attempted to explain. “I know this looks really strange but I was in Clive’s gas station and—and I fainted from the heat. Mr. Miles caught me and I wanted to buy him dinner to say thank you.”

“I was just leaving,” Asmodeus said as he started to slide out of the booth. “You know what they say, two’s company and three’s a crowd.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ben said with a wave of his hand. “Please join us. After all, I should thank you, actually. I’m horribly late and if you weren’t here, poor Kai would be sitting in this place all by herself.” Ben turned to Kai with a contrite look. “I hope you can forgive me for being so late, Kai. I got held up on a call with a persnickety client. I promise I’ll be on time for our next date.”

“Who says you’ll get another one?” Aaron asked with a cocky grin. “You are pretty late.”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Kai’s date, Ben Flaherty.”

Ben stuck his hand out, offering Aaron a handshake and the tension was thick as they stared each other down. A slow grin spread over Aaron’s face as he reached over to accept. Kai was about to interrupt and say something to break the tension. However, as soon as the two men shook hands, Ben’s aura sputtered and blinked, like a light about to go out. Her look of concern caught Ben’s attention.

“Kai?” Ben said as he looked at Kai with concern. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Kai said quickly. She scooted back into the booth, making room for Ben who sat next to her. “I’m just tired from all the unpacking at the house. I’m amazed that one old man had so much crap.”

Another first. The only time she’d ever seen a person’s aura blink like that was when someone was dying. She’d seen it in the hospital after the car accident on the night her parents died, and it was not a sight she’d easily forget. But Ben seemed completely unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Strange. Kai hadn’t felt any drain or pull on her energy when Aaron had touched her. At least she didn’t think so. Of course she had been passed out at the time.

“What old man?” Aaron asked.

“My grandfather,” Kai said before taking a sip of her beer. “Although, it feels odd calling him that because I never even met him. Anyway, he died and I’m his next of kin, so I inherited his place and the decades-worth of crap inside.”

“Still nothing of interest?” Ben asked absently as he flagged down the waitress.

“Actually,” Kai said extending her right hand, showing him the ring. “I found this in an old crate with pictures of my grandmother. It’s really cool. I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”

Ben leaned forward and took her fingers in his, which were warm and soft. He had the hands of a man who’d never put in a hard day’s work in his life. Kai flicked her eyes to Aaron, who was staring at the ring with an intense look on his face. He turned those ice blue eyes to her and leaned back in the booth as he took a long pull of his beer.

Kai’s face heated as he blatantly stared at her while Ben looked at the ring. She’d never had anyone focus so totally and completely on her before. Oh, sure, men hit on her sometimes and when she did tarot readings, her customers tuned into her, but this was different. When Aaron looked at her, it was as though he pushed past all of her external layers, the ones the world saw, and he could see her.

A shiver ran up her spine and for the first time in her life, Kai felt exposed. Being able to read other people’s auras was one thing but having someone look inside her that way was quite another. It was like her soul was naked and laid bare before him... his for the taking.

“Well, this is interesting.”

Kai whipped her head toward Ben’s voice. “What?” she asked in a panicked voice. “What is?”

“It sure is,” Aaron muttered.

Kai shot him a look as Ben pulled her closer and squinted as he inspected the ring.

“What’s it made of? That looks like an antique.” Ben dropped her hand abruptly and waved for the waitress again. “You should have it appraised and insured. I’ll have my guy in Gooding take a look at it.”

“I guess.” Kai shrugged and ran the pad of her fingertip over the face of the ring. “I haven’t really thought about the monetary value. It obviously belonged to my grandmother, so that’s all that matters to me.”

“Did you know your grandmother?” Aaron’s deep voice swirled over her seductively. “How can you be sure it was hers?”

“She died when my mother was a baby.” Kai self-consciously dropped her hand in her lap, not wanting the ring on display for further inspection. It felt crass to be discussing the monetary value of an item that had such sentimental meaning. “Like I said, I found the ring squirreled away in an old crate in the attic which was filled with pictures of my grandmother. I just assumed it was hers.”

“Well, either way,” Ben said. He let out a sigh and in an oddly possessive move, draped his arm behind her along the top of the booth. “You should give that to me and let me have my guy take a look at it.”

“Maybe,” Kai said with a forced smile. Desperately wanting to change the subject, she turned the conversation toward the menu. “So what are you going to have for dinner?”

Matilda came over to take their orders looking pleased as punch that Kai’s date had shown up. The three of them ate dinner with Ben dominating most of the evening’s conversation, regaling them with various cases he’d been handling. As dinner wound to a close, she realized that Ben hadn’t asked her or Aaron a single thing about themselves.

Not that it mattered because she couldn’t take her mind, or her eyes, off Aaron the entire time. He barely said anything during the meal, and yet she found him far more interesting than Ben—and that probably made her nuts. Then again, that was par for the course where her taste in men was concerned.

If she was on a train platform and there were two men, you can bet your bottom dollar that she’d be insanely attracted to the bum with no job or the guy who can’t keep it in his pants. That’s what her last few boyfriends were like. Jobless cheaters.

So here she was, with two gorgeous men, one a successful lawyer with a blindingly bright aura and the other a drifter on a motorcycle with no light at all. A sane woman—a normal woman—would pick the hot lawyer. But Kai was anything but normal and the sanity part was still up for discussion.

Kai tried to pay for Aaron’s portion of the bill, but Ben wouldn’t hear of it. The three of them walked out to the parking lot and into the warm, summer evening. Kai looked up and let out a sound of awe. The Idaho sky was covered in a blanket of twinkling stars that quite literally took her breath away.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aaron’s voice drifted over her left shoulder and the warmth from his body wafted over her bare arm in tantalizing waves. “The amount of beauty on Earth never ceases to amaze me.”

Kai nodded and looked at him, expecting him to be looking at the sky but he was staring directly at her. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding and clutched the strap of her leather satchel closer to her breasts.

“I agree with you one hundred percent,” Ben said from her other shoulder, breaking the spell. “You never get stars like this in a big city.”

“Right,” Kai said. She glanced between the two men and stepped forward before spinning around to face them. “Thank you both for an interesting evening.”

“It’s getting late. I should head over to the motel and check in,” Aaron interjected. “Thanks for dinner and the law lessons, Ben.” He turned his attention to Kai. “But most of all, thanks for letting me crash your date tonight.”

“Thanks for catching me,” Kai said with a short laugh.

She extended her hand to him and watched, as he seemed to be weighing his options. Filled with excitement, uncertainty and some fear, Kai held her breath wondering what would happen when their hands met. Would it hurt? Would he suck away her light? Nothing?

Finally, after what felt like forever, Aaron took her small hand into his much larger one. There was no pain and no sensation of losing energy; in fact the feel of his palm against hers was enticing. His skin was rough, calloused and hot, and had her thinking about how it would feel to have those masculine hands run over her body.

Those thoughts were swiftly set aside when she noticed a soft white light now emanated from Aaron and, for that brief instant when her hand was within his, he had an aura.

More to the point... he had her aura.

“Bye, Aaron,” Ben said in a voice edged with irritation. Kai almost forgot he was there.

“Good night,” Aaron murmured. He dropped her hand and turned to leave, but stopped abruptly. “I almost forgot.” He removed a folded paper from his back pocket and handed it to her. It was the flyer that Clive had given her at the gas station. “You dropped this back at Clive’s place.”

“Thank you.” She took the paper from him and smiled. “I’ve got a ton of stuff that has to get hauled away, so I’m definitely going to need this.”

“I’m sure their rates are reasonable,” he said with a smile. “But I bet I can do better.”

“You want to haul garbage out of my attic and the old barn?” Kai asked incredulously. “Doesn’t sound like a very fun sabbatical to me, Mr. Miles.”

“I could stand to make a few bucks and you need the help.” Aaron glanced from Kai to Ben before walking back to his bike. “I’m happy to help throw out the trash.”

Kai watched as he swung his leg over and started up the bike. She didn’t know what his story was or what being a Dark One really meant, all she knew was that she didn’t want this man riding out of her life. Not yet. In spite of everything her mother had told her ... Kai was compelled to know more about him.

“How does $75 a day plus meals sound to you?” Kai shouted over the rumble of the Harley’s engine.

“Kai?” Ben interrupted as he moved closer so only she would hear him. “This guy is a drifter. Do you really think it’s a wise idea to hire him to work out there with you? Alone? As an attorney and a friend, I would advise against this particular decision.”

Irritation flickered up Kai’s spine. She hated being told what to do or being spoken to like she was a child and currently Ben was doing both.

“Like you said, Ben,” Kai murmured without taking her eyes off Aaron, “I’m anything but simple.”

Kai closed the distance between herself and Aaron and although the engine of the bike was loud, she didn’t miss Ben’s disapproving rumblings as she walked away. She stopped next to the bike as a blast of heat washed over her, wrapping her dress around her legs.

“So?” Kai arched one eyebrow and her fingers tightened around the flyer. “What do you say?”

He revved the engine and leaned back in the seat of the bike. “I say you’re on.”

Kai snagged a pen from her bag and jotted the address down on the back of the flyer before handing it back to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock sharp.”

Aaron took the paper from her and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans, all the while not taking his piercing, blue eyes off hers. He gripped the handlebars and glanced at Ben briefly before looking back at Kai.

“I guess you answered my question from earlier, Kai.” Aaron revved the engine and flashed her a cocky grin. “Looks like you have a weakness for me after all.”

Before Kai could tell him what an arrogant comment that was, he rode off leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Shaking with a mixture of adrenaline, lust and anger, Kai spun on her heels and toward her car.

“Are you sure that was wise?” Ben asked. He was standing by her car with a concerned look on her face. “You don’t even know this guy.”

“I know enough,” Kai said evenly. “I appreciate your concern but I can handle myself, and besides I really do need the help clearing out the rest of the stuff. With Mr. Miles helping me it will take a lot less time than doing it alone.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ben said with a smile. He stepped closer, took Kai’s hands in his and pulled them to his chest. She felt his heart beating beneath their linked hands and his aura burned from yellow to orange. “I feel like this date of ours didn’t exactly get off to a great start.”

“Well I did bring another guy along,” she said with an awkward laugh. Kai smiled and looked into his eyes, paying close attention to how he made her feel. There was a comfortable, familiar feeling to Ben’s spirit. When she looked into his eyes there were no butterflies, no pangs of desire. He was handsome, rich and nice and Kai wasn’t the least bit attracted to him. Figures.

She glanced down at their interlocked fingers and sucked in a deep breath. “Ben, I don’t think... “

“It’s okay.” Ben brought her hands to his lips and placed a warm kiss on her knuckles. It was sweet and almost familial in nature, bringing to mind images of a big brother or something. “You don’t have to say a word, Kai. I’ve been an attorney a long time and if there’s one thing I can do it’s read people.” He dropped her hands and stepped back as he reached into his pocket for his keys. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Thanks,” Kai said. She grabbed the strap of her satchel again and let out a slow breath. “Still friends?”

“Of course.” Ben winked. “But I’ll keep hoping for more.”

Kai watched him walk to his car and guilt tugged at her. Turning someone down was never easy and always made her feel bad, but at least Ben took it well. He was, after all, the only person she really knew out here.

“Hey, Kai,” Ben called to her from the open door of his car. “Promise me one thing.”

“Sure.” Kai shrugged. “What?”

“Be careful with Mr. Miles.” He tapped the roof of the car with his fingers. “Like I said, I’m pretty good at reading people and let’s just say I couldn’t get a clear read on him.”

Kai shivered and crossed her arms over her chest as a warm gust of summer air whipped around her.

“It’s fine, Ben. He’s only going to be working for me for a couple of days,” Kai insisted. Her face heated with embarrassment because Ben read her like an open book. Apparently, she didn’t hide her attraction for Aaron as well as she thought she did. “I’m his temporary employer. That’s all. Believe me, I don’t have the time or inclination to date anyone right now.”

He nodded, but didn’t seem anymore convinced about the denial than she was. Who was she kidding? No one. She fiddled with the ring, seeking comfort from the family heirloom.

“I tell you what, the final copies of the documents from Jacob’s estate will be ready in a day or two. How about if I bring them out to you at the house? It would make me feel better to see how you’re faring. I’ll even bring lunch with me, so you don’t have to go to any trouble. Lunch on me.” He raised his hands in surrender. “As friends.”

“Sounds good,” Kai laughed.

Kai waved as Ben drove off, but one name kept running through her mind. Aaron Miles. She drove her confused butt home as fast as possible and as the quiet scenery passed by, her thumb fiddled with the iron band of the ring on her right hand. A million questions swam through her head at once.

Why didn’t Aaron have an aura? If he was a Dark One and they were evil, why on earth would he help her? Why did he seem to their auras with one touch without hurting either of them?

Why was she insanely attracted to him when she should be running in the other direction? What the heck was a Custodian of the Light? Did it have to do with seeing auras and why hadn’t her mother told her about it?

Above the tsunami of queries, one kept rising up above all the rest. Who the hell was Aaron Miles?

Chapter Four

Asmodeus spent the night in the cheap motel and though he slept off and on, it was far from restful. His thoughts had been consumed, not only by Kai and the ring, but the unexpected arrival of Ben Flaherty.

Asmodeus swore under his breath as he pulled the Harley into the long, winding driveway of Kai’s property. Sweat trickled down his back and he squirmed against the unfamiliar sensation. Being mortal was messy, but Lucifer was right to put them all down here as humans. It probably saved his life.

Ben Flaherty was Fae.

The guy was a damn fairy and, based on the strength of his light, Asmodeus would be willing to bet Ben was a pureblood or at the very least, a hybrid in full use of his powers. At first, he thought the mission was going to be over before it started, but Ben hadn’t flinched. He likely saw Asmodeus’ lack of an aura but if he did, Ben gave no sign of it. Not yet, at least.

When Ben suggested that Kai take off the ring and give it to him for appraisal, Asmodeus had to stop himself from jumping across the table. But Kai had showed zero interest in relinquishing the ring and zero interest in Ben for that matter. Ben, on the other hand, seemed quite interested in Kai but the real question was why? Was he after Kai or the ring? Or both?

Regardless of the answer, Ben Flaherty was going to prove to be a pain in the ass. At the very least, his presence put a wrinkle in Asmodeus’ plans but it was more than that.

Asmodeus kept a close eye on Ben through the evening and was less than pleased when Ben put his arm around Kai. He didn’t like it one damn bit. Not because he thought Kai was interested in Ben, she clearly wasn’t but... well, he didn’t have a good reason... it just bugged the shit out of him to see another man attempting to lay some kind of claim on her.

There were two options. Either Ben had no idea who Asmodeus was, or he did and the son of a bitch was biding his time. He was sure about one thing. Ben was Fae and was after that ring as much as Asmodeus was. Given the moves he was putting on Kai, Ben was probably hoping to woo it out from under her too.

Fat fucking chance.

Heat flared up Asmodeus’ back and he revved the engine of the Harley, as a flock of birds swooped low and into a nearby tree. There was no way he was going to let that damned, fairy bastard get close to Kai or the ring. Given the appearance of Ben, Asmodeus knew he was going to have to pick up the pace or risk losing the ring.

If he’d been here in his non-mortal form, Ben would have spotted him immediately and that could have created a shit storm of epic proportions. A fucking fairy free for all. Instead of having dinner with Kai, he would have ended up dodging skin-searing rays of light for the evening.

The Power of the Light was a fairy’s strongest weapon and, if wielded properly, it could turn man or demon to dust. Their power was fueled by innocence and rooted in purity. Some say they are an extension of the Hand of God and, based on what he’d seen, he wouldn’t doubt it.

If there was any chance Asmodeus was going to have to tangle with the Fae, his powers better come back or Lucifer better give them back. Last night, at the motel, he’d tried to utilize his telekinesis and some basic heat manipulation and neither worked. He was tempted to reach out to Lucifer but given that he still didn’t have the ring, he decided to hold off.

Asmodeus smirked as he pulled the bike up by the faded, red barn. Fairies in human stories were cute little sprites with wings and magic wands, but Asmodeus knew first hand that they could be as lethal as any demon.

There was nothing more dangerous than a pissed off fairy.

“You’re late, Mr. Miles.” Kai shouted from the porch.

Case in point.

Asmodeus chuckled as he dismounted the bike and tucked the key into the front pocket of his jeans. Kai was leaning against the porch railing and those dark eyes were peering at him over the rim of a cup of coffee. Wearing cut off jean shorts, a bright pink tank top and a pair of Converse sneakers, she looked like a homegrown, farm girl. Her long blond hair was swept back in a ponytail and as he strode closer, he saw her face was free of makeup. Kai was naturally beautiful, although she seemed completely unaware of it. But perhaps that was one of the reasons he found her so attractive.

“Morning.” He stopped at the foot of the porch steps, grinning.

“You’re late,” she repeated with a smile.

“How do you figure?” Asmodeus asked as he removed his sunglasses and hooked them into the collar of his t-shirt. He casually surveyed the property as he climbed the steps to meet her. “It’s just about nine now. Give or take. It’s close anyway.”

“Close only counts in horseshoes and grenades,” Kai said before taking another sip of coffee.

“I see,” he said moving closer so there was only a foot or so between them. Asmodeus dropped his voice low and kept his eyes on hers. “Throw a lot of grenades, do you?”

“No,” Kai laughed and held his stare. “It was something my dad used to say. Sorry. It’s silly.” Kai rubbed her thumb along the edge of her coffee mug and he noticed the ring was still on her hand. “I don’t know why I’m giving you a hard time. You’re not really that late.”

“Certainly not as late as your friend was last night.”

“True,” Kai said with a small smile as her eyes met his. “But this is business and that was—”

“Pleasure?” Asmodeus arched one eyebrow.

Kai stilled and her dark eyes remained firmly fixed with his. She was beautiful and had a purity that he’d only seen once before. In all his three thousand years only one woman had entranced him and tempted him to relinquish his position in the Brotherhood.

However, when he’d told her who and what he was... Vivian had rejected him. Shunned him and cut him out of her life. Asmodeus’ brow furrowed as the uncomfortable memories flooded his mind. After that fiasco, he vowed never to expose himself to that kind of ass-kicking again. Not that any of that mattered. He was here to seduce Kai and get the ring. That’s it.

A cat let out a loud meow from the doorway, bringing him from his thoughts.

“Be nice,” Kai said with a narrow-eyed look toward the Siamese cat. She flicked her gaze to Asmodeus and shrugged. “She’s not great with—”

Before Kai could finish her sentence, the cat was rubbing up against Asmodeus’ leg and purring like an engine. He leaned down and scooped up the cat, which was more than pleased by the extra attention. Scratching her behind the ears as he cradled her to his chest, Asmodeus locked eyes with Kai, who was visibly stunned.

“I can’t believe it.” Kai shook her head and looked from Asmodeus to the satisfied feline. “Zephyr doesn’t like anyone—especially men—and she never lets anyone pick her up. Not even me sometimes... Looks like all kinds of women have a fondness for you, Mr. Miles. You charm waitresses and cats alike.”

“Dogs tend to like me best but every now and then I meet a cat who’ll warm up to me.” Asmodeus glanced at the purring feline and could only imagine what his Hellhounds would have to say about this particular incident. “Zephyr, huh?” Asmodeus said. “That’s derived from the name Zephyrus, the Greek God of Wind. Isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Kai laughed. “My dad used to read me Babar the Elephant stories when I was little and Zephyr was the name of his monkey.”

Asmodeus gave her a skeptical look. “An elephant with a pet monkey?”

“Yes.” Kai leaned over and scratched Zephyr. “You know about Greek gods but not Babar? What kind of childhood did you have?”

“It was almost non-existent,” he murmured.

Kai smiled at him as she spoke but, quickly dropped her hand when her fingertips grazed his amid the feline’s fur. Her face reddened and she looked away from him.

“We should probably get started. I’ll show you the barn.”

Asmodeus placed Zephyr on the ground and smiled as the cat gave him an annoyed look.

“Your father was right, by the way,” Asmodeus said as he turned his eyes to hers.

“About what, Mr. Miles?”

“Being close only counts in horseshoes and grenades... but I hope you won’t start throwing any at me.” A smile spread across Asmodeus’ face as he watched Kai’s cheeks redden further. “I’ll be on time tomorrow, honest.” He held his hand over his heart and winked. “Ms. Kelly.”

“You are too much,” Kai said with a chuckle as she rolled her eyes. She pushed herself away from the railing, walked a wide path around him and trotted down the steps toward the barn. “I’m not as easy as the cat. Follow me, Rico Suave,” she called over her shoulder.

The woman literally laughed in his face.

Asmodeus, too stunned to say a word, turned around and followed her toward the barn. He shook his head and ran a hand over his hair as though he might be able to soothe his wounded ego. No woman, ever in all his three thousand years, had been unaffected by his flirtations—ever.

It looked like seducing Kai wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. Damn. He could not remember a time when he ever had to actually try to seduce a woman. As the Demon of Lust... he simply did it.

He watched her as she moved ahead of him and into the barn and a smile cracked his face. Nope. Seducing Kai wasn’t going to be easy, but he bet it would be a hell of a lot more fun. If there was one thing Asmodeus enjoyed, it was a challenge and Kai Kelly had just thrown down the proverbial gauntlet.

“So this place is a hot mess,” Kai said on a sigh as she walked around the clutter-filled barn. “There are eight stalls and he obviously had horses here at one point or another. Too bad there aren’t any here now. I used to love to ride when I was little.” A wistful smile played at her lips as she tugged at an old bridle hanging on the wall. “My mom loved horses and taught me how to ride when I was barely three years old.”

Asmodeus studied her carefully and noticed that every time Kai spoke of her parents, her light grew brighter. There may be no love lost for her grandfather, but the woman clearly loved her parents and missed them. Kai swiped at her eyes, emotions running just under the surface were bubbling over. She turned her back on him obviously not wanting him to see her getting upset.

“What I’d like you to do today is go through all of this and see if there’s anything salvageable. Stuff that I could sell, okay? I have a Dumpster being delivered today, in fact I’m surprised it’s not here yet.”

“You don’t want to keep the good stuff?” Asmodeus asked as he opened and closed one of the stall doors. He squatted down and had a look at the hinges, which were in surprisingly good shape. Rising to his feet, he pounded on the beams with his fist. “With a little elbow grease, this place could easily house horses again and be a functioning barn.”

“I’m not sure if I’m staying here,” Kai said as she picked through a pile of debris. “I’m cleaning this place out so I can sell it... if I want to.”

Asmodeus sensed anger and resentment beneath the surface. Not wanting to upset her further, he simply nodded his understanding and perused the rest of the barn. A door along the left side caught his attention. “Where does this lead?” He asked pulling on the handle, only to find it wouldn’t open. “It’s locked.”

“I have no idea,” Kai muttered. “More junk, I’m sure. It’s probably a storage closet.”

“I don’t think so.” Asmodeus gestured toward the ceiling. “Did you notice that this barn has a flat ceiling and not a vaulted one? There’s a second floor.”

“Huh?” Kai stopped what she was doing and made a face as she stepped over a box and came over to the door. Standing next to him, she tugged on it but it still didn’t open. “You’re right. I have a key ring in the house with a bunch of skeleton keys. A couple of them were unmarked, so maybe one of them will work. But I wouldn’t get too excited about it because, based on the rest of the stuff I’ve found, it’s probably more junk.”

Asmodeus leaned against the wall and studied her profile. High cheekbones, a small button nose and full pink lips came together to form a gorgeous face. She reminded him of goddess statues from ancient Greece.

Flawlessly beautiful.

“Not everything was junk,” he said quietly.

Kai turned to look at him and her eyes widened when he took her fingers in his and lifted her hand. Her skin was warm and silky soft and her slender hand fit in his with exquisite perfection. Asmodeus ran his thumb over the top of her fingers, careful to avoid touching the ring. He wasn’t sure what would happen to him or how it would affect Kai if he did, and now certainly wasn’t the time to find out.

“You found this,” he murmured with a nod toward the ring. “It’s most definitely not junk.”

Kai’s body quivered as he held her hand, but she didn’t pull away. Her eyes searched his as he pulled her closer still. Warmth radiated from her small form and her tongue darted out, moistening her lip in a disarmingly seductive way.

“It—it may not even be worth anything,” Kai said.

“It’s worth something to you, so that’s all that matters.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “That makes it priceless.”

Silence stretched out between them with only the beat of his own heart thundering in his ears. He stared into her large brown eyes and wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to cover those plump limps with his and dive deep.

But the rumbling sound of an approaching truck quickly put a damper on their stolen moment.

“Th—that’s probably the company delivering the Dumpster,” Kai said as she tugged her hand from his grip. She jutted a thumb over her shoulder and started walking backward. “I should get out there and tell them how I want it—I mean where I want the Dumpster.”

Asmodeus suppressed a grin as Kai stumbled over a rake briefly before regaining her balance. She huffed a strand of hair off her face and leaned the rake against the wall.

“Okay, so I’ll let you get started in here.” Kai stopped by the open doors of the barn and looked back at Asmodeus. She paused for a moment as though deciding on something. “Lunch is at noon. The kitchen is to the left and if you need the bathroom it’s on the first floor, behind the staircase.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked.

Kai rolled her eyes but he didn’t miss the smile as she walked outside.
Asmodeus snagged a pair of old work gloves from one of the cluttered shelves and tugged them on. Kai’s beautiful face lingered in his mind and as he started pulling apart various piles, he entertained himself with images of what she would look like spread naked beneath him.

Asmodeus, I’m assuming I don’t have to tell you that you are in close proximity to the ring. Lucifer’s irritated voice shot suddenly into Asmodeus’ mind and set his teeth on edge. There were several disturbances in the energy field of your location, but I am still unable to see exactly where it is. In fact, there are times when I’m having difficulty pinpointing your location as well and I suspect it’s when you’re closest to the ring.

I’m not surprised. Asmodeus chucked a broken wooden wheelbarrow into the Dumpster that had been deposited in the driveway. Stalking back into the barn, he picked up another old, broken piece of gardening equipment. I’m well aware of its location and I’d bet the reason you can’t pinpoint it is because it’s in the possession of a Fae.

The Fae have the ring? Lucifer sounded almost panicked and Asmodeus didn’t blame him one bit. The Fae Clans would love nothing more than to gain possession of the ring and enslave the Brotherhood.

No. Asmodeus said evenly. Not The Fae... a fae. Kai is a fae-human hybrid, to be specific.

While that is more than a mild annoyance, it’s something of a relief. I take it she is not affiliated with any of the Fae Clans?

I don’t think she is even aware of her bloodline.

Be that as it may, getting the ring could prove to be more difficult than we anticipated. Even Fae hybrids have a considerable amount of magic.

Yes. Asmodeus’ mind drifted to Kai and a smile played at his lips.

If I’m not mistaken, Kai is a woman. Correct? Lucifer sounded bored and annoyed. I’m sure you’ve bedded her ten times over, so why don’t you have the ring?

Asmodeus didn’t respond but growled in frustration as he tossed the mangled piece of metal into the Dumpster.

Well, well, well. Lucifer’s gritty laughter filled his head, which only served to enrage Asmodeus further. Is it possible that the Demon of Lust, the one being who rules over all lustful souls, has been unable to seduce a half-breed fairy? Now, this is a first. Wait until the rest of the Brotherhood hears about this. I think Mammon will take the most joy in your difficulties.

It’s not that simple. Asmodeus snapped, as he dragged more crap to the Dumpster. Sweat covered his skin and dripped into his eyes, which stung like hell. He swore and swiped at them with the back of his hand. There’s another Fae in the area and I believe he’s after the ring too.

I suggest you get it before he does.

Really? Asmodeus’ tone dripped with sarcasm. Do you think I want that fairy man getting ahold of the ring? Shit. Being enslaved by the Fae is not my idea of a fun way to spend eternity. Listen, I’ll get the fucking ring. Kai doesn’t have any clue about what’s going on and as far as she’s concerned the ring is a family heirloom and nothing more.

Do you think either of them suspects who you are?

No. Asmodeus paused inside the doorway of the barn and closed his eyes as a cool breeze blew past. I think she can see auras because she called me a Dark One right before she fainted. At least that’s what I suspect because, as you well know, I don’t have an aura.

A Dark One? Lucifer mused. I haven’t heard that expression before. Fae don’t typically see auras.

Yeah, well that’s what she said—Dark One. Asmodeus confirmed. I’m not sure what the fairy-man suspects, but since he didn’t show up at my no-tell motel last night, I’m assuming he thinks I’m just a human. I hope so, because the last thing that I want is a fuckin’ flock of fairies swarming me.

I have summoned the rest of the Brotherhood back to the Underworld but perhaps I should send them to help you instead.

No. Asmodeus responded more sharply than he intended. I can handle Kai.

Silence filled Asmodeus’ mind and for a moment. He thought the connection had been severed but a few moments later Lucifer’s voice, laced with suspicion, floated back in. Do I detect a hint of concern for the girl?

Don’t be ridiculous. Asmodeus straightened his back and fought to keep the defensive tone from his voice.

I should hope not. Lucifer made a sound of disgust. You remember what happened last time, do you not? You were a real bastard to be around after that Vivian woman refused you.

Enough. Asmodeus shot back in anger. He was aggravated enough without reopening old wounds. I’m gaining Kai’s trust and I’ll have the ring before the week is out. I don’t need any help.

You have two days.

This is bullshit.

Two days. Lucifer bit back. With the Fae sniffing around, we cannot risk taking any longer than that. Can you imagine what would happen to us if the Fae were to get hold of that ring? Lucifer made a sound of disgust. We’d be at their beck and call for eternity. Spending the rest of my existence as a slave for the Fae is not appealing in the least—especially the Fae Queen. The woman is infuriating.

Careful, Lucifer. Asmodeus pushed back, recalling the brief, but combustible, tryst between Lucifer and Zemi the Fae Queen. It had been over two millennia since those two had their fling but Lucifer was still stewing over it. Now you’re the one who sounds like he gives a shit.

Fuck off.

Touchy aren’t we?

Well, the thought of enslavement does that to me. Lucifer continued. If you have any sign that the Fae are closing in, I will send the Brotherhood with all of their powers fully intact. We will get the ring by any means necessary.

Kai is an innocent, Lucifer. Asmodeus’ chest tightened as he envisioned Kai being whisked away by the members of the Brotherhood to the Underworld. Picturing her there with the filthiest of souls made him anxious. Asmodeus fought an unfamiliar feeling of fear and kept his response even. Feeling physical pain as a mortal was one thing, but these new and uncomfortable emotions were another. We cannot harm her. She has to give the ring willingly.

That’s true. Lucifer’s calm, bored tone sent a chill up Asmodeus’ spine as he watched Kai trot down the steps with a stack of blankets. She gave him a quick smile before going back into the house, her blond ponytail swishing behind her as she disappeared through the door. In that moment, her innocence to the hidden world around her was all too clear. The overwhelming urge to protect Kai slammed into Asmodeus with brutal force as Lucifer continued.

She either gives it willingly... or... if she’s dead we can take it. Asmodeus, you and I know that there are plenty of corrupted souls on earth who can do our bidding. It’s one of the loopholes I’m so fond of.

Minions.

Lucifer was referring to the heartless human souls who were destined for Hell upon their death, but while on earth, they could be commanded by any member of the Brotherhood. Asmodeus imagined a series of psychotic, brutal killers coming after Kai and something inside of him snapped. Anger flashed up his back and his fists clenched at his sides at the mere idea of anyone harming her.

I’ll have it in two days, Asmodeus said tightly. If you’ll recall, I’m the one who got it away from Solomon in the first place.

Yes, but as we’ve discovered, someone else has found it. Lucifer let out a short laugh. It’s somehow appropriate that you are now responsible for cleaning up this mess. All humor left his voice. Two days or I’ll take matters into my own hands.

As the mental connection with Lucifer was severed, Asmodeus swore. He had less than forty-eight hours to get the ring before all hell broke loose in Bliss.

Chapter Five

The day went by in a blur with Kai making progress lugging various items out of the attic and into the Dumpster. Zephyr, of course, spent the entire time sleeping on the window seat in the living room, only moving occasionally to adjust her position. From time to time, Kai would catch a glimpse of Aaron as he made his own trips from the barn to the Dumpster and while she did her best not to stare... she failed miserably.

They’d shared lunch in the kitchen and she regaled him with stories about her parents and even told him a few about Babar the Elephant. She noticed that the man offered little information about himself and when she asked him questions, he artfully turned the conversation back to Kai and her family.

Aaron Miles had been on her mind all day or, more specifically, the way she felt when he kissed her hand that morning the barn. While the gesture may have been the same as what Ben had done the previous night, her reaction had been far different. Funny how two men could do the same exact thing and have completely opposite outcomes.

In addition to the fact that Aaron suddenly developed an aura when he touched her, there was nothing brotherly about the way he made her feel. Quite the contrary. In fact, it took some serious self-control to keep from jumping his bones right there in the barn. When Kai looked into those pale, blue eyes, something deep inside her stirred and fluttered to life, yawning and stretching as though suddenly awakened.

Kai peeked out the window and stole another look at him.
How in the world could a man look even sexier when he was covered in dirt and sweat?

Kai had no idea but Mr. Miles sure fit that bill. The man was pure muscle, bone and sinew and his sweat soaked t-shirt clung to every sculpted curve.

She was equally sweaty and dirty but had a sinking suspicion she didn’t look sexy, and she certainly didn’t feel sexy. A strong breeze blew through the window and the dark, menacing clouds captured her attention. She remembered the weatherman had mentioned something about a storm coming in and, based on the blackening sky, he was right. Kai glanced at her reflection in the gilded mirror in the dining room as she headed toward the kitchen and grimaced.

“Oh my God,” she groaned and attempted to wipe dirt smudges off her face. “I’m so gross right now. So not sexy.”

Zephyr mewled her agreement and trotted past Kai into the kitchen.

“Oh excuse me,” Kai muttered as she followed the cat. “Not all of us spent the day sleeping.”

Kai went to the sink to wash some of the dirt and sweat from her hands. She made a sound of disgust when she saw the amount of gunk that stuck to the ring. A sense of guilt pulled at her. She should know better than to have kept the ring on while she worked today.

“Great. I have this thing for one whole day and it’s already dirty.” Kai pulled on the ring to remove it but it wouldn’t budge past her knuckle. “That’s weird,” she said under her breath.

Kai looked at her hands and frowned, thinking they’d swelled from the heat, but other than being dirty, her fingers appeared normal. Squeezing liquid soap into her palm, she lathered her hands up thoroughly but still the ring would not come off.

She puffed the hair from her face and grabbed the ring again, pulling as hard as she could. Pain shot up her arm and she released her hand with a frustrated growl.

“Shit!”

“I finished up in the barn.” Aaron’s deep, rich voice filled the room.

Kai let out a yelp of surprise and spun around, sending soapy water flying across the kitchen. He was standing in the doorway with a grin on his dirty, beard-stubble face. His blue eyes stood out beneath inky, black eye brows and Kai wondered if it was possible for him to have gotten even better looking in the past couple of hours.

“I hope you don’t mind but it looks like it’s about to start pouring, so I moved my bike into the barn.” He tilted his head and leaned against the doorjamb looking all kinds of sexy. Dirty sexy. “Problem?” His lips lifted at the corners.

Kai knew he was tall but somehow, framed by the kitchen doorway, he suddenly seemed like a giant. Gaping at him like a stunned sheep, it took her a moment to find her voice.

“My ring,” she blurted out as she held up a soapy hand and lifted one shoulder. She tugged on it again but still the damn thing wouldn’t budge. “I can’t seem to get it off. My hands are probably swollen from this heat but it’s weird because they look fine.” Her face heated as she looked away, knowing she was a mess. “I mean aside from being dirty.”

“The ring won’t come off?” Aaron’s brow knit with concern as he crossed the width of the kitchen and stood in front of her. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he murmured.

Standing this close to him, Kai got a clear idea of how tall he was. Aaron towered over her, but it wasn’t just his height. He was broad and muscular, yet there was something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He may not have an aura but he sure as shit had energy of some kind. An energy that was unlike any she’d encountered before. She’d sensed it in the barn as well, but now it throbbed through her, like a bass beat in a nightclub.

As he took her hand in his and lifted it so he could have a better look, she felt a vibration emanating from his large frame. Kai probably should have been scared or concerned that he was going to evolve into the soul-sucking creature her mother warned her about and steal her light... but she wasn’t.

In fact, Kai was more turned on than she’d ever been in her life.
She swallowed hard as his strong fingers slid along hers in a deliciously sexy way. Their hands tangled together amid slippery, soapy skin and it brought to mind images of the two of them in a bubble bath.

Naked and soapy. God help her. That was all she could think about.

Kai’s eyes widened as she watched a subtle glow start to radiate from him as his thumb ran over hers. It was fascinating. No—scratch that. He was fascinating.

She studied the sharp angles of his face and watched as the muscle in his jaw flickered while he slowly and gently turned her hand, looking at the ring from different angles. His body radiated thick waves of heat and Kai’s gaze flicked down his neck, over his broad shoulders and along his muscular arms. From beneath the edge of his t-shirt, a long vein bulged beneath tanned skin and ran along his bicep, which she had the insane urge to lick at like a lollipop.

Aaron’s hand tightened over hers and he stilled. Only their breathing and the ticking of the cuckoo clock filled the kitchen. Cool wind from the incoming storm blew through the open windows but Kai barely felt it. All she could feel was him.

Kai’s body quivered as she looked at their intertwined fingers. She could tell he was staring down at her through laser-sharp pools of arctic blue. In an attempt to steady herself, she sucked in a deep breath, but his rich male scent filled her head, heightening her craving for him.

Given the sweat covering the two of them, they should both stink to high heaven but all Kai smelled was sex and desire.

Kai knew that if she looked him in the eye, any self-restraint she had would vanish and, Dark One or not, she would succumb to the lust that had clawed at her since the moment she met him.

She closed her eyes, trying to think of something to say but no words came. Her mind and body were fogged by desire, heavy with need, and weak with wanting. As if reading her dirty little mind, he dragged her closer and held her hand against his chest. Jean-clad muscular thighs brushed against her and Kai felt his heartbeat pounding strong and steady beneath the surface. Calling to her, daring her to look at him.

“Kai,” he whispered. His voice, compelling and rich, surrounded her like a caress. One arm snaked around her waist, like a band of iron as he held her quaking form tightly against his, which remained solid and steady. Soapy fingers tangled between them and the ring felt hot, almost burning against her skin. “Look at me.”

Steeling her courage, Kai opened her eyes and lifted them to meet his. Pale, blue eyes looked down at her beneath heavy lids as his hand splayed across her lower back, pulling her closer still. She let out a sound of wonder as the glow around him brightened like a bulb, giving him an unearthly appearance.

As the light grew brighter and the winds howled, Aaron swore under his breath and covered her mouth with his.

On a groan, Kai opened to him as his tongue brushed along her lips, seeking entrance. His kiss was tentative at first, probing gently to see if she was ready but Kai was more than ready. She kissed him back, rasping her tongue along his, and in a flash any restraint he had shown was gone and it swiftly became a frenzy of lips, teeth and tongues.

Kissing her deeply, Asmodeus pulled the elastic out of her hair so that her long locks spilled down her back. He tangled his hands in her hair and tilted her head, allowing him better access, taking the kiss even deeper. One large hand ran down her back and rested on her ass, pressing her against the hard evidence of his desire.

Kai slid her soapy hands up his chest and linked her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, though she knew it would never be close enough. There was something about his energy that filled her up and she knew it would become addictive—he would become addictive. This man with no light was able to stir Kai’s soul and ignite passion in her the way no one else ever had.

He tasted like sin, sex, and seduction and... Kai wanted more.

Aaron groaned into her mouth, and the sound of his desire and desperate need for her almost made her come apart. He slipped his hands beneath the edge of her tank top and she sighed as the rough skin of his hands rasped along her lower back. His hot flesh pressed against hers and as they stood there tangled up in each other, the cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall sounded loudly and broke through the haze of lust, bringing Kai back to reality.

What on earth was she doing? Kai was making out like some horny harlot in the middle of the kitchen with a man she didn’t even know. Not really. All she knew was that he was a Dark One who kissed like he did it for a living.

Since she still didn’t know what being a Dark One really meant, it would probably be a good idea to put on the brakes. Finding a tiny shred of self-control, Kai softened the kiss as her body shuddered against his with unsatisfied desire. She suckled playfully on his lip as she broke the kiss.

“Well, Mr. Miles,” she said between heavy breaths.

“You should probably call me Aaron,” he murmured as he placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Right, Aaron.” Kai pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “That was not how I was expecting to finish your first day of work.”

“I’m still getting paid, right?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Very funny,” Kai said on a laugh. He held her closer as she tossed her head back and let out a sound of frustration. “I don’t even know you,” she said as she stared at the tin tile ceiling.

“This is us getting to know each other,” Aaron murmured as he trailed hot, wet, butterfly kisses down her throat.

“Mm-hmm.”

Kai’s eyelids fluttered closed and she sank into the seductive sensations as the sound of rain falling on the roof added to the richness of the moment.
She unlinked her fingers from behind his head and splayed her hands over the back of his neck and as the ring grazed his skin... Kai’s entire world shifted on its axis.

Aaron cried out in pain, grabbed the back of his neck and shoved her away from him abruptly. Kai stumbled backward, holding the edge of the counter to keep from falling over, and gaped at Aaron in horror.

The glow he’d had when holding her was gone, but that was the least of her problems. It was his eyes. They glowed bright red and shone at her beneath jet-black brows. When he saw the way she was looking at him, Aaron dropped his arms to his sides and squared his shoulders. For a moment, she thought he actually looked apologetic but standing in front of the open window, with the stormy sky behind him, he looked more dangerous than ever before.

Kai’s hands covered her mouth and she watched in horrified fascination as a massive tattoo appeared out of nowhere, covering both of his arms. It was fuzzy at first, like static on a television, but within seconds a bold, intricate tattoo, black as coal, was emblazoned up those muscular arms, disappearing beneath the t-shirt. Kai shuddered because only moments ago those arms had been wrapped around her.

“What are you?” she said in a trembling voice. Kai backed up slowly, moving around the table, needing to put something more than distance between them. “My mother was right. Stay away from me.”

“Kai, wait.” Aaron’s voice was even deeper than before and his eyes glowed brightly. “I do not want to hurt you. Please, you have to listen to me. The ring you’re wearing is not simply some family heirloom. It’s the Ring of Solomon and carries more power than you can possibly imagine.”

“You’re a Dark One,” she whispered through quivering lips. Tears stung the back of her eyes as fear threatened to consume her. “You have no light. No aura. B-but your eyes—”

“I know you’re frightened but you have to listen to me. As long as you wear the Ring of Solomon you are in grave jeopardy. There are parties who are willing to stop at nothing to retrieve it.” His expression was grave but tenderness laced his voice. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Kai. Please, give me the ring.”

Nausea swamped Kai and everything started to spin as lust was swiftly replaced by primal fear. She had to get out of here. Now. Without thinking, she spun on her heels and ran out of the house as fast as she could. Her heart pounding in her chest, she pushed open the front door and ran down the porch steps into the driving rain.

With rain stinging her face, she slipped in the muddy driveway and fell to her knees, barely feeling the tiny rocks as they cut into her flesh. She scrambled to her feet and stumbled toward the car when she realized she didn’t have the keys. They were in the house in her bag. Kai let out a strangled sob, glancing over her shoulder toward the house, but Aaron was nowhere in sight.

She swiped strands of hair from her eyes and squinted against the sheets of rain. Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the property and bringing the barn into focus. Weak with fear and shaking with adrenaline, Kai ran into the barn, yanked the door closed and with all her might, pulled the lock down tightly.

Kai spun around and leaned against the barn door. She squeezed her eyes shut and as sobs wracked her fatigued body, a familiar voice floated through the barn.

“He’s a demon, you know.”

Kai’s eyes flew open at the unexpected sound of Ben’s voice. She looked frantically around the now spotless barn in search of him. Movement to the left caught her eye and as another crack of thunder and lightning erupted outside... she saw him. Dressed in his impeccable suit, with not a hair out of place, he stepped out of the shadows and moved toward her slowly.

“Ben?” Kai barely recognized the sound of her own voice. It was small, scared and shook with all the fear she was feeling. She looked him up and down and noticed he was dry as a bone. It was pouring outside and he didn’t have a drop of rain on him. Her face twisted with confusion as the ring began to burn against her skin. “Wh—what are you doing here?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Ben’s voice, calm and even, filled the barn. He continued to move toward her. “His name is not Aaron Miles. It’s Asmodeus and he is a demon. I knew there was something different about him when I met him last night because, as I’m sure you noticed, he has no aura. But I wasn’t entirely certain of who he was until you touched him with the ring.”

“The ring?” Kai said absently. She blinked as the room started to spin and for a moment she worried she’d faint. Digging her fingernails into her palm, Kai struggled to keep herself together.

“Yes.” Ben spoke softly as he inched closer. “The ring removed whatever spell he was using to hide his true nature. He was sent here to kill you and take the ring back to the Underworld but you mustn’t let him have it, Kai.”

“Kai!” Aaron’s voice boomed loudly from the other side of the door as he pounded on it. “Let me in,” he shouted. “Please, let me explain.”

“What are you talking about?” she whispered. “This is crazy.”

“You need to come with me.” Ben extended his manicured hand as an insincere smile bloomed. Quicker than a snake, he grabbed her by the wrists and yanked her to him. “Or you could just give me the ring and be done with this whole mess.”

Ben’s mouth hovered dangerously close to hers and though Kai struggled to get away it was no use, his grip was iron clad. He breathed deeply along her neck and made a low growling sound.

“Let me go,” she ground out.

“Give me the ring,” he seethed as his fingers encircled her wrists to the point of pain.

“No!” Kai shouted as she struggled against him. “Ben, please stop. I can’t give it to you or anyone. It won’t come off.”

As bolts of pain whipped up her arms, somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered a self-defense class and the acronym S.I.N.G. that stood for solar plexus, instep, nose and groin. These were the sensitive places on the body to attack when being attacked.

Ben grabbed her hand and tried to pull the ring off. Pain shot up her arm and she screamed in agony, as it felt like her skin was being be torn from the bone. Then, with every survival instinct she had and her last bit of strength, Kai stomped on his instep. He grunted in surprise and leaned forward, just in time to have his balls come in contact with her knee.

As he released her, Kai stumbled backward and a thundering fireball exploded as the door of the barn shattered into splinters of burning wood and smoke. Struggling to catch her breath and with her hand feeling like it had been put through a shredder, Kai looked over to see Aaron, or Asmodeus or whoever he was, standing in the doorway.

He was quite literally wrath incarnate.

“You will not lay one hand on her, you fucking fairy.” Eyes glowing, muscles straining and with the storm raging behind him, Asmodeus stepped into the barn with his burning gaze fixed on Ben. Kai probably should have been terrified, but to her great surprise she felt nothing but relief. Without taking his eyes off Ben, Asmodeus extended his hand. “Come with me.”

“I don’t think so, demon,” Ben seethed. He raised both hands, uttered a language Kai had never heard and she watched in horror as his aura flashed and a shock wave of yellow light rippled across the room and slammed into Asmodeus.

Kai screamed and watched as Asmodeus was thrown back outside like a ragdoll. Ben ran toward Kai and grabbed her arms. Kai screamed and kicked at him as rage, confusion and outright fury filled her.

Struggling against him, she placed both hands on his chest and let out a primal scream as a gargantuan surge of power shot through her body and into Ben. The force sent him flying across the barn and slammed Ben into the wall, dropping him to the ground in a limp heap.

Shaking and crying, the ring cooling against her skin, Kai leaned against the wall for support as her body tingled with newfound power. She let out a startled cry as Asmodeus appeared suddenly next to her. Before she could say a word, he pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest as she sobbed with terror and confusion.

“I killed him.” She kept repeating the muffled words over and over against his chest. “What’s happening? Oh my God. I killed Ben.”

“He’s unconscious, Kai, he’s not dead. But we will be if we don’t get out of here now.” Asmodeus took her head in both hands and kissed her forehead, his lips hot against her skin. He pulled back to look her in the eye. “Come with me and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“What happened?” she sputtered. “He—he had fucking laser beams shoot out of his hands. And me—I—”

“Ben is Fae... and so are you.” He lifted one shoulder. “Well, half.”

“Fae? I’m a fucking fairy?” she said with no humor in her voice. Her brow furrowed as she recalled the words written on the crate. She flicked her eyes to his, her voice was edged with urgency. “The box—the box that I found the ring in. It said Custodians of the Light.”

“I’ve never heard that expression before,” he said as a deep line formed between his eyebrows and his voice dropped low. “But I promise we’ll find out what it means.”

Kai stilled and her eyes wandered over the strange tattoos that now covered his arms. “Is it true?” she whispered in a quivering voice as she raised her eyes back to meet his. “Are- are you what he said you are?”

“Yes.” His mouth set in a tight line and the muscle in his jaw flinched with tension. “But I am not here to harm you and I won’t allow anyone else to hurt you either.”

Shivering and wet, with his strong, warm arms encircling her, Kai searched his eyes, which were once again the cool, pools of blue and all she saw was concern. She glanced at Ben, still passed out in the corner, and then back to Asmodeus. He may be a demon, or a Dark One, but in the short time she’d known him, he’d done nothing but be kind.

Ben moaned and stirred.

“We have to go.” Asmodeus’ grip on her tightened and his eyes once again glowed red, as he leveled his burning gaze in Ben’s direction. “When he wakes up he’s going to summon others.”

Kai said nothing but nodded and swiped at her teary eyes. What could she say? Her life had just gone from a little bit odd to completely insane in less than an hour.

“Of course he will.” A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up and she shrugged. Tears stung at her eyes and she wished now, more than ever, that she could speak to her mother. The old familiar ache in her chest, the hole that was there since her parents died, opened and threatened to swallow her up.

She stepped back as Asmodeus got on the Harley. He started the bike and revved the engine, waving for her to join him. She walked over, almost in a trance, wondering if perhaps this was merely a dream and she’d wake up any minute, laughing at her subconscious but as the heat of the engine blew over her wet, bare legs she knew it was all too real. Feeling exhausted, frightened and with few options, Kai swung her leg over and settled in behind him.

“Hold on tight,” he said as he pulled out of the barn. “But do me a favor and try not to singe me with the ring. It hurts like hell.”

“Aren’t you from there?” Kai said with more than a little sarcasm.

Asmodeus smirked at her over his shoulder but said nothing as Kai wrapped her arms around his waist, careful to avoid touching his flesh with the ring. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her cheek against the broad, muscular expanse of his back and held on for dear life as they rode down the dark, Idaho highway and into an uncertain future.

Chapter Six

Kai had never been so mentally or physically exhausted in her life. Soaked to the bone from the driving rain and dog-tired, she fought to keep her heavy eyelids from closing. The only reason she hadn’t fallen asleep was because, if she did, she’d fall right off the back of Asmodeus’ motorcycle.

Clinging to his warm, firm body also helped keep her grounded in reality. She pressed her face against his back and smothered a hysterical giggle. Reality? Demons, fairies and a magic ring all added up to a big bag of crazy.

She watched the scenery fly by in a blur. It was still dark and though she didn’t know how long they’d been riding, it felt like hours. With the damp air breezing over them and only the sound of the engine filling her head, Kai took stock of their surroundings and realized that, at some point, the terrain had transitioned to a total desert-like environment.

Kai had zero idea where he was taking her and there was a part of her that didn’t care, because all she wanted to do was wake up from the nightmare her life had become. Until a few hours ago, Kai thought seeing people’s auras was the weirdest thing about her.

Apparently not.

Nope. She was some kind of fairy half-breed, her grandfather’s attorney and would-be suitor was a fairy, and the gorgeous hunk of man she was plastered to, on the back of a Harley Davidson, was a demon.

Right. Seeing auras seemed downright pedestrian at the moment.

With her arms wrapped around him and their bodies pressed tightly together, Asmodeus glowed like he had in the kitchen. Even though the façade of being human had vanished, Asmodeus still absorbed Kai’s aura when they touched. As odd as it was, it actually gave her comfort because it was one thing about him that had remained the same.

The heat and vibrations from the motorcycle hummed through her weary body, making her feel as though she had become part of the machine. Kai sucked in a shuddering breath and tightened her grip around Asmodeus’ waist, careful to keep the ring from touching him.

She recalled what had happened back at the house when the ring grazed his neck. The man’s eyes had glowed red, like two hot coals, and tattoos as black as midnight appeared out of nowhere, up those thick, muscular arms. But it wasn’t only his physical appearance that changed. It was the hard, unfeeling look on his face that hit her like a punch in the gut.

She sighed and rested her cheek against his back. Asmodeus’ muscles tensed in response and he placed one large hand on her arm.

“We’re almost there,” he shouted over his shoulder above the roar of the bike. “Just hang on.”

“Almost where?” Kai asked as she tightened her hold on his waist and adjusted her butt on the seat. His stomach muscles rippled beneath her arms and she fleetingly wondered if the man had a single ounce of body fat. She probably should’ve been freezing but his body heat kept her warm in spite of how wet she was and how cool the air felt. “Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace safe.” He revved the engine and shouted over his shoulder. “Hang on. The turnoff for Isadora’s place is up ahead but the roads from here on out aren’t paved which will make for a bumpy ride.”

“Really?” Kai shouted with more than a little annoyance. “I just found out that you’re a freaking demon and for some inexplicable reason I got on a motorcycle with you in a rainstorm. I’d say that I’m capable of handling bumpy roads—literal or otherwise.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a short laugh.

After what felt like an eternity of teeth clattering bumps, Kai finally spotted a glimmer of light ahead in the seemingly endless darkness and for a minute she wondered if it was a mirage. Like a castaway adrift in the ocean for days who was finally seeing land, pure relief swamped her as she saw the faint outline of a house.

Sitting up in the seat, Kai looked past Asmodeus and squinted into the dark night, praying that this Isadora person wasn’t going to try and rip the ring off her hand too. Who was this woman, anyway? Could she be a former lover of Asmodeus?

A sudden and unexpected feeling of jealousy washed over Kai as she imagined him in the arms of another woman.

She rolled her eyes at her foolishness. Why on earth was she getting jealous? He was a demon and, according to the fairy-man, Ben, Asmodeus was only here to get the ring. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she thought about how gently Asmodeus held her hand, the seductive feel of his lips on hers. Was it all an act and part of his attempt to get the ring, or did he truly feel something for her?

Reaching their destination, he pulled the bike to a halt. Kai looked to the right and standing in front of a ridge of mountainous rock, was a tiny, ramshackle cottage. Kai almost wept with relief. It was a crooked little place that looked like it might be glued together and she had a fleeting memory of the tongue depressor houses she built once with her father.

This little house had a similar feel and in a funny way, it gave her a sense of comfort. Two lanterns hanging from wooden posts at the end of the gravel walkway swung in the dark, calling to Kai, welcoming her as if waving at her to come inside.

As Asmodeus shut off the bike and kicked the stand down, Kai removed her arms from around his waist, but flinched as her stiff muscles cried out in protest. She arched her back and stretched her arms over her head, working out the kinks from the longest motorcycle ride of her life and even though the engine was off, her body still hummed.

She let out a sound of relief as she stretched, and it took her a moment to realize that Asmodeus hadn’t moved. He was sitting stone still on the bike, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handlebars and staring straight ahead.

As Kai dropped her arms and rested her hands on her thighs, her breasts brushed his back and he flinched, almost imperceptibly. If she hadn’t been straddling him from behind, with her hips pressed tightly against his, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“Get off the bike,” he said tightly, without turning around. His voice, low and deep, was barely audible. “Now.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Kai said with a heavy sigh.

Kai slipped off the bike quickly and watched as the glow of her aura dimmed, flickered over his form and then vanished when their bodies no longer met, leaving him lightless once again. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him dismount the bike. Asmodeus’ entire demeanor had changed. He was cold, distant and detached and, as far as she could tell, he was doing his best not to look at her.

Asmodeus stuck the key in his jeans pocket before turning around to finally face her. He couldn’t exactly avoid her at the moment but he sure as hell seemed like he was trying.

“Go inside,” Asmodeus said, jutting his chin toward the house without looking at her. “Now.”

“What’s your problem?” Kai asked with more than a little annoyance. Hands on her hips, she puffed stray hair from her face and stood in front of him in the most challenging stance she could muster. “You’re acting like I’m the one who lied to you. You were the one who pretended to be something you’re not. Talk about telling the biggest fib ever.”

“I never actually said I was human,” he said in an irritatingly calm tone.

“I’d say that’s what most people would consider semantics.”

“I call it a necessary evil.” His sharp, blue eyes flicked to hers briefly before glancing over his shoulder at the empty desert. “Now that you know what I am and why I’m here, it will make things much easier and we can cut to the chase.”

“I barely know what I am.”

“Yes, you do.” He continued scanning the surroundings. “You’re a fairy hybrid. It’s not that complicated.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Anger, frustration, and the sting of rejection burned in Kai’s chest. This man was quite literally the only person—human-demon-whatever—that she had and he was giving her the brush-off. A few short hours ago, they’d been making out hot and heavy but now he was acting like it never happened.

She wasn’t looking for him to proclaim his love to her but he could at least act like they weren’t complete strangers. Her mouth set in a tight line and the ring burned against her flesh as her emotions began to get the better of her.

“Look at me,” Kai said as she shoved at his shoulder, mindful not to use the hand with the ring. He didn’t flinch and she may as well have been shoving at a wall of steel. “Damn it. I said, look at me.”

She shoved at him again but her hand slipped, sending her face-first into his chest.

Quicker than lightning, Asmodeus grabbed her wrists and dragged her body against his. Soft met hard in one swift motion as her breasts crushed against him and all the breath rushed from her lungs. His fingers encircled her arms like handcuffs and his skin burned against hers as he began to glow with her aura in a now familiar way.

“Do not test me, woman,” he growled.

Asmodeus’ mouth hovered inches from hers and his musky scent filled her head, making her dizzy with need. She wanted to feel something other than fear and confusion, to lose herself in the taste of him. Those icy, blue eyes stared down at her beneath a dark, furrowed brow and his body hardened against hers as the aura around them now gleamed red with desire.

“Don’t shut me out,” Kai whispered as she leaned further into him. Pressing a kiss against his throat, she murmured, “I can’t do this by myself.”

Kai leaned back to look him in the eye, his hands still linked around her wrists, she found herself staring into bright, red orbs. This time, instead of being frightened, when confronted with part of his true nature, she was intrigued. He was exotic, dangerous and... unexpected.

Her lips parted and she sucked in a shuddering breath just as his mouth covered hers. When Asmodeus groaned, the sound alone almost made her come apart. He tugged her closer as their tongues tangled, both of them clamoring for more.

This is what she needed, what they both needed, to feel something other than fear or confusion. Kai tilted her head as he deepened the kiss, drinking from her desperately. On a growl and without breaking the kiss, Asmodeus grabbed her bottom, picked her up and spun around before depositing her on the motorcycle.

Kai wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned back as he straddled the bike and swiftly pulled her into his lap. She sighed against his lips as the heat of his erection pressed against her most sensitive spot, sending electric zings of carnal pleasure through her body.

He rained kisses down her neck as one hand slipped up her shirt, flicked her bra aside and captured her breast. Kai moaned and held his head to her throat, as she linked her legs around his waist and ground against him. Streaks of need shot through her as his experienced hands and talented tongue feasted on her. She arched against him and reveled in the erotic sensation of the heat of his body mixed with the brisk breezes of cool evening air.

Kai flicked her eyes open as she writhed in his arms but when she caught a glimpse of the house out of the corner of her eye, it brought her careening right back to reality. They were making out on a Harley in front of some woman’s house and her shirt was almost over her head.

Asmodeus grabbed the handlebar with one hand and held her around the waist with the other as he suckled her breast. Kai gripped his shoulder and struggled to find her way out of the lust-induced frenzy. As his flesh pressed against hers, heat fired through her and everything began to spin. Kai squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to stop the sudden wave of dizziness.

“We have to stop,” Kai whispered. She grabbed him by the hair and kissed him, wanting to taste him one more time. She suckled his lower lip and held it between her teeth briefly before releasing it and resting her forehead against his. “I can’t do this,” she said between heavy breaths as her fingertips stroked his scalp. The dizziness ebbed back as she fought to catch her breath. “Not here.”

“I’ve made love in almost every place imaginable but not on a motorcycle.” Asmodeus’ body stilled and he pulled back, looking her in the eye. “We’ll have to remedy that.”

His gaze was once again a cool blue, but her aura still engulfed them both and Kai couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s amazing,” she said with wonder as her gaze skittered over him.

“I have to admit, it’s not the first time I’ve been told that,” he teased. Asmodeus kissed the corner of her mouth and gently put her shirt back in place and settled his large hands over her hips.

“Not that.” Kai rolled her eyes and trailed her fingers down his muscular, tattooed arms. Her hands rested on his muscular thighs which were taut and solid beneath her eager hands. “You have a light when I touch you—an aura.”

Asmodeus’ expression hardened and he leaned back slowly as though he hadn’t quite heard what she said. “What did you say?”

“When we touch skin to skin you absorb my light and you actually have an aura.” She trailed her fingers over his. “See?”

Asmodeus’ watched intently but said nothing.

“It freaked me out at first too because when we shook hands, you started to glow but as soon as you dropped my hand, you were a Dark One again. Then when you shook hands with Ben, it made his aura sputter, like a bulb about to go out. I thought maybe it would hurt or something, but believe me... touching you doesn’t hurt. Makes me dizzy with desire, but doesn’t hurt.” She smiled and reached out to wrap her arms around him again but he grabbed her wrists, stopping her. Kai’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

He frowned and the cold detached look in his eye was back with a vengeance.

“We don’t have time for this.” Asmodeus’ jaw clenched as he held her away from him. Without another word, he dismounted the bike and dropped Kai’s arms like a couple of hot potatoes. “If this were one of my usual vacations on earth, fucking would be at the top of my priority list but we have other matters to attend to.” Walking around the bike, he avoided her gaze and gestured toward the house. “Let’s go.”

Kai gaped at him as she tried to understand what the hell was going on. “Are you for real?”

“We have to get the ring off your finger and see if Isadora knows anything about the Custodians of the Light.”

The sting of rejection mixed with flat-out anger burned in Kai’s chest and though tears stung the back of her eyes she refused to let them fall. She hopped off the bike and turned her back on him as she put her clothing back in place. A million questions raced through her mind but before she could ask a single one, a raspy, feminine voice floated through the air.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Startled, Kai spun around toward the voice. Standing on the covered porch was one of the oldest, smallest women Kai had ever laid eyes on. Kai’s face heated with embarrassment as she wondered if she had witnessed any portion of their make-out session.

The lights from the open door behind her gave her an almost ethereal glow and for a second Kai wasn’t even sure if the woman was real. However, a pale pink aura fluttered around her gently, reassuring Kai that she was indeed real.

Hunched over and leaning heavily on the cane in her right hand, she had a gray blanket with Native American designs draped over her shoulders and a thin, white cotton nightgown fluttered around her legs. Her white hair hung in two long braids framing a wizened face.

Asmodeus had moved in next to Kai in his typical stealthy manner. Thick waves of heat emanated from his body and washed over her shivering form. She crossed her arms over her breasts in an effort to stop shaking but it was no use.

Even though her body still clamored for his, and she wanted to snuggle against him, she resisted. Being rejected, yet again, wasn’t at the top of her priority list. She wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him but, at the moment, he was all she had.

“Is this your mother or something?” Kai asked as quietly as possible. She glanced at Asmodeus who gave her a doubtful look and shook his head.

“His mother?” The woman asked with genuine humor. She let out a sharp laugh and banged her cane on the boards of the porch a couple of times. “No, child. Although I can understand why you’d think that given my current state of affairs,” she said with a gesture toward her body.

“Hello, Isadora.” Asmodeus’ voice rumbled around Kai, shattering the quiet of the desert. “It’s been a long time.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Isadora said with a raspy laugh. “And you haven’t changed a bit. Still as handsome as could be but as you can see, time has not been as kind to me. I suppose some might say you made a deal with the devil himself.”

Kai glanced from the old woman to Asmodeus. Isadora must know Asmodeus’ true nature and it sounded like she knew him when she was a young woman. Had they been lovers or only friends? Before she could ask any questions, Isadora started in with queries of her own.

“What have we here?” Isadora’s intent gaze landed on Kai.

“I’m Kai Kelly,” Kai said in a surprisingly strong voice.

“Isadora, I…”, Asmodeus began.

“Hush.” Isadora held up her hand. “I wasn’t asking you, mister.”

Kai pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud at the way this little old woman put big, bad Asmodeus in his place. Kai stole a glance at him. His tattooed arms were folded over his chest, his eyes glowed red and the look on his face said it all. He was not amused but he must have a good deal of respect for Isadora to hold his tongue. Kai didn’t know a lot about Asmodeus but she suspected he wasn’t the kind of man who was used to being shushed.

The old woman made her way down the steps with surprising ease as Kai watched her intently. Moving slowly but surely, Isadora closed the distance between them and stopped directly in front of Kai. She was tiny and couldn’t have been five feet tall.

Isadora cocked her head to one side and looked Kai up and down. Kai did her best not to squirm under the scrutiny of her bright green stare. Isadora’s eyes were the color of emeralds and though they were set in a tanned, wrinkled face, they had the boldness of someone much younger.

“She’s Fae,” Isadora said bluntly. Leaning back, she pressed her lips together and kept her inspecting gaze on Kai. “Yes, sir.”

“How did—” Kai began.

“Yes, indeed.” Isadora pointed a crooked finger at Kai. “And she’s got witch in her too.”

“What?” All the air rushed from Kai’s lungs and she shook her head as she rubbed her arms vigorously. “Witch? What are you talking about?”

“Takes one to know one,” Asmodeus murmured.

“Hush up,” Isadora snapped as she swatted him on the leg with her cane without taking her eyes off Kai. “This poor child is exhausted, confused and doesn’t know which end is up. So, why don’t we take this inside because I’d be willing to bet she’s got about a million questions. Don’t you, girl?”

“Y—yes.” Kai nodded and fought the tears. Her shoulders shook as she tried to keep from sobbing out loud. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I bet you do.” Isadora shook her head and made a sound of disgust as she shot Asmodeus a look. “Park that damn thing around back. I’m taking Kai in the house so she can have a hot shower and we’re gonna get some food into the girl before she wastes away.” She winked at Kai. “Then we’ll get some of your questions answered.”

“Thank you,” Kai said with a shuddering breath.

Kai swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and held herself together. She glanced at Asmodeus who was staring at her with that cold look. Emotionless and detached. Those were the two words that came to mind as he leveled those pale, blue eyes in her direction.

A split second later, Isadora grabbed Kai’s hand and was staring at the ring with wide eyes. Her hands were rough and warm but in spite of her age, Isadora’s grip was like iron and her aura now glowed bright fuchsia. Kai stood still as the old woman looked at the ring.

“It—it won’t come off,” Kai blurted out. “It’s stuck... or something.”

“It’s the Ring of Solomon,” Asmodeus said tightly.

“I’ll be damned,” Isadora said, with awe.

“I’d give just about anything to know what on earth that means.” Kai bit her lip against her fear, but the sight and sound of this little old lady, swearing like a sailor, was a welcome bit of silliness amid a symphony of chaos.

“Like I said,” Isadora murmured as she turned her attention to Asmodeus. “Lots of questions to be answered.” Putting her glittering green eyes back on Kai, Isadora squeezed her hand reassuringly before releasing it. “You’re going to be alright, child.”

“Thank you,” Kai whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet. Something tells me you’ve got a long, winding road ahead of you.” Isadora waved her cane at Asmodeus and wrapped her other arm around Kai’s waist as she started walking with her toward the house. “Do as I said, Asmodeus. I may not be the sweet young thing you remember, but I can still cast a spell that will shrivel your demon dick. So get moving.”

Kai slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle and glanced over her shoulder at Asmodeus who looked less than amused, but did as Isadora asked. She looked down at the diminutive woman at her side and smiled as she said, “I can’t imagine he’s used to being spoken to that way.”

“I don’t suppose he is.” Isadora winked at her and laughed as they climbed the steps together. When they reached the landing she paused and leaned heavily on her cane as she caught her breath. “Have you laid with him yet?”

Kai’s face heated with embarrassment as she glanced back to see if Asmodeus was within earshot but, thankfully, he wasn’t. She tucked her windblown hair behind her ear and shrugged as she shook her head. They hadn’t... yet.

“No?” Isadora made a tsking sound as she started into the house. “Now that’s a damn shame. That man was the best lay I ever had and even though it was decades ago... I remember it like yesterday.”

“You and Asmodeus... “

“You bet your ass we did.” Isadora let out a hearty laugh. “It was many years ago but, girl, he ain’t the Demon of Lust for nothin’.”

“Demon of Lust?” Kai asked, not quite sure she’d heard Isadora correctly.

“He didn’t tell you who he was?”

”No.” Kai frowned. “Until a few hours ago, I thought he was human.”

”Not surprised.” She shook her head. “He’s a member of the Brotherhood—the Seven Princes of Hell—each of them represents one of the seven deadly sins. Asmodeus is the embodiment of lust and damn if he doesn’t live up to the name.” She pursed her lips together and made a sour face. “Just be glad that Satan didn’t find you and the ring first. He’s the Demon of Wrath and a pain in the ass—always finding a reason to stir up trouble. Oh he’s handsome too, they all are, but I’ll take lust over wrath any day of the week,” she said with a wink.

“No wonder women were falling at his feet,” Kai said. She smiled. “Even my cat—Oh my God!” Her hands flew to her mouth as she realized she ran off and left her poor cat alone at the house. She stared at Isadora. “Oh shit. I don’t even know if she was inside. What if the coyotes get her?”

“Cat?” Isadora let out a hearty laugh and tapped her cane on the floorboards again. Smiling, she took Kai’s hand in hers and squeezed, the warm metal of the ring pressed against her skin. “What’s her name?”

“Zephyr,” Kai said.

“Well, Zephyr will be just fine. First of all, cats domesticated themselves. They only hang around with us because it suits them. Now a dog, on the other hand, they’re dependent on us but not cats. It’s one of the reasons so many witches like having them as companions. They’re independent creatures and can take care of themselves. Trust me, she’ll be there waiting for you when you return. Won’t be too pleased with you, but she’ll be there.” Isadora tapped Kai on the leg with her cane.
”Come on, let’s get you a shower and something clean to wear.”

Kai followed her and as she turned to close the door, she saw Asmodeus stalking up the walkway toward the house. Kai’s breath caught in her throat as his intelligent, icy blue gaze captured hers. As big as he was, he moved with almost feline fluidity and unnatural quiet. Without a word, he took the steps in two strides and stopped just a few inches from her.

“We’ll be safe here for a while. She’s got a cloaking spell on this place, so we should be hidden from the Fae,” he said as thick waves of heat undulated from his towering form. She realized that the heat she’d felt on the motorcycle was from him more than it was from the bike. Kai wondered if his unusually warm body temperature was part of his being a demon. The beginnings of a beard covered his square jaw and the muscle beneath the skin flickered as he glowered at her. “We can trust her.”

“Really?” Kai kept her voice low. “I’m still wondering if I can trust you. For a demon you sure do run cold in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re acting like you can’t get enough of me and the next you can’t stand touching me.”

Silence hung heavily and his brow furrowed. His lack of response was more infuriating than anything else and it made Kai want to scream.

“Will we be staying with all of your former lovers while we’re on the lam? Because if that’s the case, then perhaps we should shack up with some of my exes,” Kai prodded. “Ya know... just to even the playing field.”

His expression hardened and his eyes flashed red, but Kai didn’t retreat. Asmodeus placed both hands on the doorway on either side of her, leaned close, his face just inches from hers. His masculine scent filled her head and, in spite of the situation, her body responded. Desire washed through her and it took some serious self-control to keep from jumping his bones right there on the porch, but she held her ground.

“If you want to stay alive, then you will do exactly as I say and you will go wherever I tell you to. You will not leave my sight for one second until we get that ring off your finger and give it to the Brotherhood.” Asmodeus leaned closer, his lips just a breath from hers and his voice dropped to a whisper. “And just to be clear, the last place on earth we will be going, is anywhere near any man who has touched you.”

“Careful, Asmodeus,” Kai murmured. “Your demon is showing.”
Before he could respond, Kai stepped back and slammed the door in his face.

Chapter Seven

Asmodeus stared out the front window of Isadora’s cabin, watching for any sign of the Fae—or the Brotherhood for that matter. But, so far, the only movement had been a few vultures circling high above the desert. It was shades of beige and brown as far as the eye could see and the clear blue sky had barely a cloud in it. He glanced over his right shoulder toward the closed bedroom door for the tenth time in as many minutes. Kai was taking a shower and it seemed like she had been in there forever.

He glanced at Isadora and smiled as he watched her stir whatever she was cooking up in the two enormous iron pots. Knowing her, it was some kind of potion, or part of a spell. She’d been a real beauty in her day and though they’d been lovers, she was one of the only women he’d actually remained friends with.

Isadora was a witch and spent most of her years traveling with a circus as a fortuneteller but this little place had been in her family for generations and he knew this was where she’d settled down.

Asmodeus was certain if anyone could help them, it would be her. Isadora was one of the most talented witches he’d ever encountered. She could have been one of the High Priestesses on the Witches Council but never pursued it, although he wasn’t sure why.

The main room of the cabin was sparsely furnished with a table and chairs at the center and a soft armchair by the stone fireplace. A woven rug covered much of the worn, wood floorboards and the walls were decorated with various masks and charms. Bundles of dried herbs and several ceramic jars lined the thick, wooden mantle, which was scarred from years of use.

Normally, her Book of Spells was perched at the center of the mantle but Isadora had it open on the table. She’d been scouring it since they’d arrived and found two spells that might work to remove the ring. As soon as Kai emerged from the bedroom, Isadora was going to give them a try.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s changed,” Isadora chuckled as she stirred her potions on the stove. She tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of one of the cast iron pots and laughed out loud. “You are not the man or demon I knew all those years ago.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Asmodeus responded without looking at her. He moved to the other window and pushed the lace curtain aside as he continued to keep watch.

“Yes, you do.” Isadora crossed to the small wooden table and sat in a well- worn chair with a sound of relief. “It’s the girl or, to be more specific, it’s your feelings for her.”

“The only feelings I have are about the ring and making sure it gets back to Hell, where it belongs.” Asmodeus folded his arms over his chest and focused on keeping his tone even but to no avail. He sounded as irritated as he felt and it pissed him off that Isadora saw right through him. “I’m here to retrieve the ring and that’s all.”

“Bullshit,” Isadora said.

“Careful, Isadora.” Asmodeus turned slowly and leveled a stern gaze at her. “Regardless of the changes you think you see, I still don’t like being spoken to that way.”

“Oh, hush up and sit your big ass down.” She waved her cane toward a chair on the other side of the table. “This isn’t Hell and I’m not one of the tortured souls you get to command for eternity. This is my house. I’m a tired old witch, and you and I both know that girl in there doesn’t have time for bullshit.” She pointed a crooked finger to the other chair. “Sit down.”

“You, however, have remained the same in many ways. Still bossy.” Asmodeus let out a beleaguered sigh and did as she asked. Leaning back in the chair, he looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Since you arrived, you haven’t said a word to me about why you brought her here and not to the Brotherhood. For Goddess’ sake, she practically fell asleep the second she came into the house and it wouldn’t surprise me if the poor child passed out in the shower. Your little Fae-witch is wearing the Ring of Solomon, which I always thought was just some made up story to keep you and the rest of the Brotherhood in line.”

“Yes,” Asmodeus said evenly. “Thank you for the recap. What’s your point?”

“Why are you here and not in the Underworld?” Isadora’s green eyes stared at him intently.

“As you know, the ring won’t come off.” He folded his hands in his lap, hoping to seem unconcerned. “You are the most powerful witch I know, who I can also trust. I thought you might have a spell that would get the ring off her finger—and hopefully you do.”

“Mm-hmm.” She narrowed her eyes. “That’s fine and dandy and we’re going to try it when she comes out. But why didn’t you bring the ring back to the Underworld with her still attached to it? I know you haven’t been starin’ out my windows because you like the scenery. “ Her white eyebrows raised. “You’re hiding from the Brotherhood, aren’t you? You’re hiding her.”

“How could I possibly hide from them?” He asked innocently. “You know we are connected by a collective consciousness.”

“Do I look stupid?” Isadora cast a doubtful look in his direction. “You and I both know that you can disconnect from the Brotherhood and cut them off when it suits you.” A smile curved her weathered lips. “If memory serves, when you and I took a tumble in the hay all those years ago, you were here on an unsanctioned visit. You told me then that you cut off Lucifer and the others so you could come up to earth to help your brother, Mammon.”

Asmodeus’ jaw clenched. Isadora was one of the most perceptive women he’d ever known and, despite her age, she had a memory like an elephant. Her green eyes twinkled and the array of lines around her mouth deepened as her smile grew.

“I’m doing what’s necessary,” he said, evenly.

”I call bullshit on that too.”

“Fine.” He lifted one shoulder. “Call it what you want.”

”You haven’t slept with her.”

”Contrary to what people think, I don’t have sex with every woman I encounter while I’m on earth.”

“Ha! I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of trying.” Isadora placed one gnarled hand on the table and pushed herself up from her chair before shuffling over to the stove again. “She didn’t fall victim to your charms right away, did she?”

Silence hung between them as he refused to confirm or deny her statement. Asmodeus watched her small, hunched form, but when she turned around, those sharp, green eyes reflected her witty, intelligent spirit.

Isadora was right on the money. He should have brought Kai back to the Underworld with him when he realized the Fae were after the ring. Asmodeus had no doubt that the other members of the Brotherhood would have done exactly that if they were in his position.

Taking the ring to the Underworld was the only way to ensure the Fae didn’t get it, but it also would mean subjecting Kai to the worst souls in existence. There was no way he would expose her to that kind of darkness. She was too good for that.

“I’m not bringing her back to the Underworld because I can accomplish this task on my own without the rest of the Brotherhood.” Asmodeus kept his voice matter of fact, hoping Isadora would believe his lie. “Can you imagine the indignities I would suffer if I had to request their assistance? Mammon is still catching shit for requiring my help the last time he was here. Lucifer is an insufferable ass as it is, so I’d rather not spend the next millennium listening to his crap. I’ve been keeping watch for any sign of the Fae—not the Brotherhood. I’m sure that your cloaking spell around the property is brilliant, but the Fae are notoriously crafty.”

Another lie.

He was worried about the Brotherhood far more than the Fae. He only had a day left before Lucifer would send the others, along with their minions, to collect Kai and the ring.

“I have to get the ring off her finger and send it back to Hell.” He held her stare. “End of story.”

“I see,” Isadora gripped the knob of cane. She nodded and gave him a doubtful look. “Why haven’t you slept with her?”

“Why are you obsessed with my sex life?” He smirked. “Is it due to your lack of one?”

“I have plenty of sex.” Isadora winked and settled in her chair again. “I’m old. Not dead. Now, answer my question. You are, after all, the Demon of Lust and, if memory serves, the only thing you like more than sex is the chase.” Tapping her fingers on the tabletop she eyed him intently. “It’s more than that, though isn’t it?”

“It’s business.”

“No.” Isadora shook her head. “You really do feel something for her and instead of admitting it, you’re hiding behind duty and obligation. I’d say you’re being a stubborn ass. Still feeling the pain from when that Vivian woman told you to piss off?”

“Hardly,” Asmodeus said with as much boredom as he could muster. Yet, the truth of her words cut deep. Vivian had rejected him and cut him out of her life and the life of their son, who he’d only recently reconnected with.

“Well, Vivian was human and wasn’t exactly wrapped right. But as we know, Kai is not human, at least not entirely, and the girl seems to have her shit together. Seems to me you’re fucking up an opportunity to end up with a woman who can handle you and all the baggage that comes with you.”

“You always were direct, Isadora. I used to think it was one of your best qualities.” Asmodeus shook his head and laughed, but his smile faded as Kai’s sweet face drifted into his mind. He wanted her. He wanted Kai more than any woman he’d encountered—even more than Vivian. Perhaps it was because she didn’t fall at his feet and hop right in bed with him. But whatever the reason, he knew now that he could never have her.

His plan to seduce Kai in order to get the ring had vanished the instant he saw the horrified look on her face in the kitchen—when she saw who he truly was and it repulsed her. His brows knitted at the memory of the sheer terror in her eyes and the way she scrambled out of the house to escape him.

She only came here with him because she was scared and confused and had no other options. Being with him was a last resort and basic survival instinct. She’d leave him as soon as she had another option—just like Vivian had—and he wouldn’t blame her. Kai was the embodiment of innocence and light and he... well... he wasn’t.

His resolve had weakened briefly when Kai pressed that beautiful body against him. He’d almost taken her right then and there on the Harley, but her latest revelation had stopped him cold.

Asmodeus was taking Kai’s light—her soul. Every time he touched her, she was losing a little bit of her soul to him, but the most terrifying thing was that he wasn’t trying to do it.

All members of the Brotherhood had no aura—no soul. Demons were empty vessels waiting to fill up on the souls of the damned. They did it every day when a new batch of tormented sinners arrived in the Underworld and it was where they got their power. Yet, when the new day dawned the demons were empty once again. Soulless and dark. They could also absorb the souls of their minions but it was always done with intent.

Asmodeus didn’t know why he was unintentionally sucking her light from her but he knew it had to stop. Kai Kelly was too good for him. She was an innocent with an exquisite, enlightened soul and he was a soulless demon who could bring her nothing but death and darkness.

Kai was not his to take. It was that simple.

“I don’t need to sleep with her anymore.” He squared his shoulders and met Isadora’s questioning gaze. “I had planned to seduce the ring out from under her but after everything that’s happened, it’s not necessary. Fucking her would only be a distraction from my mission.”

“Thanks for the clarification.” Kai’s overly sweet tone, with an edge of go- fuck-yourself, filled the small cabin and Asmodeus’ gut clenched. “At least I can take sexual harassment off my list of worries.”

Kai had heard everything he said. Shit.

Unmoving, he sat in the chair as the sound of her bare feet padding along the floorboards whispered through the air. Adorned in one of Isadora’s nightgowns, she made her way around to the other side of the table.

She was beautiful. Her blond hair, combed off her face, was still wet from her shower and though the thin cotton nightie covered her, it did little to hide the tempting curves of her breasts and hips. Without sparing him a single glance, Kai sat in the chair opposite him and kept her attention on Isadora, who was in the process of pouring her a cup of tea.

“Glad to see you’re back in the land of the living,” Isadora said as she pushed the ceramic teacup across the table. “Drink this. It’ll give you a little more pep.”

“Isadora has found two spells she can try that might get the ring off.” Asmodeus rose from his seat and went back to the window. Not because he was really worried about anyone being out there at the moment, but because of the look on Kai’s face. She looked at him like she hated him and given the circumstances it was just as well. He held her challenging stare and kept his voice even. “We need to do this as quickly as possible.”

“No.” Kai’s voice, clear and calm, filled the small cabin.

“What?” He turned slowly and glared at her. Anger flickered up his back and the tattoos on his arms burned. “No to what?”

“No to all of it.” Kai sipped her tea and those big brown eyes stared boldly back at him over the edge of her teacup. “Even if I could take it off, I’m not giving the ring to you or anyone else.”

“Kai, you must give me the ring.” Asmodeus’ hands balled into fists at his side. “You have no idea the kind of power it has.”

“So why don’t you tell me?” Kai placed her teacup on the saucer and pulled her feet under her on the chair, making herself comfortable. “So far, all I know is that the Brotherhood and the Fae want the ring, but I still don’t know why.”

“The less you know about it, the better it will be for you.” Asmodeus turned his back on her. Hands on his hips and staring out the window, he wrestled with just how much he should tell her. “All you need to know is that as long as you wear it, your life is in danger.”

“You may be a demon but you’re also a macho dickhead.”

“Maybe.” He spun around and met her defiant glare. “But I’m the only thing standing between you and a very unpleasant ending with the Fae and the rest of the Brotherhood. Dickhead or not. I’m all you’ve got, sweetheart.”

“I can take care of myself. I was on my own for quite a while before you came storming into my life and, if memory serves, I’m the one who knocked Ben unconscious. Not you.” Her dark eyes flashed and the lines in her forehead deepened. “I may not know how to use whatever power I’ve got but I’m a quick study. I’m not some stupid little girl you can simply command and, in case you forgot, this ring is the only thing I have left from my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother?” Isadora interrupted. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned both hands on the end of her cane and glanced from Asmodeus to Kai. “Asmodeus failed to mention that to me... “

“I found the ring in a crate in the attic of my grandparents’ house.”

“All by itself?” Isadora asked skeptically. “Just rollin’ around in there?”

“Well, no. It was with some pictures of my grandmother with my mother when she was a baby.”

”There’s more,” Asmodeus interrupted. “On the outside of the crate it said, Custodians of the Light.”

”Son of a bitch. I didn’t think they were real.” Isadora’s eyes widened and she leaned back in her chair as she continued to stare at Kai. She shot Asmodeus a look that could kill. “You could have saved us a whole lot of damn time if you’d told me this when you got here.”

“I’d never heard the term before,” he said evenly.

”Yes,” Isadora said with a weary sigh. “Well, I have.”
Isadora muttered under her breath and waved one hand over the Book of Spells, which promptly closed with a loud clap. Seconds later it flew through the air onto the mantle and back in its usual spot. Asmodeus noted that Kai observed the entire thing with obvious fascination but no fear.

“Your aura burned orange when you used your magic,” Kai said quietly.

“Not surprised you see auras or that the ring won’t come off, and all of that is just the tip of the iceberg for you, young lady.” Isadora looked at Kai with a serious expression. “You are a Custodian.”

“What?” Kai laughed out loud and rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“According to the stories I’ve heard, Custodians of the Light are exactly what the name says. They guard the light from the darkness.” Isadora jutted her chin toward Asmodeus but kept her attention on Kai. “More specifically, Custodians are on earth to be sure the demons don’t submerge the world into chaos. Then again, it could also have something to do with the Power of Light that the Fae have. Not sure about the witch connection. Hell. I’m not sure about any of it.” Isadora let out a sigh. “Except that you are quite a unique, young woman.”

“But—”

“Could your mother see auras?”

”Yes.”

”What about your grandmother?”

”I—well, I don’t know. She died when my mother was very little and she could barely remember her. My mom hadn’t spoken to my grandfather since she married my dad.”

“Not surprised.” Isadora nodded. “So your mother could see auras and spoke with you about it?”

“Yes.” Kai nodded. “But she didn’t want anyone else to know about it and discouraged me from telling people. My mom flipped her lid when I opened up my tarot shop.”

“Well, if she’d never really been taught about the gift, then her wariness of it makes sense. Sometimes a small amount of information is worse than none at all.” Isadora glanced at Asmodeus. “You say the pictures you found were of your grandmother. Was she wearing the ring in the pictures?”

“No.” Kai shook her head and looked at the ring before turning her attention back to Isadora. “I—I don’t think so. But on the back of one of the photos, it said, my sweet Katherine the next Custodian. Katherine was my mother.”

“Mm-hmm.” Isadora’s aged hands gripped the top of her cane tightly. “Your grandmother must have been taught by another Custodian, probably her own mother, but died before she could pass it on.”

“Kai’s grandmother couldn’t have been wearing the ring,” Asmodeus interrupted. “The Brotherhood would have felt it, the way we did when Kai put it on. We wouldn’t even have known the ring had been found if it stayed in that box.”

“Mm-hmm.” Isadora pursed her lips. “Anyone else ever wear this ring?”

“Once.” Asmodeus ran a hand over his face and let out a weary breath. “After it was relinquished, I tossed it into the sea and thought that was the end of it.”

“Clearly not,” Kai said as she held up her right hand.

“Your grandmother must have been taught by someone who told her that she shouldn’t wear the ring.” Isadora twirled her cane between her hands as a thoughtful look consumed her. “Was there any kind of altar in your grandparents’ house?” Isadora jutted a thumb toward the mantle. “Something like this? A place she might have used for worship or to practice her magic?”

“No.” Kai shook her head. “Nothing like that. To be honest there was barely any evidence my grandmother existed, except for the crate I found in the attic. I obviously shouldn’t have put the ring on but I didn’t know.”

“Obviously.” Asmodeus smirked but his expression hardened quickly. “I should have brought the ring to the Underworld when I took it from Solomon but I won’t make the same mistake twice. You will give it to me and I’ll take it back where it belongs.”

Kai shook her head. “No.”

“It has to be given willingly, doesn’t it?” Isadora murmured with a far off look in her eye. “And it obviously didn’t get stuck on old Solomon’s finger.”

“No, it didn’t and yes, it has to be given willingly.” Asmodeus flicked his attention to Kai. She was staring at the ring and running the tip of her finger over the face of it. The sad look in her eyes made him want to smash all the furniture in the room. He cleared his throat and turned his gaze back to Isadora. “Or the bearer has to be dead.”

“Dead?” Kai’s head whipped up and her frightened eyes met his.

“She’s an innocent,” Isadora snapped as she pushed herself up from the chair. “The Brotherhood can’t harm her.”

“I’m not that innocent,” Kai said with a laugh as she avoided Asmodeus’ gaze. “I’m not a virgin.”

Asmodeus’ eyes burned as he wrestled with the gut instinct to punch something at the mere mention of Kai having lovers. It was stupid and he knew it, but it didn’t make it less true. He loathed feeling jealous over such a ridiculous idea and yet, he couldn’t help himself. What a revolting development.

“That’s not the kind of innocence we’re talking about,” Isadora said. “The point is that your soul is pure. You aren’t corrupted by evil so the Brotherhood can’t harm you.”

“No, we’re not supposed to be able to,” Asmodeus said quietly without taking his eyes off Kai. “But the minions can get to her and so can the Fae.”

“What the fuck is a minion?” Kai asked in a barely audible whisper.

“Humans who can be forced to do a demon’s dirty work,” Isadora said. She made a sound of derision and shuffled toward the stove. “Worst of the worst.”

“And we now have only twenty-four hours left before Lucifer sends the rest of the Brotherhood, with the help of their minions, to retrieve the ring. I talked him into giving me some time to get it on my own, but he’s notoriously impatient and the son of a bitch may not even wait. The only thing that might buy us more time is that the power of the ring is somehow masking our location. Lucifer was complaining about it yesterday but if I know my brothers, they’ll find us eventually.” He strode to the table, leaned both hands on the scarred wood surface and brought his face even with Kai’s. Her sweet scent, a mixture of lilacs and soap, filled his head and threatened his composure. “Both the Brotherhood and the Fae will take this ring with or without your cooperation. Dead or alive. Now do you understand?”

“You never answered my question.” Kai kept her eyes on him, meeting his challenge. “Why are the Fae and the Brotherhood so interested in the ring?”

Asmodeus’ jaw clenched as he wrestled with how much to tell her. What would she do if she knew the true power it held? Would she use it against him and the rest of the Brotherhood? Before he could make the choice, Isadora made it for him.

“According to legend, the Ring of Solomon has the power to control the Underworld,” Isadora said in a quiet, almost reverent tone. “Isn’t that right, Asmodeus? Or, more to the point, that ring has the power to control the entire Brotherhood. Combine that with the fact that you are more than likely a Custodian... Kai Kelly, you can quite literally, command Hell.”

Kai’s complexion paled as her dark eyes filled with fear and something in Asmodeus’ chest squeezed as he watched her wrestle with all that was being thrown at her. He pushed himself away from the table, needing to put some distance between them.

“That’s why Ben wanted it?” Kai’s voice wavered as she looked away and wrapped her hands around the teacup. “He wants it so he can control all of you and command Hell?”

“Yes. The Fae would love nothing more than to have the Brotherhood as their slaves.”

Kai sat up in her chair as she looked between the two of them. “Why haven’t Ben and the other Fae come after us?”

“The ring may be masking your presence from them as well as from the Brotherhood, and Isadora’s cloaking spell is also hiding us. Limiting the use of my powers will also help keep us off the radar, so to speak.”

“The girl’s right,” Isadora murmured. “Fae can find others of their kind easily. Especially one like Kai, one that isn’t trained to control her power or contain it. You may be hidden here in my home but it’s surprising the Fae didn’t find you before you arrived.”

“Control Hell?” Kai said in a rush as she stared at the ring. “I can’t control anything. Until I put on this damned ring and Asmodeus came riding into my life, I never shot freaking light beams out of my hands. Control? This is the most out of control I’ve felt in my life and that’s saying something.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I wish my mother was here.”

“So do I.” Isadora patted Kai’s hand reassuringly. “It’s a damn shame your grandmother died before she could teach your mama.”

“My mother knew about the ones with no light.” Kai wiped her tears away. Her chin tilted and her voice was edged with an icy chill. “She warned me about the Dark Ones like Asmodeus. No aura. She said they would take my powers and leave me a shell of myself.”

“That’s interesting,” Isadora said quietly. “I wonder how she would know about them if no one taught her?”

“She was right.” Asmodeus swore and turned his back on her, unable and unwilling to subject himself to that accusing look in her eye. “I have no soul and if you stay with me much longer, neither will you. We will find a way to get that ring off your finger, I will take it back to the Underworld and both of us will go back to our lives.”

“Hold your horses, mister.” Isadora’s exasperated tone drifted over his shoulder. “This ring is more connected to Kai than it has been to anyone else. It has to be. Think about it for a minute. Asmodeus, you said that Solomon had no trouble removing the ring and handing it over. Right?”

“Correct,” Asmodeus replied.

“That’s not the case for Kai, is it? The ring seems to have bonded with her— as though it’s a part of who she is.”

Asmodeus nodded but kept his back to them.

“You’re not going to get that damned thing off her hand until you find out more about her kin and the Custodians of the Light. We have to find out who trained your grandmother.”

“My family is all dead and gone, Isadora.” Kai’s voice, weary and edged with sadness tugged at Asmodeus, making him feel like an even bigger shithead than he already did. “All I have is that big old house in Idaho.”

“Yes, I know.” Isadora nodded as she shuffled toward her bedroom. “Be right back.”

The door shut with a soft click leaving Kai and Asmodeus alone. Absolute quiet filled the room but he could feel Kai’s eyes on him, studying him. He glanced over his shoulder and to his surprise Kai was standing behind him.

“I’m not giving up the ring, Asmodeus. Not yet.”

He turned so that they were facing one another. His initial instinct was to tell her again what a bad decision that was but he refrained. It might have been because of the determined look on her face or the intelligent glint in her eyes, but he found himself unable or unwilling to argue with her. When he said nothing, she continued.

“I have a proposition for you.” Kai inched closer, the thin fabric of the white nightie doing little to conceal her womanly curves. She was just inches from him but her warm energy wafted over him in subtle, erotic pulses. “If you’re interested?”

“I’m listening.” Asmodeus kept his hands at his sides, his fingers twitched, eager to grab the nightgown and strip her body bare but he resisted. He fleetingly realized that while he wanted Kai more than any woman he’d met, she was the first woman he refrained from sleeping with. Talk about a fucking ironic turn of events.

“Help me find out who my family really was. Who I am.” Her large dark eyes were locked with his as she inched closer, just a breath away. “I thought I was alone. This ring could be the key to finding out who I am—or who I’m supposed to be— please don’t rob me of that.”

Surprise filled him as Kai’s soft, warm fingers grasped his and her thumb ran over his knuckles in gentle, reassuring strokes. A touch he suspected was meant to reassure but all it did was inflame his desire for her. Between the pleading tone of her voice and the achingly tender brush of her flesh against his, he was lost.

“I have no desire to control you or the Underworld.” Kai’s gentle tone tugged at him. “Please. Help me get some answers. Maybe once I have more information and know about this whole Custodian thing, the ring will come off.”

The feel of her soft fingers in his nourished and enticed him, but with each second Asmodeus knew he was doing her more harm than good. He looked down at their joined hands, her delicate fingers tangled with his much larger ones, and saw that she was right—her aura flickered over his skin. The tattoos on his arms tingled with energy—her energy—and even though he wanted to pull her into his arms and breathe her in, he yanked his hand from hers.

With each touch, he was taking a little bit more from her. How long before it started to harm her? How many times could he touch her before he took it all?

“Fine.” Asmodeus nodded his agreement but didn’t miss the wounded look on her face when he recoiled from her touch. He folded his arms over his chest and stepped back, increasing the distance between them, even though he wanted nothing more than to cradle her in his arms. “We’ve got twenty-four hours to get you your answers. Then I get the ring and take it back to the Underworld.”

She opened her mouth to respond but the bedroom door opened, causing Kai to jump. Asmodeus spun around, instinctively shielding Kai’s body with his and though several ideas of who or what would be standing there flickered through his mind, the sight before him wasn’t one of them.

“Holy shit,” Kai breathed. “Isadora?”

“In the flesh, child.”
Isadora was no longer old or wrinkled but the young beautiful witch Asmodeus had bedded so many years ago. Long waves of raven hair fell to her waist and her hourglass figure was swathed in a black dress reminiscent of days gone by. The only feature that remained the same was those glittering green eyes.

“How did—what the heck?” Kai stepped out from behind Asmodeus and stared with amazement. A huge smile covered her face. “You’re gorgeous... and young.”

“Yes, but it’s only temporary. I typically use this spell when I’m feeling frisky. As you can imagine, it’s far easier to get laid when I look like this.” Isadora winked and moved to the stove. She grabbed two bottles from the shelf and made quick work of filling them with potion from one of the pots. “If you think I’m going to take the two of you to the Witches Council looking like an old hag, well you’ve got another thing coming.”

“What are you talking about?” Asmodeus’ patience was running thin. The only race who disliked demons almost as much as the Fae were the witches. The Brotherhood had Satan to thank for that one. “Why the Witches Council?”

“Here take this.” Isadora handed Kai one of the bottles but slipped the other in the pocket of her dress. “This is one of those just-in-case potions. When you drink it, you simply picture where you want to go and there you’ll be. Always good to have an emergency transporter potion in times like this—it’s also untraceable for about six hours. So whoever or whatever is after you won’t know where you’ve gone and it’ll give you a head start.”

“I thought you were working on potions to remove the ring?” Asmodeus asked with mild irritation. “Shouldn’t we try that before resorting to a visit to the Witches Council?”

“One of ’em was for the ring but based on the Custodian factor, it won’t do a lick of good. I made the transporter potion too. You two are on the run, after all. Aren’t you?”

Isadora pushed Kai toward the bedroom.
”I left you some clothes on the bed. Go change and then we’ll get going.”

Kai didn’t move but kept staring at Isadora, fascinated by the dramatic transformation.

“Answer me, Isadora,” Asmodeus pressed. “Why do you insist on taking her to the Witches?”

“Kai’s got witch’s blood in her along with the Fae. Since going to the Fae for help would probably end badly, it makes sense that we start with my people. If anyone is going to know more about the Custodians, it’s the Witches Council. Those bitches are even older than me. We’ll start there and, as long as you behave yourself, I’m sure the High Priestesses will keep their spells to themselves.”

“What the hell?” Kai said with a shrug as she headed to the bedroom. She cast one last glance at Asmodeus. “I’ve got nothing else to lose.”

As the door closed behind her, he couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong she was.

Chapter Eight

Standing in Isadora’s kitchen, wearing an outfit that could only be described as gypsy attire, Kai fiddled with the potion bottle in the folds of her skirt. The white, off the shoulder, peasant blouse had a delicate embroidered design along the edges and tied perfectly at the waist. The navy skirt with silver charms stitched around the hips fell almost to the floor and jingled when Kai walked.

She hoped that she wouldn’t have to sneak up on anyone because it would be impossible in this get-up. Even the sandals she wore had silver charms around the ankle.

While it wasn’t an ensemble Kai normally wore, Asmodeus must have liked it because he had barely taken his eyes off her since she came out of the bedroom.

Asmodeus didn’t look so bad himself.

Isadora had given him a fresh pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that fit his well-sculpted torso like a second skin. The tattoos snaked over the thick muscles of his arms and disappeared beneath the edge of the sleeve seductively. She couldn’t help but wonder where the rest of it went. Kai had to force herself not to stare at him like the sex-starved woman she was.

She’d never thought about sex this much in her entire life and chalked it up to the fact that he was the Demon of Lust. Too bad he was doing his best to avoid touching her or looking at her. Nothing will kill a girl’s ego like rejection, and to be turned down by the Demon of Lust had to be some kind of landmark moment. Wonderful.

“Take my hands,” Isadora said as she stepped between them. “Close your eyes and keep your breathing even. No matter what happens don’t let go of me until I tell you to.”

Asmodeus flicked his gaze to Kai as she closed her eyes. With Isadora’s smooth hand in hers, Kai fought to keep herself calm. As silence filled the room, she started to wonder if anything was going to happen... and then Isadora began to chant.

Goddesses of Wind, hear my call.

Take the faithful to the Witches Hall.

Fly us to the sacred spot beneath.

Where no children cry and no women weep.

Along the secret path no mortal can trace.

An oasis hidden under the mountain’s face.

Isadora’s voice, low and soft, whisked around them like a summer breeze and as she spoke, the ring burned against Kai’s flesh. Isadora repeated the chant three times and as she completed the third cycle, a snap of electricity flickered over Kai’s skin and in a flash the world was spinning as the floor vanished beneath her feet.

Kai felt like she was flying in a cool tunnel of darkness but the journey ended as quickly as it began. With a teeth-rattling jolt, the floor was solid beneath her again and a cool, damp wind blew her skirt around her legs. Shuddering and sweating, feeling like she’d just been tossed around in a tornado, Kai kept her eyes squeezed shut and for a moment she thought she might be dead.

Seconds later, she felt someone grab her by the shoulders and shake her, calling her name but the voice sounded so far away. A large hand cradled her face as hot flesh seared against her cheek and her body burned from the inside out. Everything felt heavy, as though she was being sucked into quicksand. Kai wanted to dig her way out, to fight the thick, suffocating air but her arms seemed as though they were made of lead.

A man kept calling her name. Asmodeus?

She wanted to shout back to him, to tell him that she was right here, but it was an effort in futility. As his voice drifted further and further away, Kai tried to scream but no sound came as she tumbled into the abyss.

***

Kai felt like she was floating on a cloud. She smiled as she snuggled deeper into the ridiculously soft blankets and pillows. The soothing scent of lavender filled her head and she let out a satisfied sigh as memories of her childhood home in Vermont flickered through her mind. She was home. This bed felt just like home. Kai hugged the body pillow and kicked off the covers so she could wrap her leg around the pile of blankets.

The sudden sound of a deep, baritone voice ripped Kai out of her reverie and back to her twisted reality.

“I’m not going anywhere and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off.”

“Are you threatening me, demon?” Replied an unfamiliar female voice.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Asmodeus?” Kai murmured.

Her eyes flew open as she shot up in the bed and looked wildly around the unfamiliar bedroom. The cavernous space looked like the set for a historical drama. Kai was sitting in a massive four-poster bed with a white, gauzy canopy overhead. The bedding was sage green and white silk and there were enough goose down pillows to suffocate a small army.

Tall, ornate windows framed with panels of velvet were to the right. The windows lined gray stonewalls and directly across from the bed was a floor to ceiling fireplace with a roaring fire. Kai got the distinct impression she was in a castle.

Asmodeus was standing in front of the flickering flames, eyes glowing and arms folded over his chest, looking every bit the demon he was. All he was missing was a set of horns. Isadora and two women Kai had never seen before were standing in front of him looking less than pleased. They all turned to look at Kai when she spoke up but Asmodeus remained where he was.

“She’s finally awake,” said the tall blond woman. She was rail thin and probably close to six feet tall. Wearing a Renaissance era gown made of red velvet trimmed in gold roping, she stared at Kai with cold, blue eyes. “You’ve seen that she’s fine. Now be on your way, demon. Isadora should know better than to bring one of your kind here. Willow will be less than amused and you might find yourself at the wrong end of one of her spells.”

“The name is Asmodeus,” he said with a growl. “And Willow can complain all she wants but I’m not going anywhere without Kai.” He locked eyes with Kai and quickly added, “And the ring.”

Kai’s heart squeezed in her chest as he swiftly corrected himself. Just the ring. That’s all he wanted. Once he got the ring, he’d be gone and she’d be alone. Again.

“Don’t be such a bitch, Rosalyn, and Asmodeus, keep your boxers on. Rosalyn is full of as much piss and wind as you are.” Isadora, still looking young and beautiful, pushed past the two women and came to Kai’s side. “How are you feeling, Kai?”

“I—what happened?” Kai held the covers to her chest, even though she was still fully dressed, she felt insecure and exposed. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Larrun Mountain in France.” A small woman with short red hair stepped forward and gave Kai a warm smile. Her emerald green dress was similar in style to the blonde’s, but made of satin. It covered her petite frame perfectly and matched the green in her wide-set eyes. Her voice was edged with an Irish brogue. “Technically we’re deep within the mountain. I’m Alisha, by the way. Rosalyn and I are secretaries to the Witches Council.”

“What?” Kai looked at the windows and pointed. “If we’re inside the mountain, how can I possibly see the sunshine or the sky?”

“It’s a spell.” Asmodeus crossed around to the other side of Kai’s bed but kept his burning gaze on the three witches. “Like their appearances, what you see isn’t what you get.” His tone softened and his eyes flickered back to blue when he turned his attention to Kai. “You fainted as soon as we arrived and have been passed out for half an hour.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Isadora asked.

“I—I’m not sure.” Kai’s eyebrows knit together as she tried to recall the jumbled memories. “We were in Isadora’s house and then it felt like we were flying but then the floor was under my feet again. Asmodeus, I remember feeling your hands on my face... “

“It doesn’t matter,” Asmodeus interrupted, his tone both urgent and impatient. “What’s done is done. How long until they will see us?”

“It matters to me.” Kai shot him an irritated look.

“Not surprised you fainted,” Isadora said with a reassuring pat on Kai’s leg. “The first time you travel that way can be a doozy. I puked after my first trip and Rosalyn almost wet her pants.”

“Enough,” Rosalyn snapped. Hands clasped behind her back, she stood at the end of the bed looking at Kai like she was a bug that needed to be squashed. “You aren’t a full-blooded witch and that’s probably why your reaction was so extreme. Could be the Fae blood causing the trouble or her human blood. What a mess.”

“Rosalyn,” Alisha said in a reprimanding tone. “She’s our guest and a friend of Isadora’s.”

“Yes. A friend who is wearing the Ring of Solomon.” Rosalyn’s eyes flared with anger and sent a chill up Kai’s spine. “She doesn’t even know what to do with it. All that power and little knowledge will add up to nothing but trouble.”

“I have no interest in controlling Hell,” Kai shot back. She hated being bullied and that’s exactly what this witch was trying to do. Kai sat up and pushed the covers aside while glancing briefly at Asmodeus. “I am, however, interested in learning how to control whatever powers I have, finding out what it means to be a Custodian of the Light, and figure out why this damn ring won’t come off my hand.”

An odd tingling sensation flickered over Kai’s flesh as all the tiny hairs on her body stood on end. Anger and frustration clawed at her and a funny buzzing sound filled her head as she broke out in a sweat.

“Kai?” Asmodeus’ tone was quiet. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

“Why?” Kai’s hands balled into fists as heat crawled up her back and the ring burned against her skin. She slipped off the edge of the bed as all three of the witches took a step back but Asmodeus moved closer, his body heat pulsing over her in thick waves. “I want answers but I keep fainting like some old lady,” she said with a nod in Rosalyn’s direction. “And this broad’s attitude isn’t helping.”

“She needs to learn some control before she hurts someone.” Rosalyn’s face paled and she inched closer to Alisha as she glanced between Kai and Asmodeus. “Do something about her, Isadora.”

“Why are you acting like you’re afraid of me if I’m just some Fae-witch mutt?” Tingling heat throbbed in Kai’s chest as her impatience grew. “Aren’t you the ancient powerful witches?”

“It’s not you,” Isadora said in a calm, even voice. She nodded toward Kai’s hands. “It’s the ring. We have no idea what you can do with it or what it can do with you.”

“I’ve seen what she can do,” Asmodeus murmured as he continued to inch closer. “And so has she. That fairy man is probably still passed out in the barn.”

“Oh shit,” Kai whispered.

Her heart pounded in her chest like a jackhammer as stomach-churning power pumped through her veins. Kai glanced down at her hands and saw that her aura glowed bright red and the ring was engulfed in a blinding layer of white light that was slowly spreading over her fingers. She swallowed hard and fought the fear that crept in and, just when she thought she was going to lose it, Asmodeus loomed largely in front of her.

“Look at me, Kai,” he said firmly. Red eyes gleaming beneath a dark furrowed brow, his huge frame towered over her. Most anyone else would probably have been frightened of this larger than life man but seeing him there, with his calm, commanding presence, Kai was actually relieved. “Steady your breathing and focus all of your energy on me.”

“What is he doing?” Rosalyn hissed.

“What he has to do,” Isadora murmured.

The women were saying something else Kai could barely hear them. Their voices faded away, as though she and Asmodeus were the only ones left in the room. Keeping all of her attention on him, staring into his resolute expression, Kai knew he was an immovable force. Strong. Steady. Unrelenting. Somehow, looking into that ruggedly handsome face, she knew everything would be okay.

Unable to speak, afraid that weird light might come flying out of her mouth and incinerate everyone, Kai nodded. Asmodeus raised his hands, with his palms facing her and encouraged her to do the same. Shaking with an energy that was barely contained, Kai lifted her quivering hands and while saying a silent prayer, laid her palms flat against his.

The instant their flesh touched, a streak of lightning whizzed beneath her skin and the buzzing in her head grew louder. She watched with fascination as her bright red aura flickered up his arms and engulfed him with astonishing speed. The white light on the ring crept over the red and began to soften the glow.

Kai focused on slowing her breathing down and tuned into the thundering beat of her own heart. Bit by bit, and with every pump of blood, her body cooled and the glow around them fluttered to a pale yellow. The buzzing in her head subsided and the hint of a smile played at Asmodeus’ lips as his eyes flickered back to blue.

“Better?” He asked as he dropped his hands, breaking their connection.

“Yes,” Kai murmured, looking him up and down. She stepped back to get a good look at him, unsure if she what she was seeing was real. “Whoa.”

“What is it?” Asmodeus peered at her warily.

“Even though I’m not touching you... Asmodeus you still have an aura.” Kai pointed at him and a smile spread over her face. “It’s faint but it’s there. You have a—”

Just as the words escaped her lips, the soft yellow light around him flickered and went out. It was as if someone came along and blew out a flame.

“I can’t have an aura if you’re not touching me,” he said quickly. “It’s not possible.”

“Damn it,” Kai growled in frustration. She cocked her head and squinted but still nothing. “It’s gone.”

“It was probably just some residue from helping you channel the energy of the ring,” Asmodeus bit out. He turned his back on Kai and faced the three witches, who Kai had practically forgotten were there. “How soon until Willow and the rest of the Council will see us?”

The three women were staring at Kai and Asmodeus as if they’d just sprouted horns. Rosalyn and Alisha looked frightened, but Isadora was obviously intrigued.

“I will have to see them first,” Isadora said. She tossed her long raven hair over her shoulder and winked at Kai. “Nothing those three bitches love more than a little ass-kissing. You two stay here and I’ll come get you when it’s your turn to pucker up. Give me about an hour.”

Rosalyn opened the massive mahogany door and held it as Alisha and Isadora whisked out into the hallway. She started to leave but stopped just before closing it. Rosalyn’s long, bony fingers lingered on the brass knob as she leveled a wicked gaze at Kai.

“In case you were thinking of wandering off, we’ve bewitched the room. You can’t leave until we come retrieve you. It’s for your own safety.”
Rosalyn slammed the door and Kai heard a lock slip into place with a sickening thump. She ran to the door but just as she reached it the entire door vanished, and Kai found herself pounding on the rough, cold stones of a wall.

Chapter Nine

“Damn it,” Kai hissed. She spun around and leaned against the cool stones as she locked eyes with Asmodeus. Her stomach flip-flopped as those blue eyes studied her intently. “Looks like we’re not going anywhere right now.”

“No.” The muscles in his chest flexed and his hands curled into fists. “Not yet. But believe me, if I wanted to get us out of here I could.”

“So why don’t you?” Kai folded her arms over her breasts, the charms on her skirt jingling as she moved. “I’m not so sure I trust anyone other than Isadora.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we see the High Priestesses and find out what they know.”

“You mean, if they know.”

“They know something.” Asmodeus looked away from her and went to the fireplace. Staring into the flames and leaning both hands on the enormous mantle, his body was taut and tense. “Did you see the way Rosalyn and Alisha reacted to the fact that you’re wearing the ring? Believe me, they’re privy to information we need but I’m running short on patience and we’re running short on time.”

The amber light of the fire flickered over his long, powerful body making him look as though he himself were on fire. Silence settled between them as she thought about the way he absorbed her aura and wondered why he didn’t have one to begin with.

“Asmodeus?” Kai pushed herself away from the wall and the charms on her skirt jingled. Slowly, she closed the distance between them until she was only a few inches away. “Why don’t you have an aura?”

He didn’t look at her but his entire body stiffened and the ropy muscles of his arms bulged as he gripped the mantle tighter. The log in the fire crackled and snapped as the flames ate away at it and it reminded Kai of how it felt when the power of the ring surged through her.

“I have no soul,” he murmured. “You asked me once, what kind of childhood I had. Well, I didn’t. The Brotherhood—all seven of us—we were created specifically to deal with the souls of the damned.”

Kai stared at him in stunned silence. How could this man believe he had no soul? He’d shown her nothing but kindness and protected her. It made no sense.

“I don’t believe it,” Kai said firmly. She stepped closer, the heat of his body mixed with the fire and washed over her enticingly. Breathing in his masculine scent, she moved her body so the fabric of her skirt brushed against his legs. “Not a chance.”

“What you believe is irrelevant,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“You saved me, Asmodeus.”
Kai trailed one finger along his forearm and the moment her flesh met his, his body flinched. She smiled as the yellow light of her aura flickered over his arm and engulfed him even faster than before. Kai paused for a moment but when he didn’t pull away she continued. “How can you think you don’t have a soul?” Kai murmured as the pad of her finger whispered against the crook of his elbow and followed the path of the tattoo, the hair on his arms rasping temptingly beneath her skin. She inched closer, her nipples poking through the thin fabric as they brushed against him. “You could have dragged me back to the Underworld or called on some minions to kill me and take the ring... but you didn’t. You’ve protected me, shown me kindness and patience. You may be a demon, Asmodeus but you aren’t soulless.”

“Yes, I am.” Asmodeus pushed himself away from the mantle and spun to face her. He loomed over her, muscles straining, hands clenched, looking feral and dangerous but Kai held her ground. “Demons—the Brotherhood—we feed on the souls of the damned. Every day, when a new flock of pathetic, cursed creatures come through the gates of Hell, we are there to greet them. I fill up on their energy like a spiritual leech and when a new day dawns, I’m empty again, waiting to feed on the next batch.”

“Then why do you get an aura when I touch you?” Hands on her hips, her chin tilted at him defiantly, she got right in his face. “And why does it scare the shit out of you? What’s the matter?” Kai poked him in the chest but he didn’t budge. “Afraid I’ll take your demon juju away and rule your world with this stupid ring?”

“No, you impossible woman,” Asmodeus growled. He leaned close, almost touching her. His mouth hovered a breath away from hers as his deep, gravelly voice surrounded her. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you. Every time I touch you, I’m stealing a little bit of your soul. Don’t you understand? I’m feeding on you—on your soul. You should be running in the other direction and remember the warning your mother gave you about the Dark Ones.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Asmodeus.” Kai barely recognized the husky, needy sound of her voice. She leaned in and gasped as her sensitized nipples brushed against him and heat pooled between her legs. Her entire body throbbed with desire and unsatisfied lust. “And the last thing I want to do is stay away from you. In fact, all I can think about is touching you. Maybe it’s because you’re the Demon of Lust or maybe it’s because you’re the single most attractive man I’ve met. But whatever the reason... I want you, Asmodeus.”

Kai slid her hands up his arms and draped one leg around his, the charms on her skirt tinkling in the air like angelic music. She pulled her body tighter against him and the growing evidence of his desire, but his arms remained at his side. His body tensed beneath her touch and the ring burned against her flesh as the flames of desire consumed her.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” Kai whispered against his cheek, the stubble on his chin creating delicious friction against her lips. “Touch me. Please, Asmodeus. I want to feel your hands on me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled.

“Then don’t deny me the one thing I’m asking for.”

Arms still at his side, Asmodeus leaned back and looked her in the eye. His square jaw was set and two red slashes glowed at her beneath a dark brow. His erection throbbed against her stomach and Kai felt as though every single nerve ending in her body was primed and ready to explode. She held her breath and for a split second, she thought he was going to shove her away as he had before.

Not this time.

In a blur, his mouth crashed to hers and Kai let out a sigh of pure pleasure as their tongues met. He tasted like sin, sex, lust, and all that goes with it. Kai moaned as his strong hands slipped beneath the edge of her blouse. His hot flesh seared against her as his long fingers splayed against the small of her back and branded her as his with every stroke.

It was a frenzy of lips, tongues, and teeth, as they tasted one another with all the pent up frustration from the past twenty-four hours. Kai held his head in both hands, angling so she could delve deep. His tongue teased along hers, demanding and taking everything she had to give.

Without breaking the kiss, Asmodeus scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Paying thorough attention to her mouth, he laid her down and settled his much larger body over hers. Kai moaned contentedly as the hot, hard length of him settled between her legs in just the right spot.

He suckled her lip and kissed the corner of her mouth before placing both hands on either side of her head, as he held himself above her.

“You are beautiful, Kai Kelly.” The deep and seductive tone of his voice, combined with the lustful look in his eyes, made her shiver. A wicked grin cracked his handsome face as he ground himself against her with just enough pressure to make her gasp. “There’s only one way you could be even more exquisite than you are now.”

“Oh really?” Kai breathed as she arched against him, itching for more. More of his touch. His taste. More of him. She wanted to lick and nibble every sinful inch of him. Kai smiled as she ran her hands up his arms and along the tattoo before slipping her fingertips beneath the edge of the t-shirt sleeves. “How?”

“When I make you scream,” he whispered between kisses along her throat. Kai shivered in anticipation, her body taut and ready, she turned her head giving him access to the sensitive skin. “I want to make you come, Kai. So tell me what you like.”

Kai wanted to answer him but she couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel. Her body hummed with energy, with life... power. With every kiss, stroke, and whisper of flesh against flesh, Kai was more alive than ever before.

As he trailed kisses along her collarbone and his hands encircled her waist, she knew Asmodeus wasn’t taking her soul. If anything, he was nourishing it.

Rising to his knees, he straddled her on the soft, billowy bed as he removed her peasant blouse. A low growl rumbled in his chest when he set eyes on her bare breasts and the sound of it made Kai shiver.

He needed this as much as she did.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered as he trailed his fingers over her breasts and rasped the pad of his thumb across her erect nipples. “Soft, curvy and womanly.”

“And yours for the taking,” Kai murmured.

She sat up and kissed him again, pleasure whisking over her as her breasts crushed against his chest and the cotton of his t-shirt rasped over her sensitized nipples. His hands cradled her head with breathtaking tenderness as she slid her fingers beneath the edge of his t-shirt. Kai moaned against his mouth as the muscles of his back rippled beneath her hands. Impatient, wanting to feel his flesh against hers, Kai shoved his shirt up and sighed as their bodies met.

Asmodeus tossed his shirt aside and flipped onto his back, pulling Kai on top of him. She sat on the hard, pulsing evidence of desire and writhed against him as their tongues tangled, but it wasn’t enough.

She needed—no had to have more.

Reaching between them, Kai undid the button of his jeans but he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away before she could claim him. He arched one eyebrow and slowly shook his head as he gave her that wicked grin.

“You first,” he whispered.

Asmodeus sat up and captured her lips with his before she could protest. Wrapping one strong arm around her waist, he held her against him as he moved to the edge of the bed. Kai locked her legs around his waist and her arms linked around his neck as she kissed him. Her fingers threaded through his dark hair as she teased the edge of his tongue with hers. Kai nipped his lower lip as one large hand found her breast and squeezed.

With Kai wrapped around him, Asmodeus stood from the bed and carried her over to the long bank of windows. He set her down on the wide stone ledge before stepping back and leaving her panting.

“What are you doing?” Kai asked as she trailed her index finger over the hard planes of his defined abs. She grabbed the waistband of his jeans with both hands and pulled him back to her but Asmodeus ensnared her wrists, again shaking his head.

“It seems you can’t behave yourself, Ms. Kelly.” Standing in front of her, he positioned himself in between her open legs. The skirt was hiked up to her waist, but fabric spilled over and covered the top half of her thighs. “I’m going to have to make sure you keep your hands to yourself.”

Kai gave him a puzzled look and gasped when he urged her backward and the skin of her back met the cool glass of the window. He held her arms out to the side so they were pressed against the drapes that framed the window. Asmodeus slipped each of Kai’s hands beneath the silk, tasseled ropes that tied back the curtains, clearly wanting to use them to his advantage.

Her entire body hummed with anticipation. Asmodeus held her gaze, while he took his time securing her wrists and tightening the ropes. Kai shivered as she watched and took in every wicked inch of him. If sex could become a person—it would be definitely look like him.

His broad, muscular chest was covered in a dusting of dark hair that tapered down and disappeared beneath the unfastened button of his jeans. Every single bit of his body was built to satisfy a woman—and he’d been with countless women. For some bizarre reason that fact didn’t bother Kai because somewhere deep in her gut, she knew this unusual man was made to be hers.

Asmodeus placed a tender kiss at the corner of her mouth and whispered, “They’re not too tight are they?”

Kai, her breath coming in short, quick gasps, said nothing but shook her head as she wiggled impatiently. She hooked her legs around him and grinned as she pulled him toward her but once again he shook his head. With surprising tenderness, his hands rested on her thighs as he pushed them apart gently. He stared at her as his talented fingers found their way beneath the folds of the skirt and whispered up her legs.

He captured her lips as he brushed his thumbs along the tender flesh of her inner thigh and kept moving upward until her reached her hot, wet center. Kai let out a gasp as his thumbs flicked over her clit and he grinned against her mouth.

“That’s the spot,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Kai breathed. “That’s it.”

”There?” He asked wickedly as he ran one finger along the center of her damp panties. He applied more pressure to the tiny nub as he flicked her nipple with his tongue and scored it gently with his teeth before moving to her other breast. “Or there?”

With her hands tied out to the side, the cool glass against her back and his hot, wet mouth on her bare skin, Kai’s body was on fire, burning from the inside out. She’d never been more turned on or in a more erotic situation in her life and she never wanted it to end.

Asmodeus dropped to his knees and pulled her backside to the edge of the stone windowsill and the movement pushed her skirt up, baring her pink panties to the cool air. Panting and squirming with need, Kai watched as hooked his hands over her legs and trailed kisses up the inside of her left thigh. She spread her legs more, wanting to give him better access to what he surely desired.

Her aura glowed over both of them with an even brighter intensity than normal and she had no doubt it was fueled by her desire for him.

Pulling her panties aside with one finger, he blew tantalizingly on the swollen, sensitized flesh and looked up at her with glowing eyes. Hands still tied, Kai wiggled her bottom toward him, her hands flexed and her fingers curled as she begged to touch him and just when she thought she’d scream with frustration... he dove deep.

His hot mouth covered her and Kai screamed as his tongue flicked back and forth over her clit. His arms, hooked over her thighs, held her down as he mercilessly continued his assault, tasting her and teasing her to the edge. With each lick and suckle he’d bring her closer but ease off just before she hit the peak.

Shuddering with wave after wave of white-hot pleasure, Kai screamed his name, begging for more. Asmodeus plunged his tongue into her over and over and suckled her clit until the toe-curling orgasm ripped through her.

Limp and completely satisfied, Kai rested her head against the glass and fought to catch her breath. Body quivering, she kept her eyes closed for a moment to try and regain her bearings. Her eyelids finally fluttered open as Asmodeus untied her wrists and she let out a short laugh as he placed her hands into her lap in an almost business-like manner.

“I’d say you’ve earned the title Demon of Lust,” Kai said through heavy breaths as she sat up and pulled her skirt down to cover her legs. He walked to the bed and retrieved their shirts, which would have been fine if it felt like he hadn’t been avoiding looking at her. “Asmodeus? What’s wrong?”

“You should put this back on,” Asmodeus said flatly as he handed her the peasant blouse without sparing her a glance. Her aura light still lingered over his body. “Right now.”

He stalked over to the fireplace and she finally got a glimpse of the rest of his tattoo. The chain of circles went up both arms, across his shoulders and there was a bigger circle at the center with some kind of design in it. But he pulled on his t-shirt before she could get a good look at it.

“Asmodeus?” Kai hopped off the ledge, her legs still felt rubbery so she leaned against it as she put her shirt back on and tied it at the waist. “Look at me.”

“They’re coming back,” he said without turning around. “I can hear them down the hallway so put yourself together. We’ll be going before the High Priestesses any minute.”

“Okay, fine.” Kai looked at the wall where the door used to be and then back to him as dread clawed at her. “Why won’t you look at me?”

Silence stretched out between them as he refused to answer her. Kai stormed over to him and grabbed his arm as she spun him to face her. Her heart sank when she saw the cold, detached look on his face.

“What is it, Kai?” Asmodeus folded his arms over his chest and leveled a questioning gaze at her. A bored tone edged his voice. “I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?”

Kai flinched and she stepped back as though he’d struck her and he may as well have. The words and his suddenly cold demeanor hurt as much as any punch in the gut would have—maybe more. An empty, aching feeling radiated through her chest as she gaped at him. As she struggled to make sense of his behavior, the light around Asmodeus flickered and went out—leaving him dark once again.

“Why are you acting like this?” Her voice was barely audible. She wrapped her arms around her chest in an effort to keep from shaking, but it was no use. “I don’t understand. Two minutes ago we were—”

“We were doing something I’ve done with countless women over several millennia.” His voice, flat and unfeeling, cut through her like a knife. His brow furrowed and something that looked a lot like regret flickered briefly over his features. “It was just sex. That’s all.”

She searched his eyes for answers. Why was he doing this? Why would he be loving, tender and passionate one minute and then cold and cruel the next? Given everything they’d gone through together, the least he could do was be kind. But what did she expect? Kai scolded herself and hugged her arms tighter. Did she think this man—this demon—was going to run off and spend his life with her?

How could she be such a fool? Kai had never been the type of woman who could separate her libido from her heart, and she hadn’t realized until just this moment that Asmodeus had a hold over both.

Anger, hurt and confusion filled Kai and without thinking about it, she hauled off and smacked Asmodeus across the face with her right hand. Hard. The force of the blow shimmied up her arm and rattled her hand. She grimaced as the iron band of the ring practically broke her finger but Asmodeus didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Nothing. Kai stilled and looked from her hand to his face. The ring hadn’t burned him.

“Asmodeus,” Kai murmured in an almost reverent tone as she turned her wide eyes to his. “The ring didn’t burn you.”

The crease between his brows deepened as he flicked his attention to the ring and then to Kai. He ran his fingers over his cheek as he held her surprised stare. “Come to think of it, it didn’t hurt you when we were... “ Kai trailed off and blushed as she took a step backward, needing to put some space between them before finishing the thought. “... when we were fooling around.”

The two of them stood there staring at one another and though they were only a few feet apart, it felt like much further. Everything was changing faster than Kai could keep up with, and the one thing that had been keeping her sane was thinking she had Asmodeus in her corner.

Until now.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he murmured. Asmodeus reached out to take Kai’s hand but she tucked it in her pocket. His brow furrowed and the muscles in his jaw clenched when she avoided his touch. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“No.” Kai shrugged. “Doesn’t feel very good does it? Feeling confused and not knowing which end is up—it sucks. I have no idea why this stupid ring doesn’t burn you anymore. I also don’t know why you’ve suddenly turned into Mr. Freeze. But there’s one thing I do know.”

“What’s that?” He asked quietly.

“You may not be human,” she said through trembling lips, “But you sure can be hurtful like one. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though, should I? My mother said the Dark Ones would hurt me ... didn’t she? I guess she was right after all.”

He opened his mouth to say something just as a crackling noise erupted behind Kai. She spun around to see the door once again materialize in the wall and a moment later, Isadora opened it with a big smile on her face but it vanished as soon as she set eyes on the two of them.

“Shit,” Isadora sighed and looked the two of them up and down. Shaking her head, she held the door open and gestured for them to come with her. “Leave you two alone for a little while and all hell breaks loose. Not sure if you’ve been fucking or fighting—or both—but you better put your bullshit aside. The High Priestesses are ready to see you.”

“Let’s go.” Kai nodded and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she swept to the door without giving Asmodeus a second glance. She stuck her right hand in the pocket of her skirt and fiddled with the ring as she gave Isadora a strained smile. The cool bottle of the travel potion clinked against the ring and gave Kai a modicum of relief. If things got really bad, she could use it to disappear, at least for a while, and she knew exactly where she’d go.

“You okay?” Isadora asked softly as she wrapped her arm around Kai’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m fine.” Kai straightened her back and flicked her eyes briefly to Asmodeus who was watching her intently. “I’ve changed my mind about something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“As soon as we figure out how to get the ring off my finger, I’m giving it to Asmodeus. He can take it and go straight to Hell.”

Chapter Ten

As they approached the massive altar Asmodeus had every one of his senses on high alert. Directly in front of the gleaming, black stone altar, the three High Priestesses were seated upon their thrones, which were made of branches. He’d refrained from using his abilities since he’d gone into hiding with Kai but he was more than prepared to use them here—if necessary.

The Witches Council had a long, tumultuous history with the Brotherhood mostly due to Satan’s on-again off-again affair with Willow, the oldest and highest ranking priestess. For the past millennium, Willow and Satan had been in the off- again phase and, at the moment Willow was staring at Asmodeus as if he was guilty by association.

He subtly took stock of the cavernous Council chamber and noted the only way in or out was the door that they had entered through and, like the door in the bed chamber, this one vanished the moment it closed. The stone walls were covered in thick blankets of ivy and a gurgling stream ran along either side of the flagstone path that led to the altar steps which were made of a series of fallen tree logs.

There were no windows to speak of but at the peak of the vaulted ceiling, there was a bright spinning light that strongly resembled the afternoon sun. However, he knew the environment was enchanted to create this appearance. The sound of birds chirping and frogs croaking floated around him and the entire space made him feel as though they were in a forest instead of deep inside Larrun Mountain.

Kai walked alongside him to his right and hadn’t said a word to him, or spared him a glance, since they left the bedchamber. Not that he could blame her. The smack she’d given him still stung but it wasn’t his face that hurt. The look on her face when he’d rejected her was worse than any punch she could throw, but he knew it was for her own good.

He acted the way he did because it was the right thing to do. He should never have succumbed to his desires and feasted on her body and soul. It was a deplorable lack of self-control and judgment but in that moment, with her beautiful, nubile body brushing against him... he simply could not stop himself.

Carnal lust and his basest desires had taken over. He was lost in the fresh lavender scent of her skin, the silken whisper of her lips and the sweet, honeyed taste of her pleasure as she came apart in his arms.

Yet, after it was over and he saw the weak glow of her aura flickering over her limp form like a bulb about to go out, Asmodeus was horrified by what he had done. He had absorbed an appalling amount of her light and they hadn’t even fully made love. He knew then that he could never have her again—not at all. He had to cut her off and the best way to do that was to make her hate him.

Isadora stopped at the foot of the altar, her head bowed in deference to her leaders, but Asmodeus knew she didn’t really give a shit. It was all for show and to quell their overblown egos, but damn if his old friend wasn’t a good actress.

“My mistresses,” Isadora said in a strong voice. “These are the individuals who are seeking your guidance and knowledge.”

Stepping aside, Isadora motioned for them to approach the altar steps but Kai didn’t move. Asmodeus glanced at her and the frightened look on her face made his chest ache.

“Step forward,” Luna bellowed. The smallest of the three, with pale blond hair that flowed to her waist, she sat on the edge of her throne with an irritated look on her face. “Girl. Come here.”

“My name is Kai.” Kai squared her shoulders and tilted her chin as she walked toward the steps but stopped at the base. “I--I am a Custodian of the Light.”

“We shall see,” Willow said softly.

Asmodeus moved in behind Kai, but kept his eyes on Willow. Her bright red hair was tied back in a long braid and her sharp dark eyes were fixed on him.

“No one told you to approach, demon,” Willow bit out.

“You have no control over me, Willow.” Asmodeus kept his tone even and calm but inched closer to Kai. “I am here to get the ring and return it to the Underworld where it belongs.”

“Ha!” Raven clapped her hands and pulled her feet up on the chair. She linked her arms around her knees and played with the fabric of her purple skirt. Long black hair flowed over her shoulders in thick waves and her coffee colored skin glowed with the illusion of youth. “What makes you think the Ring of Solomon belongs in the Underworld, Asmodeus?”

“Raven, you know the power it possesses.” Asmodeus smirked.

“True.” Raven giggled and her lavender eyes twinkled with mischief. “It will be no fun at all if you get to take it back there. I was kind of hoping the Fae would get their hands on it, but Willow is still so pissed at Satan, that she’d probably give almost anything to—”

“Enough chatter,” Willow, said impatiently. “Kai, Isadora has told us about your unique... situation. I explained to her that I had to see the ring for myself before we could go any further. I have to be sure that you are entitled to the information you seek.” She crooked one long finger at Kai. “Come here.”

“Do as she says,” Luna added tersely.

Kai glanced over her shoulder at Asmodeus but before he could follow her, Luna waved one hand in the air and chanted something under her breath but Asmodeus saw it and countered. The witch wanted to play dirty but he was in no mood.

Asmodeus called on the power deep inside him, heat flashed over his body as he raised both palms. A fireball shot toward Luna and exploded in mid-air as it met her spell. Kai yelped and stepped back, away from the steps but Asmodeus didn’t miss the fact that she was holding her right hand to her chest and it had begun to glow.

Luna swore and rose from her seat but Willow, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Asmodeus, placed one hand on Luna’s arm and urged her to sit. Raven giggled and rested her chin on her knees as she looked between them.

“I suggest you keep your spells to yourself, Luna.” Asmodeus’ voice boomed through the room. “I have no time to screw around and very little patience.”

“Funny,” Willow simpered with a quick look to Kai. “That’s not what I heard.”

“Do you want to see the ring or not?” Kai asked boldly.

Willow waved Kai forward. Taking the steps slowly, Kai’s skirt jingled as she bravely approached the three witches. Asmodeus, his body tense and ready to respond in a blink, watched the scene intently. If any of them attempted to do anything to Kai—he would kill them. Consequences be damned.

The three priestesses rose from their thrones and gathered at the center of the altar platform. Kai stopped in front of them, sucked in a deep breath and held out her right hand, showing them the Ring of Solomon.

All three witches leaned closely but they didn’t speak. Luna, Willow and Raven nodded and, though they weren’t speaking out loud, Asmodeus knew they were communicating telepathically. He looked to Isadora for answers but she shrugged and rolled her eyes as she mouthed the word drama queens.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, they stepped back and clasped hands. Luna and Raven were on either side of Willow and they stared at Kai in silence.

Kai put her hands on her hips before turning around and giving Isadora and Asmodeus a look that screamed what the hell?

“Well?” Kai asked in exasperation. “You’ve seen the ring. Now what can you tell me?”

Luna and Raven reached out toward Kai with their free hands but remained silent.

“They want to connect with your spirit, Kai,” Isadora said.

“They’ll be able to get a better read on you that way.”

“Why didn’t they just tell her that themselves?” Asmodeus seethed. Anxiety flickered up his spine and he inched closer to the steps.

“The three of them are connected by a collective consciousness and if they speak it will break their concentration.” Isadora nodded and waved. “Go on, Kai. It’s okay.”

Kai licked her lower lip and nodded, but Asmodeus could tell that even though she was putting on a brave front, she was terrified. Her delicate hands reached out tentatively and then he saw her suck in a deep breath as she placed her fingers in theirs.

A bright light flashed from Kai and quickly engulfed the four women. A loud humming sound pulsed through the room as the light grew brighter still and became so blinding, that Asmodeus could no longer see Kai but only the outline of her body.

Panic consumed him as he watched her small form get swallowed up. A deep, sonic, bass pulsed around the room like an invisible snake. Whipping around them with incredible speed, the sound became deafening.

Asmodeus took the steps in one leap and dove into the light with little thought about what it would do to him or to Kai. All he knew was that he had to get her out of there.

Heat fired over him and as his hands penetrated the light, they connected with Kai’s shoulders. Blind and deaf from the powerful force, his fingers curled over her and with every ounce of strength he had, pulled her toward him.

He flew back and landed on the flagstone path with Kai’s lifeless body splayed over his. Facedown, her blond hair covered his chest and unadulterated fear filled him when he realized she wasn’t moving. Asmodeus gently laid her on the ground and brushed the hair from her face, holding her hand in his he whispered her name.

“She is a Custodian.” Luna’s voice floated down from the altar. “But she must find her grandmother’s Book of Spells. That is where she will find the answers she seeks.”

“What have you done to her?” Asmodeus whipped his head to face them and he knew his eyes glowed red.

“We awoke the parts of her that were dormant,” Willow answered.

“How do we get this ring off her finger?” he asked urgently, although deep in his gut he already knew the answer.

“You won’t,” Luna said firmly. “Kai will wear that ring for as long as she possesses the light.”

Asmodeus swallowed hard and glanced at Isadora, who looked as bothered by this whole thing as he felt. Kai possesses a light because she’s alive, so if what they’re saying is true... the ring will only come off when she dies.

“Given her Fae and witch bloodlines, this girl will be around for a very long time. My, my, my,” Willow simpered. “I can’t imagine the rest of the Brotherhood will be very happy about that. Can’t have a Fae-witch hybrid running around with the Ring of Solomon on her pretty little hand. What on earth will they do?”

“Don’t you mean what will he do, sister?” Raven giggled. “You know first- hand that the demons never choose a woman over the Brotherhood.”

“Shut up,” Willow spat.

Raven giggled and covered her mouth as she peered at Asmodeus.
He glowered at them because he knew exactly what they were talking about.

The Brotherhood came first. No woman had ever come between them. Willow and Zemi, the Fae Queen, knew that first-hand, didn’t they? Satan and Lucifer gave up the women they loved for the duties of the Brotherhood. If only Asmodeus’ choice were that simple.

He looked into Kai’s beautiful face and the dull ache in his chest grew. She moaned softly as she started to wake up and Asmodeus kissed her forehead as he knelt beside her and held her hand in his.

Walking away from her was one thing and he’d been prepared to do that but that wasn’t even an option anymore.

Asmodeus only had two choices left.

Let the Brotherhood kill Kai to get the ring or fight his own brothers and die to protect her.

Chapter Eleven

Ever since Kai woke up in the Witches Council chamber, her body throbbed with what could only be described as an undercurrent of energy. It felt like a ripple of electricity ran beneath the surface of her skin and she half expected to see little flickers of it coming off her head like one of those lightning lamps they always had at science fairs.

Asmodeus had tried to help her to her feet, but Kai was still pissed and she pulled her arm away, not wanting him to touch her. To her surprise, and everyone else’s, a streak of yellow light ripped across the room, making the ivy burst into flames.

Awkward.

Willow, Luna and Raven insisted that Isadora show Kai how to channel her energy so that she didn’t set the entire facility on fire. In fact, the High Priestesses sent them outside to ensure their secret compound was left unscathed by Kai’s attempts to use her newfound powers. So for the past several hours, Kai had been working on getting the hang of channeling the now ever present energy and so far she felt like a great big dummy.

Asmodeus, the one person she thought she could count on, had turned into a giant, silent, glowering jerk. He’d barely said two words to her since their exchange in the bedchamber, which was ironic. He was pissed at her? That was rich. Wasn’t he the one who went from hot to cold in a New York minute? What right did he possibly have to be upset with her?

Kai glanced over her shoulder at him but he looked away and folded his arms over his chest as though he was keeping a look out for Ben or the Brotherhood. But Kai knew he was doing his best to avoid any contact with her.

Tears stung her eyes as she spun back around and glared at the one, singed pile of hay and the two others that remained totally untouched. So far she stunk at the magic thing—at least when she tried to use it on purpose.

Standing in the middle of a wide, green field that sat between two snow-capped mountains, Kai squinted as she shielded her eyes from the sun. Self-doubt and frustration simmered cruelly as she kicked at the grass, making the charms on her skirt jingle.

“I feel like an idiot,” Kai muttered under her breath. Arms extended, palms facing out, she focused on the haystacks on the other side of the field. “Where are we anyway, Isadora? Aren’t you worried that someone will wander by and see me shooting light out of my hands?”

“This whole area is enchanted,” Isadora said with more than a little exasperation. Lying on the grass, she stretched her arms over her head and images of Kai’s cat Zephyr came to mind. Eyes closed she waved her hands absently. “No one will see you unless I want them to. Think of it as being in an invisible, soundproof chamber in the midst of the great outdoors. However, if you see any sudden or unusual looking rays of light, do let me know.”

“Rays of light?” Kai asked as she continued to try to get her powers to work. “You mean like sunlight?”

“Any light,” Isadora said as he propped herself up on her elbows. “The Fae use beams of light to travel between dimensions.”

“What do you mean between dimensions?” Kai dropped her hands to her side and gave Isadora a quizzical look. “The Fae aren’t in this dimension and what do you mean they use beams of light?”

“Well they hang out here from time to time but the Fae world is in a different dimension. I’ll tell you more later but you’ve got work to do right now.” Isadora jutted her chin toward Kai. “Focus, Kai. Close your eyes and picture that light inside you. That is where the core of your power lies.”

“It’s your soul,” Asmodeus said quietly.

“Well that’s a little dramatic,” Isadora scoffed. “But kind of.”

“Fine,” Kai sighed. She closed her eyes as Isadora instructed and picture her own aura in her mind. “Tell me more about the light and how the Fae use it to travel.”

“Concentrate, Kai.” Asmodeus’ bossy tone drifted over Kai’s shoulder with irritating clarity. “We don’t have time for silly questions and nonsense about the Fae.”

“Oh, really?” Kai turned around slowly and glared at him. Hands on her hips she strode toward him. “I’m so sorry if I’m taking too long to learn how to use magic, you big jerk. Unlike you, I am not accustomed to having balls of light flying out of my skin, so excuse the hell out of me for all of my silly questions,” she said making air quotes. Heat fired over her flesh as her frustration grew. “And the information about the Fae isn’t nonsense, thank you very much, it happens to be a part of who I am and up until yesterday, I didn’t even know that. So give me a break. Okay?”

“Kai,” Asmodeus’ voice was even but firm and he dropped his arms to his sides as she approached. “Be careful.”

“Why?” Kai shouted. Anger crawled up her back as the little hairs on her arms stood on end. Static electricity flickered around her in the air and heat spread through her chest. “Why should—”

As sweat broke out over her flesh, Kai answered her own question. Shaking, she held up her hands and saw the bright, white light of her own aura as it merged with a red glow that emanated from the ring. Her heart rate increased and the air around her suddenly felt thick, as though she was suffocating.

“What’s ha-happening?” Kai asked in a shuddering breath.

“It looks like the High Priestesses did indeed help you tap into your power but you better learn some control. Those bitches cracked the seal but your emotions are triggering the natural defenses of your Fae side,” Isadora said calmly. No longer lying on the grass, she’d moved in to Kai’s left and spoke in soothing tones. “The Fae are known for being highly emotional and witches are deeply connected to nature. It’s obvious that Asmodeus over here is capable of triggering some intense feelings in you but being out here in this natural setting, also seems to be amplifying your powers.”

“I’m afraid to move,” Kai whispered as she held Asmodeus’ now glowing red gaze. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Asmodeus, can you stop it like you did in the bed chamber?”

Asmodeus raised his hands, but Isadora grabbed his arm and tugged it down, preventing him from interceding.

“No,” Isadora snapped. “Kai, you have to learn how to control it on your own. Close your eyes,” she said quietly. Kai did as she was asked. “Good. Now tell me what you’re feeling. Talk us through it.”

“It’s as though there’s a rope of electricity running just under my skin,” Kai said in a shaky breath. She held her hands in front of her, palms facing her belly. “It feels like it’s looking for a way out.”

“Good, child,” Isadora’s voice drifted over her like a comforting blanket. “I want you to imagine that you’re running your hands along the rope, feel it, rushing beneath your fingers. Can you see it?”

“Yes.” Kai’s brow furrowed and sweat beaded on her upper lip as she strained to get control. “But why?”

“Your mind is your most powerful tool and controls all of your magic.” Isadora’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Now…do as I said.”

Kai said nothing but nodded as she did as Isadora instructed. She pictured a beige, rough rope whipping beneath her hands so fast that the palms of her hands actually burned.

“Good. Feel it rasping beneath your fingers and when I tell you to, I want you to grab it,” Isadora commanded. “Now!”

With the image firmly in her mind’s eye, Kai curled her hands into fists and as she did, her body jolted with a surge of power. She gasped as every cell of her body lit up with energy. A humming filled her head and the vibration of power she’d felt since waking up grew stronger but for the first time, it didn’t feel out of control.

“You have it, girl?”

Kai nodded. Body rigid and fists clenched, she grit her teeth as the otherworldly power vibrated through her.

“Good. Turn to your right. Remember those short pine trees?” Isadora asked as Kai nodded wordlessly and shifted her body in that direction. “Good. Now throw it,” Isadora shouted.

Kai threw a prayer to the universe as she tossed the massive surge of energy toward the cluster of pine trees. Heat bloomed in her chest as the prickling rush of power gathered before radiating down her arms and rushing to the target. Kai screamed in triumph as brilliant streams of light shot from her hands and slammed into the trees. A split second later the branches erupted into flames.

Shaking with triumphant, adrenaline and with the ring on her hand throbbing with residual energy, Kai turned to Asmodeus and found herself staring into his glowing red gaze. His broad, muscular body loomed largely in front of her and at first glance, she thought he looked angry but it was something far more surprising---pride.

“What’s the matter?” Kai said breathlessly, as the now familiar energy hummed through her body in an oddly comfortable way. It was as if the energy, at first a separate force, had now merged with Kai and two became one. “Never seen a girl throw ropes of firelight before?”

Asmodeus’ eyes gleamed red as Kai inched closer but before he could answer her question, thunder rumbled and the blackest clouds she had ever seen blew in over the mountain behind him. Asmodeus growled and spun around, instinctively shielding Kai’s body with his.

Black as coal, thick and billowy the odd cloud formation moved at an unnatural speed and as she watched with wonder, the ring burned against her skin like a warning.

Something or someone was coming and they were coming for her.

“What the hell is that?” Kai whispered with a mixture of fear and awe.

“The Brotherhood,” Asmodeus murmured. “They found us.”

A massive clap of thunder boomed through the tiny valley as the dark mass of clouds blotted out the sun and jagged streaks of lightning ripped across the sky. One bright, white bolt after another punctured the ground, scorching it, as though blindly searching for a target. Kai shrieked as the tree in front of them was struck and burst into flames.

“You must have some damn strong magic, Kai, if they found you through my cloaking spell,” Isadora said. “Looks like that ring isn’t masking your presence as much either.”

“You mean they’re in that cloud?” Kai cried with disbelief.

“No.” Asmodeus watched the lighting streaks as they continued to rip across the landscape. Holding Kai behind him and remaining stone still, he linked his large hands around her wrists gently. “The cloud is probe of sorts. Lucifer is using it to pinpoint your exact location. Isadora, we have to get her out of here now. If I use my power, they’ll find her through my energy waves.”

“The transporter potion,” Kai added quickly. “Won’t that give us a few hours?” She turned to Isadora who, to Kai’s shock, had turned back into the old woman she’d first encountered. “Isadora? Are you alright?”

“Go! I’m using everything I’ve got to reinforce this shield,” Isadora shouted. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can. Drink the potion and as you do, think of wherever it is that you want to go. But hold onto Asmodeus or you’ll leave him behind.”

Standing next to Kai, with her hands extended toward the sky, Isadora was chanting something with her eyes closed. Her long white hair whipped violently around her and her aura glowed a brilliant shade of amber. The winds howled around them as leaves and twigs flew through the air like shrapnel while tentacles of lightning continued to strike the ground in search of them.

Kai pulled her arm from Asmodeus’ grasp and reached into her pocket, hidden in the folds of her skirt, searching for the precious elixir. She stumbled as a large gust of wind threatened to sweep her into the sky and she probably would have been whisked away if it weren’t for Asmodeus. Eyes glowing, he linked one arm around her waist, steadying her and Kai breathed a sigh of relief as her fingers curled around the smooth glass bottle.

“I guess you’re coming with me?” Kai asked, pulling the cork out of the bottle with shaking fingers. His hand splayed across her lower back as he held her close, but he said nothing. Kai lifted it to her lips. “Bottoms up.”

The cool liquid coated her tongue and she grimaced from the bitter taste. As Kai drank it all down, one thought filled her head.

Take me to my grandmother’s Book of Spells.

Thunder ripped through the sky and as a bolt of lightning zipped toward them, Kai dropped the bottle before grabbing Asmodeus’ biceps with both hands. Her breath rushed from her lungs as the mountains vanished from sight and blue light whirled around them like a tornado in slow motion. Even though she was frightened, Kai remained resolute as Asmodeus’ glowing gaze locked on hers.

Worried she might throw up or faint, Kai clung to Asmodeus and focused on his unwavering stare. In her peripheral vision she spotted flowing bands of energy in varying shades of blue. A glimmering light of turquoise, cobalt, and navy wrapped around them as the funnel of light swallowed them up and everything fell silent.

A split second later, the lights vanished and a wood floor materialized suddenly beneath their feet. Kai’s hands remained firmly locked on Asmodeus’ biceps as he held her adrenaline-fueled body against his rock hard form. His eyes flickered back to blue but he didn’t loosen his hold on her.

“Looks like the potion worked,” Asmodeus murmured, flicking a glance at Kai’s mouth. His fingers pressed deeper into the small of her back. “You’re safe for the moment.”

Kai nodded as he stared down at her and her cheeks heated when her body immediately responded to his. However, as memories of his rejection came rushing back to the forefront, her lust cooled. Safe was a relative term lately. She might have been momentarily free from bodily harm but her heart was still in danger of getting another lashing from Asmodeus.

Safe? Yeah, right.

“No thanks to your brothers.” Looking away, Kai broke the spell and extricated herself from his embrace. As she stepped away from him, she took in their surroundings in search of the one item she’d wanted to find. “It has to be here.”

“Would you mind telling me where exactly here is?” Asmodeus asked as he squared his shoulders.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Kai said quietly, glancing around the unfamiliar space. “If there was some light, maybe I could actually see it.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when four lanterns flickered to life around the room, casting a dim glow. Kai let out a sound of awe and laughed nervously while looking from one lantern to the next.

“Cool,” Kai whispered. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

“So it seems,” Asmodeus murmured.

“Sacks full of money,” Kai shouted playfully to no one in particular. She looked around expectantly but when nothing happened she pursed her lips and elbowed him playfully. “Oh well, it was worth a try.”

They stood at the center of a dusty room that immediately brought to mind the attic of the old farmhouse but this place was far more interesting. It looked like a small studio apartment, minus the kitchen.

“Not to sound like an ingrate but what do you mean, that you aren’t entirely sure where we are?” He asked. “You were the one who brought us here. Are you telling me you didn’t know where you were taking us?”

“I had something specific in mind.” She shrugged. “What’s the big deal? We got out of there, didn’t we?”

To the far left of the room, there was a railing and what looked like an opening to a flight of stairs that led God knows where. On the opposite side sat a queen size bed adorned with bright, colorful pillows and a patchwork quilt. Years of dust and cobwebs loomed above the intricately carved headboard of the bed and there was a tiny nightstand with a pile of books.

To the right there was a sitting area, complete with a couch, armchair and coffee table. There were no windows and the ceiling was angled, giving the distinct impression of an attic. But when Kai saw what was behind Asmodeus, she let out a sound of awe.

“Look. It did work. “ Wide eyed, Kai tapped Asmodeus on the shoulder and pointed behind him as a smile cracked her face. “When I drank the transporter potion I said I wanted to be taken to my grandmother’s Book of Spells.”

Chapter Twelve

Asmodeus had never experienced real fear before finding Kai and it was not a feeling he wanted to become better acquainted with. His chest was tight with anxiety and tension settled in his back as he looked at the impossibly infuriating woman who, in only two short days, had managed to turn his entire universe on its ear.

He watched intently as Kai surveyed the space and his hands curled into fists at his side and fought the urge to touch her again. The warmth of her body was noticeably absent and he didn’t like it one damn bit.

His jaw set as he realized what a fucking mess he was in. Asmodeus was royally screwed because for the first time in his existence he cared more about someone other than himself. The weight of that realization was unsettling, off-putting, and more than a little aggravating. His existence was far simpler when he only had to worry about ushering the damned to Hell.

When Lucifer’s lightning cloud appeared, nothing mattered to Asmodeus other than making sure Kai was safe. Not his brothers. Not what they’d think of him for sheltering her. Nothing. All that mattered to Asmodeus was assuring Kai’s safety. In that moment, with lightning striking all around them, he knew he would do anything to protect her---even go to war with the Brotherhood.

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he didn’t register what Kai had said until she brushed past him. He turned to find her standing in front of what looked like an altar. It was a table of polished mahogany wood, which had a scrolled design carved into the edges, and the surface was littered with similar objects to the ones Isadora had.

Bundles of herbs, feathers and bottles of various potions ran along the back edge from end to end. Taller than a regular table, it was more like the height of a bar and sitting at the center of it, perched on an easel, was an enormous, well-worn book with a familiar symbol on the cover. It was about four inches thick and had an iron lock, which seemed to be firmly set in place.

Asmodeus recognized the symbol immediately but it was not what he was expecting to see. He thought that Kai’s grandmother’s spell book would be the same as Isadora’s but it wasn’t. This book was embossed with the same exact symbol that was on the Ring of Solomon and tattooed on the back of every member of the Brotherhood.

However, there was one difference. Written in gold letters around the symbol were the words…Custodians of the Light.

Kai ran her fingers gently over the worn brown leather cover and brushed the lock with her fingertip. However, instead of picking the book up like he expected her to, Kai settled her hands on the surface of the table and rubbed absently at the film of dust. Asmodeus stilled but kept his sights on Kai because while he had many questions, he was certain that she had more.

“The symbols are the same,” Kai said quietly.

“Yes. The symbols on the ring and the spell book match.” Asmodeus wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms and comfort her but he refrained because he didn’t think he could stop himself from taking it further. “Don’t you want to open it and see what’s inside? This is what we’ve been looking for. All of the answers are in there, Kai.”

“No.” Kai shook her head and looked up at him, her brown eyes edged with sadness. She titled her head, her blonde hair falling across her forehead, as she whispered, “Not all of them. Turn around.”

Asmodeus’ brow furrowed as Kai’s delicate hands settled on his arms urging him to turn and even though his gut instinct was to resist—he didn’t. His muscles stiffened as Kai stood behind him and slipped her hands beneath the edge of this shirt. He grit his teeth against the seductive feel of her fingertips as they skimmed up his ribcage, pushing the fabric up and exposing his back.

Knowing what she wanted to see, Asmodeus reached behind his head, tugged his shirt off and tossed it carelessly to the ground. Hands at his side, he fought the surge of desire that fired through him as her soft flesh brushed over his. He closed his eyes as Kai traced the design of his tattoo with her fingertips, the heat of her body wafting over him seductively. Asmodeus once again found himself wrestling for control.

He wanted Kai but not just for her body. Asmodeus wanted to possess her, touch her, and claim her in every way possible. The all-consuming need to devour her body and soul was scraping at him from the inside out and threatening his weakening resolve. There was no stopping it because he knew that even now, with the few gentle strokes of her fingers he was taking her light. He didn’t have to see it to know it was happening and quite frankly, he didn’t want to.

It would only remind him of the monster he truly was—A Dark One stealing the light of an innocent.

“Stop,” Asmodeus said, without turning around. “Kai…”

“Your tattoo,” she murmured. Kai inched closer, the fabric of her blouse brushed against his back. His eyes burned red as need and carnal lust fired through him. “I thought it was similar but the one on the ring is so small, it was hard to tell….but it is. It’s the same symbol as what’s on the ring and on the book.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Asmodeus bit out. “The Custodians of the Light have the power to control the Brotherhood.”

“I suppose,” Kai whispered, her voice drifting over him seductively. He stilled when her hands fluttered up his arms and traced the interlocking circles of the tattoo. “This design, the one that leads up your arms to the larger one at the center of your back, it’s a chain. There are seven links. Do these represent the seven of you in the Brotherhood?”

Asmodeus nodded curtly but said nothing. Need fired through him and every inch of him hardened while Kai continued her exploration. No woman had ever inspected him this way, or taken an interest in him beyond the immediate pleasures of the flesh. It was intensely intimate and erotic to have Kai looking at him this closely, to surrender himself and allow her the freedom to discover all that he was.

She was examining the design emblazoned over his back but it was more than that. She was revealing him, exposing him, peeling back the layers of his responsibility. The woman was cracking open the shell that he had dwelled in since time began.

Asmodeus flinched, almost imperceptibly, as Kai’s delicate fingertips trailed around the larger circle between his shoulder blades, the one that matched the ring and the spell book.

“Is that all you believe that you are?” Kai asked quietly. “Just a link in the chain and bound to your duty. With no end and no beginning.”

“It is what it is, Kai.” Asmodeus turned slowly, her hands falling away from his back. “I am bound, for all eternity, to the Brotherhood, and the damned souls that dwell in the Underworld. It’s why I was created. That is my purpose and nothing more.” Without taking his gaze from hers he nodded toward the book. “Speaking of which, you should be getting back to yours.”

The expression on Kai’s face went from sweet and gentle to cold and detached in a split second. Her mouth set in a tight line and she stepped back, increasing the distance between them.

“Fine.” Kai spun toward around and picked up the spell book before slicing an annoyed glance his way. “You can put your shirt back on. I saw everything that I needed to see.”

“Agreed.” Asmodeus tilted his head in deference as she took the book over to the small sitting area. Avoiding his gaze, Kai sat on the couch and inspected the lock. He picked up his shirt and dragged it back on. “It looks like you’ll need a key.”

“I think I’ve already got it,” Kai said quietly as she squinted and inspected the circular indentation on the square lock face. “The ring is the key.”

Asmodeus moved closer and braced himself for whatever came next. For all he knew, the minute she opened that book he could be toast.

“Here goes nothing.” Kai glanced at him and then at the ring as she curled her right hand into a fist. “Maybe you should stand back or something?”

“Concerned for my safety?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “How touching.”

“Do you try to be a jerk or does it just come naturally?”

“Well, I am a demon, you know,” he said playfully.

“Whatever.” Kai tried to suppress a smile but the glimmer of one lingered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She let out a slow breath and whispered, “Here we go.”

Kai held the thick binding of the book with her left hand and as her face twisted into a mask of concentration, making a fist, she pressed the ring into the lock and turned it to the right. The distinct sound of a lock opening echoed through the dark space, and a smile cracked Kai’s face as the square iron panel fell open.

“Holy shit,” Kai breathed. “It worked.”

With great care, Kai lifted the cover of the book and a crackling sound filled the room as the binding of the book groaned in protest. Asmodeus, fairly certain he wasn’t going to erupt into flames, moved closer as curiosity got the better of him.

“May I?” Asmodeus asked, gesturing toward the book.

“Sure.” Kai shrugged and dropped her hands into her lap. “Go ahead.”

Asmodeus sat next to Kai on the couch. He moved to pick up the book but as his fingers grazed the binding, the cover snapped shut and the lock clicked firmly back into place.

“Ha!” Kai sat up and pointed at him. “Looks like you’re not allowed to touch it.” She unlocked it again, flipped to the first page and held it open with both hands. “Let’s see what this dusty old book can tell us.”

“I would love nothing more than to find my existence is tied to you instead of the souls of the damned,” he murmured and at first didn’t realize that he’d said those words out loud. But as Kai’s smiling brown eyes latched onto his, it was clear he had. “Kai…what does it say?”

“Right,” Kai sighed looked back at the book. “But don’t go anywhere and leave me here alone, okay?”

“Never,” he whispered.

She nodded and turned her attention back to the book. He resisted the urge to brush her hair over her ear and slide his fingers along the nape of her neck. Keeping his hands to himself, Asmodeus realized that dwelling in the Underworld was a walk in the park compared to this torment.

“It’s hard to make out,” Kai said. “It’s so faded and the pages are so old, I’m afraid it might fall apart.”

She ran one finger over the first page and squinted as she leaned closer, trying to decipher what was written. He leaned in, wanting to feel the weight of her body against his, even if it was only for a moment.

Seven Custodians will complete the circle.

She who wears the ring holds the light for the dark.

“That’s weird.” She nibbled on her lower lip and inched closer to the book. “It says for the dark not from the dark.”

Keeping her voice even, she continued reading.

When the circles of seven are dark no more, the prophecy will be fulfilled and keepers of the damned will roam the earth.

Kai let out a sound of frustration.

“So, let me get this straight. I’m a Custodian of the Light, right? But it says she who wears the ring and my grandmother never wore the ring but she was a Custodian too, wasn’t she? But according to this prophecy, if you guys get light from the Custodians, then you’re free to walk earth. So would that mean there would be Hell on Earth?”

“It would seem so,” Asmodeus said quietly. “When you put on the ring, it must have set this prophecy in motion.”

“Awesome.” Kai let out a sharp laugh. “So I’m all that’s standing between Hell and Earth? Well, not just me. It says there are seven custodians but who knows where the other six are.” Her brow furrowed. “But wait a minute. Why is it a big deal for you to walk the Earth? You’re here now and you’ve been to Earth before.”

“Yes, but with limited abilities and for a finite amount of time and not all seven of us at once.” Asmodeus’ mind raced as he tried to calculate what all of it meant. “The Brotherhood has always been tied to Hell and to the souls of the damned. Our visits to Earth are brief and we must always return to the Underworld. I’ve never heard of any prophecy that would allow us to come here freely.

“What if you don’t return to the Underworld?” Kai looked at him with curiosity. “You said that you get three month passes here once every hundred years, so what if you stayed longer than that?”

“I would cease to exist.”

“So, what? You’d just vanish?”

“Yes.”

“That sucks. Then if all seven of you get filled up with light from the Custodians, then the Brotherhood could roam the Earth with no restrictions?” Kai asked. “Does that mean that the damned would come with you?”

“Possibly. But none of this happens without taking your light,” Asmodeus murmured. The fearful way she looked at him filled him a looming sense of dread. He looked at his arm as it brushed along hers and noted the faint glow that crept over his flesh. “Even now, I’m taking your light from you.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“But if I take it all, you won’t be.” His voice dropped to barely audible tones as the weight of the truth settled over them both. “If I take all of your light then you will die.”

Asmodeus went to stand up, to increase the distance between them, but Kai grabbed him and pulled him back down next to her.

“Just hang on a second. I feel fine so I must have a lot of light or whatever.” Kai slowly let go of his arm. “You’re not hurting me when you touch me and I think we established how much you weren’t hurting me when we were back in that bedchamber.” The smile faded from her eyes. “Well, not with your touch. Your words, however, they hurt like hell.”

“It is for the best.” He straightened his back and kept his voice cold. He didn’t miss the pained expression that flickered over her face as he abruptly changed the subject. “Let’s see what else it says, but be quick. We have less than six hours until that spell wears off and we can be detected again.”

Kai’s mouth set in a tight line and she nodded as she turned back to the book. He knew she was upset and hurt by his rejection, but he kept telling himself it was what had to be done. Careful not to allow his body to brush hers any further, he looked back at the book. Asmodeus’ attention was immediately captured by a list of names at the bottom. All seven members of the Brotherhood were listed and next to each of their names was a number.

Asmodeus was number one.

“There has to be a spell in here that can take off the ring so I can give it to you.” Kai said as she ran her finger down the page. “I mean…” She stopped abruptly and her finger halted at his name. “Asmodeus. Lucifer. Satan. Mammon…this is the Brotherhood. Wait. There are numbers next to the names. Maybe it’s like an index or something, or a chapter listing.”

A knot formed in Asmodeus’ stomach as Kai flipped to the next page and he saw his name emblazoned across the top in jagged lettering and beneath it was the Roman numeral one.

“It’s a bunch of spells.” Kai flipped quickly through the next several pages. “But these ingredients aren’t exactly going to be easy to find. Something tells me that Wal-Mart doesn’t carry mudbugs or any of this other stuff.” She leaned closer. “Although, I do recognize some of the herbs and flowers. So maybe I’m not a total loss as a witch or whatever I am.”

There were spells for everything that someone might need to control a demon, or more specifically, control Asmodeus. He flinched when he saw one that clearly had to do with his ability to get a hard-on. He paled, hoping Kai wouldn’t see it, but she did.

“This particular spell could come in handy if you get out of line.” She gave him a sidelong glance and winked. “But since I don’t know how to get the tears of a warlock, you’re safe for now.”

“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” Asmodeus replied as he tried not to look horrified at the notion of being rendered impotent. “But I suppose I will have to be on my best behavior.”

“This isn’t a spell book, it’s more like a hundred and one ways to control a demon.” Kai nudged his knee with hers and lifted one shoulder as she turned the pages. “There’s a section of spells in here for each of you guys. It’s kind of funny actually.”

“How so?” Asmodeus rose from the couch. He was feeling frustrated and confused, which was exacerbated by being so close to Kai. “You are in danger of being taken to the Underworld by my brothers or being abducted by the Fae. This blasted book was supposed to provide you with more information and all it has managed to do is generate more questions. Tell me, Kai. How is any of this humorous?”

“Maybe funny isn’t the right word. It’s…ironic. I wouldn’t have found this book without you, Asmodeus. If you hadn’t taken me to see Isadora, I never would have discovered any of this.” Kai closed the book and locked it before rising from the couch. Her voice was steady and her serious brown eyes met his as she moved around the table toward him. “I think it’s interesting that in order to find the spells that could help me kick your demon ass, I needed you to do it.” She closed the distance between them and stood just inches from him, her skirt brushing over his legs. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“I wish I knew.” Asmodeus kept his hands curled into fists at his side, fighting the waves of desire that rippled through him ferociously.

“Because I was made to be yours,” Kai said seductively. Brown eyes peeked at him beneath a row of dark lashes as her hands settled on his waist. “My whole life I’ve been searching for true love, for honesty and passion, for that one person who would fit with me perfectly and seamlessly. I’d search for it in every aura I read, every light I saw. All this time, Asmodeus, I thought the answers would lie in the light but instead, I found them in the dark.”

Asmodeus remained still as her fingers slipped beneath the edge of his shirt and her thumbs brushed the muscles of his belly. His cock twitched and throbbed when her fingernails rasped along the skin of his waist in enticing strokes. Urgent need fired through him and he growled as he snatched her wrists, tugging her against him. “Stop that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then stop torturing me,” she whispered. Kai brushed her lips over his knuckles as he held her hands against his chest. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore, Asmodeus.”

“You should be,” he rasped. Pushing her away he released her arms and stepped back but the wounded expression on her face just about did him in. “We don’t have much time left before the Brotherhood, not to mention the Fae, discover where we are. I suggest you use that time to find a spell in that book that you can use to protect yourself or better yet, get that blasted ring off your finger.”

“Fine,” Kai seethed. She spun around and snatched the book off the table before storming past him to the bed on the other side of the room. “I don’t even know exactly where here is but sure,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll do my fucking witch-fairy homework.”

“Good.” Asmodeus folded his arms over his chest as she flounced onto the bed.. “But you can relax because I do know where we are.”

“Oh, really Mr. Smarty Pants?” Kai said without looking at him, as she flipped through the first few pages of the book. “Where are we?”

He crossed to the railing along the left side of the room and positioned himself by the opening that led down to a flight of stairs.

“We are on the second floor of your grandfather’s barn.”

Chapter Thirteen

“What?” Kai hopped off the bed with the heavy spell book in her hands and ran over to where Asmdoeus was standing. Grabbing the railing, she peered down the dark staircase. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” He smirked at her with the annoyingly arrogant look that made her want to alternately smack him or kiss him. “I wasn’t certain at first but I’ve picked up on a familiar energy. It seems your cat is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Zephyr?” A grin bloomed over Kai’s face. When she tried to go downstairs Asmodeus’ massive frame blocked her path. Kai glared up at him. “What’s your problem?”

“At the moment, it’s you and your ridiculous habit of running off without taking a moment to think about the consequences.”

“We are under a cloaking spell, aren’t we?” Kai clutched the cumbersome book to her chest and cocked one eyebrow at Asmodeus. “And if you managed to pick up on the fact that my cat is down there, then I imagine if there was anyone or anything else lurking on the property, you would have gotten wind of it. Correct?”

“Well, yes,” he said slowly.

“Then what’s your damage?” Kai let out an exasperated sigh. “Is there anyone else down there other than my cat?”

“Not that I can detect, but—”

“Good.” Kai waved one hand, urging him to step aside. “Then move it.”

Asmodeus didn’t move but continued staring at her with his arms folded over his chest. Kai took a deep breath, struggling for patience. She knew that getting pissed at him would not help because it only seemed to make him dig his heels in more. So she decided on going for the pity card.

“Listen. I know you’re a demon and I may have some witch and fairy blood but really, I’m just a simple human girl at heart. Aside from the fact that my life has been turned upside down, I’m exhausted, I’m starving, and I could use a snuggle,or two, from my cat, especially since snuggling with you isn’t an option. So unless you want me to faint from hunger and accidentally zap your demon ass with white light, I suggest you let me go down there.”

Asmodeus seemed to mull over his options. Finally, after what felt like forever he turned and headed down the steps without a word. Kai followed him down the dark, narrow staircase with the book held tightly against her chest. She heard the lock give way with a dull clicking sound and as Asmodeus pushed the creaking door open slowly, she couldn’t help but hover right behind him.

He stopped in the open doorway and peered at her over his left shoulder with that cocky, lopsided grin. Kai rolled her eyes and nudged him ahead and even though she could tell he wanted to tease her for acting like a fraidy-cat, he had the good sense not to.

They moved quietly through the darkness of the barn but the smell of burnt wood and smoke filled Kai’s nostrils.

They stepped through the jagged, charred hole that used to be the barn door but Asmodeus swung his left arm out, stopping her from going any further. He held one fingers to his lips and Kai, without even realizing what she was doing, curled her hand around his forearm and snuggled closer. A soft glow emanated from both of them as he shared her light, but the night remained quiet, with only the chirping sounds of insects littering the dark.

Asmodeus kept saying that stealing her light was a bad thing, but Kai’s gut instinct told her that it wasn’t. Seeing the shared glow between them actually gave Kai comfort and made her feel like she wasn’t alone. Given the increasing weirdness in her life, being a part of something, or someone, was reassuring. Even if that someone was a six foot, three inch hunk of otherworldly hotness.

Kai was just about to ask Asmodeus if it was okay to move ahead, when the lone mewling of a cat ricocheted across the property from the direction of the house. Looking past the Dumpster that was still sitting by the barn, Kai scanned the moonlit property. It took only a moment to find the source and a smile cracked Kai’s face as she spotted a pair of familiar, luminous eyes staring back at them from the steps of the house.

“Zephyr,” Kai whispered in a strangled voice. Tears stung her eyes as the weight of the past twenty-four hours settled over her. “She’s okay.”

“Go on,” Asmodeus murmured. “But we shouldn’t stay here too long.”

“Thank you.” Kai popped up on her toes and brushed his unshaven cheek with a kiss before running across the yard.

Zephyr met Kai at the bottom of the steps and she immediately began purring like a freight train. Kai placed the book on the stairs before scooping the cat up and raining kisses all over her sweet, furry face. The affectionate moment didn’t last long as the petulant Siamese soon clamored to get down and back to her busy schedule of licking herself.

“Gee, thanks,” Kai laughed as Zephyr hopped from her arms and flounced into the house with her tail in the air. “Nice to see that you didn’t change while I was away.”

“We should go inside,” Asmodeus said. He surveyed the property with the same serious intensity she’d seen at Isadora’s house. “And no magic.”

“Right.” Kai let out a snort of derision as she hoisted the book off the steps and trotted up to the still open front door. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I don’t have any eye of newt handy.”

Kai made a face as she looked at the leaves and other debris that had blown in the house while she was away. “Although I have to admit finding a spell to clean the house would be great.”

She placed the spell book on the dining room table and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was almost four in the morning, but truth be told, she had no idea what day it was and exhaustion flooded her as she ran her finger over the cover of the book.

“There are enchantment spells in there as well.” Asmodeus closed the front door and joined her in the dining room. “Enchantment spells and charms are driven by the spoken word and don’t require potions. I would suggest you familiarize yourself with some of them, as I don’t doubt that they will come in handy for you.”

Kai felt his presence next to her and as the heat from his body drifted over her, she resisted the urge to snuggle against his chest. That’s all she wanted to do. Pathetic, she thought. How pathetic was it to still be drawn to someone who’s made it heartbreakingly clear that he’s not interested.

She recalled what he’d said after they’d fooled around. I gave you what you wanted. The hollow ache of humiliation filled her chest at the memory of it. He’d only been with her out of pity or obligation and to throw herself at him now would only result in more embarrassment. When the Demon of Lust turns you down for sex, the level of mortification is off the charts.

“Kai?” His voice was gentle, tender almost. “Are you alright?”

“No, Asmodeus. I’m not alright and I doubt I ever will be again.” Kai held up her hand to keep him from responding and couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. She was terrified she’d see pity in his eyes and that would probably push her right over the proverbial edge. “You don’t have to say anything and in fact, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. I’m going to grab something to eat and you are welcome to help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen. Then I’m going to take a shower and change out of this gypsy get-up, so I can at least pretend to feel normal. By my count we have just over five hours until our presence can be detected.”

Without waiting for a response, Kai went into the kitchen with Zephyr at her heels while Asmodeus remained in the dining room. She snagged a half full bottle of white wine from the fridge, a hunk of cheese and a box of probably stale crackers from the cabinet. He watched her silently and said nothing as she brushed past him before stopping briefly to grab the spell book.

Her arms full, she stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked at Asmodeus, who stood in the archway of the dining room. Bathed in moonlight from the windows, he looked more desirable and mysterious than ever. His serious gaze peered at her with their trademark intensity while he studied her. Arms at his sides, the muscles of his biceps twitched almost imperceptibly as he bowed his head in deference.

“I’ll figure out how to get this ring off my hand and then you and I can go our separate ways.” A smile played at her lips. His body was tense, poised and ready to strike at whatever enemy might come calling, but the smile faltered as she realized who it was he would likely have to fight. Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I’m sure the last battle you want to have is with your own brothers. Asmodeus, I’m sorry for any trouble that I’ve caused you and it’s glaringly obvious that I never should have put on this ring. It’s turned both of our lives upside-down but I’m going to try and make it right. Then you can go back to the Underworld and I can take a stab at a normal life. Who knows? Maybe I can find a nice fairy man to settle down with? Someone who won’t mind if light beams shoot out of my hands.” She let out a curt laugh. “I wonder if there’s a dating site for freaks like me.”

Without waiting for him to respond she trotted up the creaking staircase and ran down the hall to her bedroom. Kai shut the door behind her with her foot but not before Zephyr slipped into the room and hopped onto the queen size bed. Kai placed everything on the quilt next to the cat before scratching her ears.

“What the hell am I going to do?” Kai murmured. Zephyr peered at her through bright blue eyes and meowed loudly. “That sounded a lot like, you’re-screwed. Well, a glass of wine and a hot bath may not get the ring off my finger but it might help clear my head.”

Kai peeled off her clothing and tossed it on the rocking chair in the corner before grabbing the bottle of wine and going into the adjacent bathroom and running the bath. The massive claw foot bathtub filled quickly and she let the water get hot enough so that it was almost unbearable.

She snagged a glass off the bathroom sink and poured most of the wine into it. Kai took a sip and sprinkled in some foaming bath salts she’d brought with her from home before sinking into the water on a sigh.

She breathed in the heavenly lavender scent as it filled the steamy room. Kai closed her eyes and draped one arm over the edge of the tub, as she allowed her weary body to be enveloped by the scented water. She sipped the rest of the wine as she replayed the events of the past day over and over in her head but questions about the Fae kept coming to mind.

It didn’t make sense to Kai that the Fae would harm her. Wasn’t she one of them? In that moment Kai decided that if she couldn’t find a spell that would remove the ring, then she would convince Asmodeus to ask the Fae Queen for help.

It was true that Ben had tried to take the ring but he’d been alone.

Kai drained the rest of the wine and placed the empty glass on the little wicker table by the tub. She squished bubbles between her fingers as she ran over everything in her mind, as if focusing on a mundane motion like that would help clear her head.

What if Ben was acting entirely alone? All this time they were operating under the assumption that the entire fairy world was after the ring but if that was the case then why hadn’t any others come after them?

The more Kai thought about it, the more sense it made that Ben was acting on his own. What if Ben wanted the ring so he could control the demons and then use them to overthrow the Fae Queen?

“That’s it!” Kai sat up quickly, sending water sloshing over the sides of the tub. “I have to find out if that’s true. We are running out of options and time, so Asmodeus is going to have to put his bullshit with the fairies aside.”

She hoisted herself out of the tub and stepped out on to the plush bathmat. Soapy water dripped over her naked body and she shivered as the cold air drifted in through the open door from the bedroom. Kai yanked a towel off the rack but when she reached over to close the door, she found herself staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes. And they didn’t belong to the cat.

Asmodeus stood in the bedroom and was staring at Kai in all her soapy, naked glory. She probably should have shrieked at him in outrage and covered herself up.

But she didn’t.

Holding his stare, Kai slowly straightened her back as his heated gaze lazily slid over her nude form from head to toe and back again. The towel slipped from Kai’s hands and as it fell silently to the floor, the only sound she heard was the thundering beat of her heart as it hammered in her chest. She tried to control her breathing, so she wouldn’t sound as turned on as she felt, but that was an effort in futility.

No man had ever seen her this naked or exposed. In every other intimate relationship she had, Kai would insist the lights be off during sex. She’d try to cover her nakedness whenever possible, always making the mad dash for the towel.

But not with Asmodeus.

Kai wanted him to see her. She wanted to show him every single part of herself and share herself with him in every way a woman could know a man. Even though the reality of doing that terrified her, it empowered her as well.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Kai asked in a husky and almost foreign sounding voice. Her body shivered but not from the cold. It was the hungry look in Asmodeus’ eyes that had her blood humming. “Asmodeus?”

“Yes,” he murmured in a deep, barely audible tone. “You should cover yourself.”

“Why? You could leave. Couldn’t you?” Kai shrugged casually, even though she was freaking out on the inside. “You already rejected me twice and have made it crystal clear that you don’t want me, so what does it matter if you see me naked?”

“You think I don’t want you?” Asmodeus strode toward her as he spoke, slowly and deliberately making his approach. Kai’s heart beat faster with each step he took and the ring burned against her flesh as desire flared hard and fast. He stepped through the doorway of the bathroom moving closer until he stood just inches from Kai. His massive frame crowded her in the small space but Kai held her ground. “You cannot possibly fathom the torment I feel when you’re near me.”

“Oh I think I do.” Kai tilted her chin defiantly and gritted her teeth against the surge of lust that fired through her, as her nipples brushed along the rough fabric his shirt. “Given the fact that you have repeatedly pushed me away, I’d say that I’m an annoying pain in the ass who frustrates you and the faster we can get you this stupid ring, the better off we’ll be both be. Then I’ll be free to go find a guy who won’t find me so…frustrating.”

“You do frustrate me but not for the reasons you’re thinking.” His voice, low and seductive, curled around her. It mixed with the lavender scent and Kai grew dizzy with need. He trailed one finger along the soapy flesh of her arm as he spoke, and Kai gasped when his other hand slipped along her waist and down the curve of her hip. “How could you possibly think that I don’t want you? What I feel for you goes far beyond wanting. It is my own personal Hell to be near you and not touch you, and even though I know I could be hurting you, I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s selfish… and it’s wrong.”

Asmodeus brushed his lips across her forehead as one strong hand curled around the back of her neck. Kai’s eyes fluttered closed, his gentle, but insistent touch making her weak with wanting.

“And if you mention the mere notion of being with another man,” Asmodeus pulled back, his heavy lidded gaze locking with hers as his fingers pressed against the flesh along the nape of her neck, “I can’t be held responsible for what I would do to any fool who would make the egregious error of trying to touch you.”

“Oh really?” Kai cocked one eyebrow as her hands found their way to the edge of his t-shirt. “That’s a pretty bold statement, not too mention chauvinistic and possessive. What on earth makes you think you have the right to feel that way?”

“I don’t,” he rasped. Asmodeus’ left hand cupped Kai’s ass before sliding along the slick flesh of her thigh and hoisting her leg over his hip. He tugged her against the steely evidence of his desire and growled, “But you were right, Kai…you were made to be mine and only mine.”

In a blur, his mouth crashed onto hers and any ounce of self-control either of them had evaporated like steam on the mirror. His tongue, hot and demanding, tangled with hers as Kai lifted his shirt, exposing the defined muscles of his chest. He broke the kiss briefly as he took it off and tossed the offending garment aside.

Kai let out a shuddering breath, her breasts crushing against the firm planes of Asmodeus’ chest. Capturing his lips with hers, Kai reached between them and fumbled with the button of his jeans before unzipping his fly and releasing him. Kai moaned as he licked and suckled her lips while the hot, heavy weight of his engorged cock settled into her eager hand.

Asmodeus let out a growl as Kai worked the smooth, heated flesh in the palm of her hand. He kicked off his boots, stepped out of his jeans before making a sound of pure pleasure. Wrapping his arms around Kai, he held her naked body against his like he would never let her go.

It was tempting and forbidden to finally succumb to the lust that burned between them ever since the moment they set eyes on one another. But in that instant it wasn’t just about sex. It was about reveling in the exquisite pleasure of skin rushing against skin and one soul touching another. Kai didn’t care what Asmodeus said. He had a soul and she saw it every time she looked in his eyes.

“This can’t be wrong,” Kai whispered as she trailed kisses down his throat and tightened her grip on his steely shaft. Asmodeus threw his head back while she ran her hand up and down the hot length of his erection.

Dropping to her knees, her hands settled over his narrow waist and her thumbs brushed over the enticing v-shaped muscles that led to a dark nest of curls. Kai peered up at Asmodeus as he tangled one hand in her long hair. He peered at her through glowing, red eyes and trailed one finger along the curve of her cheek. Holding his gaze, Kai ran her tongue over the rigid length of his cock before wrapping her lips around the swollen head.

He swore as Kai held the base and took him deeper with each long, slow stroke of her mouth. His entire frame was taut with restrained need and with every pass, she sensed him creeping closer to the edge. Her own body throbbed with desire and as the aching between her legs grew, she knew there was only one thing that would satisfy her.

Asmodeus, knowing exactly what she needed, linked his arms around her biceps and pulled her to her feet before kissing her deeply. He tasted like pure, unadulterated lust and Kai couldn’t get enough. He tilted her head, rushing his tongue along hers before trailing hot, wet kisses down her throat as he cradled her head lovingly. Kai gripped his broad shoulders with both hands as he slid his hand between their naked bodies and backed her up against the edge of the sink.

Kai moaned when Asmodeus’ talented fingers found her most sensitive spot and began to move. As he rubbed the tiny nub in slow, deliberate circles, Asmodeus lifted his head and captured Kai’s gaze with his. Moaning, she bit her lower lip as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through her and brought her to the edge. A cocky grin cracked Asmodeus’ face as he slid two fingers inside her hot, wet channel in a slow, deliberate pass.

Kai gasped when he took his time and applied sweet, torturous pressure in all the right spots. Grabbing the edge of the counter, Kai threw her head back as he held her hip with one hand and massaged her pussy with the other. As the beginning of an orgasm coiled deep inside her, the glow around their bodies bloomed and in that moment she knew what they both needed.

“Fuck me,” Kai gasped. Sitting up, she took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. “I want you inside me when I come,” she murmured against his lips.

Asmodeus’ strong hands cupped her hips as Kai wrapped her legs around him. With his intense blue eyes locked on hers, Kai reached between them and positioned the head of his cock against her swollen entrance. Kai guided the engorged length of him inside and as he filled her inch, by wickedly delicious inch, the light around them throbbed in pulsing strobes.

Gripping his shoulders their bodies joined, Kai trailed her tongue along his lower lip as Asmodeus pumped his hips with one, long, deep pass after another. Muscles straining, his tempo increased and he pounded into her time and again, rubbing against her clit with each quick, deliberate stroke. Kai’s fingernails dug into his back and as the sweet, torturous orgasm crested, they cried out in unison as the world around them erupted with a flash of light.

Chapter Fourteen

It went without saying that Asmodeus had lots of sex in his day, but all of it paled in comparison to what he’d shared with Kai. He’d pleasured women before and had been pleasured in return, but it was limited to the flesh. What happened with Kai could only be described as soul stirring and considering he didn’t have a soul that was saying something.

Making love to Kai had gone beyond a physical exchange. Looking at his hands, Asmodeus swore quietly as the glow of Kai’s aura still flowed over his body. It had been two hours since he’d made love to her but so far, Asmodeus had continued to retain her light. As he stared out the window of the dining room, looking for any signs of the Brotherhood, he couldn’t help but worry.

Asmodeus glanced over his shoulder at her. Sitting at the dining room table, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, Kai looked more like a Fae than she ever had. Her aura glowed in a deeper shade of yellow, and the look of concentration as she scoured the pages of the spell book was nothing short of fierce. Asmodeus hoped Kai was right and that by taking her light he wasn’t destroying her but everything he ever knew told him he was.

“Asmodeus.” Her brown eyes flicked up and she smirked as she caught him studying her. “You’re staring at me again.”

“Yes.” He nodded and turned back to the window. “That’s something you should grow accustomed to.”

Kai seemed totally unscathed by their encounter and her light still glowed… but for how long? How long until it went out and she…

“I’m fine, Asmodeus,” Kai whispered as she linked her arms around his waist and nuzzled against his back. Kissing his shoulder, she murmured, “In fact, I’m better than fine.”

“We should leave now.” He held her hands against his stomach and squeezed. “You wanted some time to rest and you got it.”

“Rest?” Kai bit his arm playfully and slipped around so that she was standing in front of him. She hooked her thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans and wiggled her eyebrows at him. “I’d say we didn’t do much resting in the bathroom and then when you carried me to bed…well…we didn’t rest much there either.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints,” he murmured. Asmodeus dipped his head low and brushed his mouth over hers as memories of their lovemaking filled his head. However, darkness edged in when he recalled the threat that their enemies continued to pose. “My apologies, Ms. Kelly. I would love nothing more than to rest with you time and again but we do have to leave before the Fae, or my brothers, find us.”

“Okay, then where do you plan on taking me?” Kai cocked her head and gave him that challenging look that he adored before linking her arms around his waist. “Because the spell that’s hiding us is going to wear off in an hour or so and when it does we’ll be sitting ducks, so to speak.”

Asmodeus opened his mouth to respond but Kai popped up on her toes and kissed him. As her sweet lips melded with his, and he held her in his arms, any thought to argue was driven from him and all he could think about was being inside her again. She smelled like lavender and summertime and innocence. Everything he wasn’t.

Kai broke the kiss and settled her hands on his chest, pushing him gently away. Asmodeus growled when she tried to wiggle out of his embrace but he kept one arm linked around her waist, holding her to him.

“Just listen to me for a minute, okay?” Kai pressed one finger to his lips and shook her head. “Shut it and listen. Before you came upstairs and distracted me so deliciously, I was thinking a lot about the Fae and Ben.”

“What about them?” His expression darkened and his hold on her tightened. “I despise the idea of you spending any time thinking about that fairy man.”

“Oh please. I wasn’t thinking about him like that.” Kai rolled her eyes. “I propose that Ben was acting on his own, and not on behalf of the Fae Queen. Think about it for a second, Asmodeus. Why haven’t any other Fae come after us? If they can travel using beams of light, or whatever, wouldn’t a whole army of them have attacked me that night in the barn? And why haven’t any others come after us since then? What if Ben wants the ring so he can use the Brotherhood to overthrow Zemi and rule the Fae?”

“I…,” Asmodeus’ brow furrowed as he thought about what Kai suggested. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Ben was acting on his own but as Kai laid it all out in front of him, it began to make sense. “I suppose your theory holds some merit but even if what you’re suggesting is true, what do you---” Kai’s smile broadened and Asmodeus scoffed audibly as he realized what she was suggesting. “Are you implying that we should approach the Fae Queen for assistance the way we did with the Witches Council?”

“Yup.” Kai grinned and smacked Asmodeus on his ass before going back to the spell book. “You bet I am. The witches helped me find my way to this spell book, so who knows what kind of info I could get from the Fae. Right?”

“Not a chance.” Hands on his hips he turned and looked at her with nothing less than total incredulity. “Even if what you’re saying is true--and I highly doubt that it is--there’s no way that Zemi would help us. She hates the Brotherhood, Lucifer most of all.”

“Well, maybe she does but I still say we keep it on the table as a last resort.” Kai picked up the spell book and went to the front door. “I also vote that we stay right here. Running away isn’t going to solve anything.”

“So you just want to wait here, like a sitting duck?

“No. We’ll be proactive.” Kai tilted her chin as that steely look in her eye returned. “I’m going to go back up to my grandmother’s altar in the barn to see what else I can find. Then I’m going to try to commit a few of these charms to memory. Besides, this place is isolated and I can practice using my magic without worrying about any regular people seeing me, not to mention, if we venture into the general public, who knows what minions could be lurking around the corner. Right?”

Before he could answer her, Kai pushed open the screen door and bounced down the steps toward the barn. Asmodeus laughed and shook his head as he realized she was absolutely right. Running would solve nothing. As he followed her outside, Asmodeus surveyed the expansive property and knew the battle would be fought here.

***

Over the past couple of hours, Kai had managed to memorize two charms and was relatively confident she’d remember them when she had to. One was supposed to turn the subject to ice or make them freeze like ice, Kai wasn’t sure which it was and the other was supposed to render her opponent blind. Whether or not they were going to work was another story entirely.

She’d scoured the rest of the second story of the barn for any other item that might be able to tell her more about her grandmother or the family line, but no such luck. However, by all accounts, this space seemed to have gone untouched since her grandmother died. There was no sign that Kai’s mother had ever been up here, and chances were, she didn’t even know it existed.

Back at the house, she’d changed into a pair of shorts, a tank top and her purple Converse sneakers because if she was going to fight off crazies, she wanted to feel as normal as possible. However, so far it wasn’t working. Learning how to cast spells and engaging in toe-curling sex with a demon, wasn’t normal…at all.

Kai’s gaze settled on Asmodeus. He hovered by the open hay-bale door in his usual battle-ready stance. She hadn’t even noticed that door was there before but when they came back upstairs, Asmodeus went right over and pushed it open. Arms at his side, back straight and muscles taut, he looked every bit the demon he’d always been, with one exception.

Asmodeus now had an aura. It was faint but it was there.

Kai smiled wistfully because so far she had been right. Asmodeus may have been taking her light but it wasn’t harming her. In fact, she felt more alive and empowered than ever before. Her own aura wasn’t dimmed at all but she did notice the color had changed to a brighter yellow—more like Ben’s light.

More like a Fae.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she flipped through the back half of the book and stilled when she came to the very last page. There was a folded piece of paper wedged into the binding. Kai pulled it gently from its resting place, careful not to tear it, and held it between shaking fingers.

“Holy shit,” Kai whispered.

“What is it?” He turned toward her but Kai was already up and headed to the altar with the book and the mysterious paper. “What did you find?”

“There’s a note,” Kai said quietly as she laid the book on the altar.

“From your grandmother?”

“I’m not sure.” With shaking fingers, Kai carefully opened the yellowed paper. She read the message that was scrawled across the page and looked at Asmodeus through wide eyes. “It’s not from my grandmother. It’s from my grandfather… Jacob.”

Asmodeus stood by her side as they read the letter together.

Kristine,

I know your stay with me is almost over and soon it will be time for you to leave. As promised, I will take good care of our darling Katherine and I will be sure that she seeks you out when she comes of age, so that she can learn the magic of the Fae. She carries your light and though it still remains to be seen if she’s one of the Chosen Ones, it’s clear to me that she’s as special as you are. I’m still not sure why you picked me but I will always be grateful that you did. You’ve given me a beautiful daughter and a world filled with magic. I will love you forever.

--Jacob

“He knew,” Kai whispered. A gust of wind whisked through the large open window, making the paper flutter in her hand. She shook her head in disbelief as she looked at Asmodeus, who seemed equally surprised. “Jacob knew that my grandmother was Fae?”

“She must have been a pureblood,” Asmodeus said evenly. The muscles in his jaw flickered as tension radiated off him. “Your grandmother didn’t die. She left. By the sound of it, she went back to the Fae dimension.”

“But why? Why would she leave them and why didn’t my mother go find her?” Kai ran her fingertip over the yellow, aged paper as she spoke. Memories of her mother came roaring to life. “She ran away when she was eighteen and married my father. Why didn’t Jacob tell her about the Fae?”

“Perhaps he did tell her, Kai,” Asmodeus said gently. “Maybe it wasn’t your grandfather that she was running from all these years.”

“She was running from herself, wasn’t she?” Kai murmured. She lifted one shoulder and looked into Asmodeus’ piercing blue eyes. “I don’t suppose I could blame her. I’ve had the urge to run ever since this crazy shit show started.”

“It makes sense. You said your mother knew about the light but she didn’t like using it because she was worried about attracting the Dark Ones.” Asmodeus’ voice was edged with sadness. “Perhaps he did tell her but for whatever reason it frightened her. That is probably why Jacob left you this place. Maybe he wanted you to have a chance to find out who you really are?”

“Damn it. I feel like for every step forward, we take ten steps back and I end up with a hundred more questions.” Kai folded the paper back up and slipped it into the spell book before locking it up again. She put her head in her hands and let out a weary sigh. “You know what this means, don’t you? Now we have to go to the Fae.”

Asmodeus started to argue with her but the loud, rumbling engine of a truck captured their attention. His eyes flickered to red as he ran to the window but the tension eased almost as quickly as it came.

“It’s the company coming to retrieve your Dumpster.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest as he sliced a look in Kai’s direction. “This conversation isn’t over, by the way.”

“Nope.” Kai winked and smiled sweetly. “But I’m not going to change my mind, so there’s really no point in arguing with me.”

She spun on her heels and trotted down the steps leaving Asmodeus grumbling by the window. She couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction but when she pushed the door open, her smile fell. Looking at the giant, burnt hole in the barn door, she wondered how on earth she would explain that to the guy driving the truck.

Kai squinted against the morning sunlight as she approached the loud, smelly truck that had already hooked up to the Dumpster. She waved at the guy as he climbed out of the cab. His aura was gray and musty, which told Kai he wasn’t exactly the kind of person she’d want to hang around with. He was a big, burly, beast of a man with dark hair that covered his arms and crept out the neck of his t-shirt. It seemed to sprout from everywhere except his head.

“Hi.” Kai waved and shouted over the engine as she backed toward the house. She flicked her gaze toward the barn but Asmodeus hadn’t come out yet. “I’ll grab my check book and be right out.”

“Right.” The man nodded as he hitched up his dirty jeans and spit onto the ground as he watched her go. “Two fifty,” he yelled.

Kai ran into the house and scoured the first floor for her purse. Standing in the kitchen, she stopped for a minute, trying to remember the last time she’d even seen the damn bag. She heard the front door slam as she went into the mudroom off the kitchen.

“Hey, Asmodeus?” Kai shouted. “Have you seen my purse?” Emerging back into the kitchen empty handed, she puffed her hair out of her face. “I can’t find…”

Kai stopped dead in her tracks as the cold hand of fear gripped her by the throat because it wasn’t Asmodeus who’d come into the house. It was the guy who’d been driving the truck but he looked…different.

A slack-jawed expression covered his face and his eyes were completely white, as though they’d rolled back in his head. His hands were balled into fists and his enormous sweaty, hairy frame filled the doorway, blocking her exit. Trying not to panic, Kai inched her way along the edge of the counter, trying to keep the table between them because for the life of her she couldn’t remember either of those stupid charms.

Awesome.

“Why are you in here?” Kai asked in a shaking voice. Her mind raced as she tried to remember what Isadora told her to do. A second later, prickling heat began to gather in her chest. “I told you that I’d bring the check out to you.”

“The ring,” he gurgled. The man took two lurching steps forward into the kitchen as a string of drool dangled from his plump lower lip. “Give us the ring, Kai.”

The voice that boomed out of this man was not natural and it wasn’t one voice. It sounded like several voices speaking at once and Kai knew it was the Brotherhood.

“So,” Kai murmured, while inching toward the doorway but she froze when he lurched closer. “This is one of your minions.”

“Hand over the ring, Custodian,” he shouted.

The screeching chorus of voices pierced the air as the man’s mouth opened wide and he let out a howling wail. At the same time the engine of the truck seemed to roar even louder outside and she doubted Asmodeus would hear what was happening.

Kai slammed her hands over her ears, attempting to drown out the deafening sound of the frightening shriek. It felt like a swarm of bees were buzzing inside her head and scraping at her skull from the inside out. She wanted to use one of the charms she memorized but the sound was making it impossible to concentrate.

She shook her head, trying to get away from the sickening sensation and horrid sounds but it was inescapable. The minion lunged toward Kai, knocking over chairs and though his fingers scraped her arm, she managed to elude his grasp and keep the table between them. He let out another ferocious scream, grabbed the kitchen table with both hands and tossed it into the windows as Kai screamed Asmodeus’ name.

Glass shattered around her and as the tortured creature stumbled across the kitchen and grabbed Kai by the throat, the power in her chest coiled and burned. It was the same, flickering rush of power she’d felt in the barn and in the field—and Kai knew what she had to do. Picturing the rope of energy, like Isadora told her, Kai focused on it as she placed both hands on the man’s plump chest.

She gasped for air as he tightened his grip on her throat and Kai tried to fight the self-defeating effects of panic. As she pictured the tentacle of light shooting through her, a prickling rush of energy shot down her arms and sent the man flying across the kitchen and into the stove.

Stunned and with smoldering singe marks on his chest, he screamed in rage as he tried to regain his footing, which gave Kai enough time to run. Calling Asmodeus’ name, she burst through the front door and to her relief he was already on his way, running toward her.

“What’s happening?” Eyes glowing, he held her in his arms and cradled her against his chest but the respite only lasted a moment. “Minion,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her. “Bastards shielded their presence from me.”

The engine of the truck shut off abruptly and Kai jumped when the screen door slammed, shattering the momentary silence. Shaking, Kai turned to see the truck driver shuffling toward them. He reminded her of a marionette and she realized that’s really what the pathetic man was. The Brotherhood was using his body and he was merely a puppet on a string.

His belly, which hung over his pants, was now partially exposed as his shirt retreated up the swollen mound of flesh. His arms hung at his sides loosely and that same vacant expression covered his face as he took one lurching step after the other.

“Give her to us, Asmodeus,” said the terrifying chorus of voices. “Or she will be our undoing.”

“Kai is a Custodian and the ring has bonded with her. It cannot be removed.” Asmodeus pushed Kai behind him as he spoke. “She poses no threat to the Brotherhood.”

“She wears the Ring of Solomon.” The minion’s face reddened but his eyes remained white as they stared vacantly back at Kai. “You cannot hide her from us. We are everywhere.” The tortured creature opened his mouth in a silent scream and his body shuddered violently before speaking again. “We will not stop until we have the ring safely in the Underworld. You must not protect her.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Kai bit out. She was furious with herself for hiding behind Asmodeus like some helpless female. She was tired of feeling out of control and sick to death of being a victim of her circumstances. She stepped out from behind Asmodeus and as the now familiar tentacle of energy writhed beneath her flesh, she focused her rage and extended her arms toward the minion. “I can protect myself,” she whispered. “I am a Custodian of the Light.”

The ring glowing red, Kai pictured the light firing through her body and as the power gathered in her chest, she threw the surge of energy toward the staggering man. Kai shook as rippling waves of white light flew from her hands and slammed into the minion, sending him flying through the air. He landed on the porch with a deafening crash as the boards cracked beneath the weight of his rotund body.

Shaking and lightheaded, Kai let out a sound of relief asAsmodeus wrapped one arm around her waist. She hated to admit it, but his embrace was the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the ground in a weak-kneed pile. He kissed the top of her head and cradled her shivering form against his resolute one.

“Don’t fuck with the fairy,” Kai said in a shuddering voice. Squeezing her eyes shut she let out a laugh that sounded a little crazy as she hugged Asmodeus as tight as possible. Burying her face against his chest she muttered, “Or the fairy-witch, or whatever.”

“Perhaps my brothers will think twice before sending more minions after you,” Asmodeus murmured before kissing the top of Kai’s head. His hands ran down her back and settled on her hips. “Who knows they may even…”

Asmodeus stopped speaking and his body went completely rigid. Kai’s brow furrowed as she pulled back to look him in the eye, but he was staring over her head at something to his left. The expression on his face made her stomach twist into knots because it was nothing short of fury.

“What is it?” Kai turned to the left and squinted against the sun to see what had captured his attention so swiftly. In the distance, with the mountains looming behind them, Kai saw six individuals walking toward them. Ripples of heat radiated around them in the sun and as the dark figures moved closer, it was glaringly obvious who they were.

The Brotherhood had come to Bliss.

Chapter Fifteen

“What do we do now?” Kai whispered, her fingers clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. She kept her voice low and did her best not to sound completely terrified, but failed miserably. “Do we try to make a run for it?”

“Where?” Asmodeus kept his intense sights on the men as they strode closer in slow, unhurried strides. Their slow pace reminded Kai of Jason or Michael Meyers. It was as if there was no point in running because their victims could never escape. “Now that they’ve found you, there’s no way to hide from them. Our only hope is that they’ll listen to reason and give us more time.”

“This is a pretty ballsy move if they think I can control them with this ring.”

“True. But given the fact that you haven’t tried to control me, Lucifer is taking a gamble and testing the waters, so to speak. Perhaps, he’ll be willing to listen.” Asmodeus’ deep voice resonated through his chest as she remained in his embrace. “But…stay alert and don’t let your guard down for a second.”

Kai leaned deeper into Asmodeus’ embrace while his brothers strode casually across the field. They were all rather tall and muscular, except for the one furthest to the right. He was shorter with a stocky, muscular build and he glared at Asmodeus with nothing short of contempt. They were all dressed in black t-shirts and fatigues and clearly ready for combat. Kai didn’t see any weapons but given the extent of their powers, they probably didn’t need them.

Like Asmodeus was when Kai first met him, all six of them were without light—Dark Ones.

“Who’s the guy on the end,” Kai whispered. She didn’t take her eyes off them. “The shorter one. He’s looking at you like he hates you.”

“That’s Levi.” Asmodeus smirked and flicked his gaze to her briefly. “Leviathan the Demon of Envy. Levi is always bitching about getting screwed on one level or another.”

“Leviathan?” She shuddered and tried not to look as terrified as she felt. “Great.”

When the six of them were about fifty feet away, Asmodeus raised his hand and shouted, “That’s close enough.”

They didn’t stop moving until the tall blonde one in the center stopped and held up both hands, signaling the others to follow his lead.

“You must be Lucifer,” Kai said in a surprisingly calm voice. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you but—it’s not.”

“Lucifer, Demon of Pride and leader of the Brotherhood. Charmed to meet you, Kai Kelly.” Lucifer flashed a toothy, white grin and bowed his platinum blonde head. He was strikingly handsome. They all were but there was a cold, cruelty in Lucifer’s pale, green eyes that sent a chill up Kai’s back. “No wonder you’ve become infatuated with her, Asmodeus. She’s feisty and you know how much I adore feisty women.”

“You better behave yourselves,” Kai said all too sweetly. “Or you’re going to see just how feisty I can be.”

“I thought you might try to use that ring against us, so a witch friend of mine cast a little spell for us. It’s temporary but will last long enough to accomplish what we need to here.” Lucifer jutted a thumb toward Satan. “He may have messed up our relationship with Willow and the Witches Council, but there a few witches out there who still enjoy our charms.”

Kai tried not to look surprised but failed miserably and she didn’t miss the look of triumph on Lucifer’s face.

“She’s not going with you to the Underworld and, charmed protection or not, I would advise against trying to press the issue.” Asmodeus nodded toward the broken body of the minion. “As you can see, it didn’t work out too well for him.”

“That guy’s soul has been tagged as mine for years.” The redhead winked at Kai and jutted both thumbs at his chest. “Beelzebub, Demon of Gluttony, but you can call me Zeb. In fact, that greedy bastard’s soul is down there right now with the rest of today’s damned who are waiting to be processed.”

“You mean…I killed him?” Kai said in a barely audible voice as she flicked a glance at the body on the porch.

“Not really,” Zeb laughed. “He was gonna die of a heart attack today anyway so it’s kind of a wash.”

“Can we get this fucking show on the road?” Satan, a brunette with dark, almost black eyes, pounded his fist into his palm and glared at Kai. “I’m tired of all the talking because as usual, it’s not getting us anywhere. Give us the girl, Asmodeus.”

“Kai, I’d like you to meet Satan, the Demon of Wrath.” Asmodeus let out a weary sigh. “He’s never one to mince words and usually lets his fists do the talking.”

“Right,” Kai pursed her lips and nodded. “You’re the guy who jilted Willow.”

“Is that what she told you?” Satan’s face carved into a mask of fury. “That I jilted her? Really? Next time you see her, why don’t you ask her about that little spell she cast on me?”

Kai’s eyebrows flew up in surprise and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear that hurt flickered across his features. Perhaps there was more to that story than Willow had let on, but Kai knew better than anyone that there were three sides to every story.

His side. Her side. And the truth.

“Sucker.” The one on the left, with long, sandy, blonde hair and an easy going smile, laughed slowly. He reminded Kai of the stoners she knew in high school. “She’s still so pissed at you.”

“Fuck you, Belphegor.” Satan’s eyes blazed red and his hands balled into fists at his side. He, on the other hand, reminded Kai of the football jocks who stuck the nerds in the garbage cans. “Shut up.”

“Whatever, man.” Belphegor pushed his long hair off his forehead and closed his eyes as he turned his face toward the sun. “I say we chill out and see what happens next.”

“The Demon of Sloth wants to avoid a conflict? What a shocker.” Satan punched Belphegor on the arm. “You’ll never change, you lazy shit.”

“Cut the crap.” Belphegor grimaced and rubbed at his arm. “Dick.”

“Enough,” Lucifer bellowed. The others immediately came to attention but Kai was still thinking about Satan’s reaction at the mention of Willow. “We don’t have time for your bickering.”

“What about Zemi?” Kai asked innocently. “You have any time for her?”

“What?” Lucifer seethed. “You will not speak her name to me.”

Eyes blazing in two red slashes Lucifer took a step toward Kai but she watched in awe as a red ball of fire materialized in front of her. Asmodeus, his arm extended, murmured, “I suggest you back off.”

“Still being led around by your libido, Asmodeus.” Lucifer’s eyes flickered back to green as he laughed. “Last time you acted like this… it got you a half-mortal son.”

“You have a son?” Kai asked, slicing a glance at Asmodeus. “You admit you’re a demon but leave out the part about having a kid?”

“A discussion for another time and he’s not a kid anymore,” he murmured. The fireball still hovered in front of his extended hand. “Lucifer, are you willing to hear me out?”

“Of course.” Lucifer extended his arms and smiled before clasping his hands in front of him. “Enlighten us and speaking of light... that’s an interesting light you have, Asmodeus. I hope poor Kai is feeling alright.”

“Right,” Kai snorted. “Like you give a shit.”

“No, Lucifer.” Asmodeus shook his head. “Just you. The others go back to the Underworld or things are going to get messy. I don’t want to fight all of you but I will if I have to. You’ll have to kill me before I let you take her with you.”

“You would fight your own brothers for this…half-breed fairy?” Satan groused. “You’re pathetic.”

“Hey,” Kai said, feeling more than a little wounded. “I’m right here ya know.”

“You say anything like that again,” Asmodeus ground out, “and I’ll shove this fireball right up your wrath loving ass.”

“Fine,” Lucifer said calmly. “They’ll go.”

“What?” The one with the shaggy black hair and hazel eyes voiced his displeasure. He was the only one who’d remained silent up until this point. “Why do we have to leave? Our fate is at just as much risk as yours, Lucifer. This is bullshit.”

“Because I said so, Mammon.” Lucifer kept his voice calm and commanding as he waved them off. “Now go. All of you.”

They all grumbled their displeasure but amid an explosive flash of flames and smoke, all of them, other than Lucifer, vanished into thin air.

“I did as you asked.” Lucifer moved closer until he was only a few feet away but Kai didn’t take her eyes off him. “Now start talking.”

***

Kai sat at the dining room table with two demons, her spell book, and a glass of wine. She didn’t give a shit that it was first thing in the morning. If ever there was a time that called for a drink—it was now. Even Zephyr knew enough to leave and had high-tailed it out of the house.

For the past hour they’d been filling Lucifer in on everything--the inability to remove the ring, the Custodians of the Light, Kai’s mixed heritage and the Prophecy. He’d tried to touch the spell book but it continuously slid out of his reach anytime he attempted it. However, his entire demeanor changed when Kai told him her theory about Ben and the Fae Queen.

“You think this Ben Flaherty, the fairy man, wants to overthrow Zemi and wants the ring so he can use the Brotherhood to do it?” Lucifer asked calmly with his hands folded on the table, making him look almost like a CEO in a board meeting or something. He was powerful, perfectly manicured and intelligent but that controlled façade wavered whenever he discussed Zemi. “He wants to harm her?”

“It’s just a theory.” Kai sipped her wine and noticed that Lucifer’s gaze was drawn to the ring. “Do you want to try and take it off?”

She extended her hand to him but Asmodeus covered it with his

“Kai?” Asmodeus cautioned. “We don’t know what kind of effect it may have on Lucifer.”

“Thank you, Kai.” Lucifer’s voice was edged with irritation as he shot Asmodeus an annoyed look. “I would like to try and remove it.”

“Suit yourself,” Asmodeus sighed and sat back in the chair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“It might hurt,” Kai warned as she held her hand out over the table.

“I’m the Demon of Pride,” Lucifer said haughtily as he reached toward her. “I don’t feel pain.”

However, as his fingertips brushed the ring, a look of pure horror covered his face and he swore at the top of his lungs as he yanked his hand away. Rubbing the wounded hand absently he gaped at the ring. Kai covered her mouth to keep from laughing, but Asmodeus made no such attempt and laughed his ass off. Kai looked between the two men and wasn’t sure what was more humorous, the look of shock on Lucifer’s face or the guffaws coming out of Asmodeus.

“I’m sorry.” Asmodeus’ laughter faded and he swiped at his eyes, as tears streamed down his face. “Shit. That was great.”

“It’s not funny,” Lucifer sniffed and folded his hands on the table again. “However, it is irritating.”

“Sorry.” Kai shrugged. “I’m not making it do that. It used to burn Asmodeus but not anymore.”

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you have an aura now, would it?” Lucifer made a face of displeasure and pointed to Asmodeus’ arms. “Your marks seem lighter as well.”

“His tattoos?” Kai hadn’t noticed a difference but with everything that had happened, she was lucky she remembered her own name and wasn’t in a looney bin.

“Yes,” Lucifer said quietly as he held his arms out for her inspection. “It’s the mark that all members of the Brotherhood possess.”

Kai nodded. She’d seen it clearly on all of the men earlier but hadn’t noticed a change in Asmodeus’. She grabbed his arm and ran her fingers over the linked circles as the muscles flickered beneath her touch.

“He’s right.” She looked at Lucifer and then to Asmodeus as she released him. “Yours are lighter—a dark gray rather than the jet black circles on Lucifer.”

“Strange.” Asmodeus’ brow furrowed before glancing at Lucifer. “But that’s really not important. I’m more concerned about whether or not the Brotherhood will back off while we try to figure out what’s happening with Kai and the ring.”

“Yes.” Lucifer smiled at Kai. “Well, I can tell you that I’m only concerned about the ring.”

“Jeez.” Kai rolled her eyes and rose from her chair. Leaning both hands on the table she locked gazes with Lucifer. “You’re a piece of work, you know that? Isn’t it glaringly obvious to you that I have no intention of trying to control you, or anyone else in the Brotherhood, with this ring? What the heck do I have to do to convince you? Sign a contract with my blood or something? I could have taken control over Asmodeus a while ago if that was my intention. Believe me, dude. I don’t want to control the Underworld. Okay? I’d just like to get some kind of handle on my life.”

“Like I said…she’s feisty.” Lucifer’s blonde eyebrows flew up and a smile played at his lips. “I will admit that you don’t seem to have world domination on your mind but what you need to realize, Ms. Kelly, is that it’s not actually about you. It’s about the Ring of Solomon. You may not want to use it for nefarious purposes against the Brotherhood but there are others, like our friend Ben Flaherty, who do.”

Lucifer rose elegantly from his seat but kept his gaze on Kai and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Asmodeus stand as well. The tension level in the room went from zero to sixty in a split second.

“As long as you wear that ring, my brothers and I are at risk.”

“I can take care of myself,” Kai countered.

“Perhaps,” Lucifer said quietly. Sadness rimmed his eyes. “You are powerful, Kai, no one will deny that, but you are not immortal. You are made of flesh and bone. You should be kept someplace safe until we can remove the ring from your finger.”

“She’s not going to the Underworld,” Asmodeus said firmly. “That’s not protecting her, it would be tormenting her. I won’t allow it.”

“It’s not up to you,” Lucifer kept his stony stare on Kai. “Kai is an intelligent woman and I’m sure she’ll come to the most rational conclusion. I can’t imagine Kai wants to spend her life running and fighting. Do you, Kai?”

“No,” Kai murmured. She grabbed her glass and went to the kitchen door. “But you know what? I also don’t want to spend it wondering. I need answers. I want to know why the hell my grandmother ditched the family and why my mother never went looking for her. I also want to know who the other six Custodians are. I want answers and I’m not going anywhere until I get them.”

The sunlight streamed through the windows into the dining room and Kai let out a weary sigh as she leaned against the doorjamb. The yellow light, with dust particles drifting through it like glitter, looked almost like liquid gold.

“I want the truth,” Kai whispered as she reached out and swept her hand through the rays of the sun. “I need to know.”

The dust danced around her fingers as if it were alive and everything around her seemed to fall away as subtle tinkling sound filled her head. Smiling wistfully, Kai ran her index finger through the fluttering, glittering dust within the golden light. It sounded like wind chimes and as the music grew louder, the ray of light expanded as though the sun were rising at a rapid pace.

Kai could hear Asmodeus shouting her name but he sounded far away and the enticing, gentle sound of wind chimes consumed her. The golden light covered Kai, making her feel weightless. It was like being wrapped up in the arms of her mother and soon all she could see was light.

***

It happened in a split second.

One instant Kai was standing in the doorway of the kitchen and the next she vanished. Asmodeus screamed her name and lunged toward her as the unnatural swath of light swallowed her up --but he was too late.

Shaking with incandescent rage, Asmodeus turned slowly toward Lucifer who stared at him through a furious, burning gaze. Neither of them had to say a word. They knew exactly what happened.

Kai had been taken by the Fae.

Chapter Sixteen

The veil of sleep lifted and a smile played upon Kai’s lips while recalling the beautiful dream. She’d been swimming through golden, glitter filled air. It was the most liberating sensation she’d ever experienced and her body still hummed from the energizing memory.

Stretching her arms over her head, Kai let out a sound of pure contentment. She hadn’t felt this rested in years but it was probably because the bed was as soft as a marshmallow and the blankets were so luxurious, Kai likened it to being inside a cocoon of cashmere.

Bed? How did she get in bed? Oh shit, not again.

“Asmodeus?” Kai murmured.

Her eyes flew open as she shot up in the bed and scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. She was in a bedroom, albeit a beautiful one, that conjured up images of a quaint B&B she once went to in New Hampshire. It wasn’t that place exactly, but the feel was similar to be sure.

Asmodeus was nowhere to be seen and Kai was totally alone in the massive, lavender and white bedroom. She lifted the covers to find she was no longer wearing her clothes, but a simple white nightgown.

“What the heck is going on now?” Kai whispered to the empty room. Was this the Underworld? Had Lucifer pulled a fast one and tricked them somehow? She pursed her lips while surveying the pristine condition of the room. “If this is the Underworld then sign me up. This place is nicer than my old apartment.”

Kai could tell by the feel of the air that it wasn’t the witch’s lair beneath Larrun Mountain. The energy in that place had a distinct vibration that she didn’t feel here and it was probably because the witch’s lair was underground. No. This place, wherever it was, had a vastly different feel than anywhere else she’d ever been.

Scanning the spacious room for any clue to where she might be, Kai’s attention was captured by a familiar object on the nightstand. It was her grandmother’s spell book. Kai frowned. She was here and so was the spell book, but there was no sign of Asmodeus, or anyone else.

Kai was alone.

Heat bloomed in her chest as panic began to creep its way in and right about now, she’d even be happy to see Lucifer’s smug face. She scrambled to recall what happened but the last thing Kai remembered was being in the dining room of her grandfather’s house talking to Asmodeus and Lucifer.

And a glittering ray of light.

Flashes from the dream flickered through her mind. She remembered standing in the doorway of the kitchen and running her finger through the beam of sunlight as it streamed in through the window. Beams of light and wind chimes. That was the very last memory Kai had before she woke up here.

“But where the hell is here?”

Pushing the covers off, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and shivered when her bare feet touched the cool wood floor. She spotted a gauzy bathrobe draped over the white wicker rocking chair in the corner and quickly pulled it on. The shades were drawn but sunlight streamed in around the edges, giving the room an ethereal glow. The walls were trimmed in lavender but everything else was a pristine shade of white. The bed, a large wardrobe on the other side of the room, the side tables and even the loveseat, was stark white.

Kai tiptoed over to the door but the glass handle wouldn’t budge and heat prickled down her arms as she realized she was locked in. She stepped back and closed her eyes, wrestling for control of the volatile energy as it rippled beneath her skin. To her great relief, the power recoiled and though it still hummed in Kai’s chest, she knew there was no longer a threat of blowing anything up.

Kai’s breath caught in her throat and she froze when the familiar sound of wind chimes jingled on the other side of the door. She tiptoed over and pressed her ear to the cool surface. Straining to listen, Kai’s heart began to pound as she heard the sound of footsteps.

Someone was coming.

Kai ran over to the bed, dove beneath the covers and immediately pretended to be asleep. Her heart thundered in her chest and she struggled to keep her breathing steady. The sound of the door opening shattered the quiet of the room and Kai stilled

“I know you’re not asleep.” The teasing, singsong tone of a woman’s voice drifted through the room along with the enticing aroma of pancakes and bacon. Kai’s stomach growled loudly. “Why don’t you stop playing possum and sit up and have some breakfast.”

Kai, with the covers pulled up to her chin, steeled her courage and opened her eyes but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. A woman she’d seen only in a few old pictures smiled at her lovingly.

It was her grandmother, Kristine.

***

Twelve hours had passed since Kai vanished into the beam of sunlight, but it felt like an eternity and Asmodeus thought he’d go mad with worry. Lucifer, who was equally unsettled by Kai’s departure, assured Asmodeus that he could get him to the Fae dimension.

Asmodeus had his doubts because no member of the Brotherhood, other than Lucifer, had ever traveled to the Fae realm. Given the fact he and Zemi were still in their off-again phase, getting there seemed next to impossible. But Lucifer muttered something about a potion before leaving for the Underworld in a flash of smoke and fire.

Standing on the porch of Kai’s house, Asmodeus looked out over the moonlit property and swore. For the first time in his bleak existence, he felt remarkably out of place. Not having Kai by his side gave him a heightened sense of uneasiness and nothing would soothe him except being with her.

Zephyr meowed loudly at his feet as she wove her way around his ankles, rubbing against him seeking affection. He let out a sigh before scooping up the persistent Siamese and scratching her behind her ears.

“I miss her too,” Asmodeus murmured as the cat purred loudly in his arms. “We’ll get her back.”

“Since when did you start talking to cats?” Lucifer’s irritated voice floated out of the darkness. “How mortal of you.”

The cat leapt from Asmodeus’ arms as Lucifer strode up the steps, looking every bit the arrogant bastard he was.

“Did you get it?” Asmodeus asked impatiently. “Did you get the potion?”

“You can relax.” Lucifer smirked at the cat as it hissed at him before running off. “Whoever has Kai, obviously hasn’t gotten the ring or we’d be dancing around like a couple of drooling minions by now.”

Pure, unadulterated fury fired through Asmodeus. Quicker than lightning he grabbed Lucifer by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall, sending splinters of wood flying through the air.

“Careful, or you’ll break Kai’s house,” Lucifer quipped. Asmodeus held him there, eyes burning, he kept Lucifer pinned but all the son of a bitch did was smile. “To say nothing of my waning patience.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t give a shit about that ring?” Asmodeus seethed, his face just inches from his brother. “Not anymore. All I care about is getting Kai back here safely. Do you understand that you selfish bastard? Can you possibly comprehend caring about anyone or anything more than your own miserable ass?”

“Careful, brother,” Lucifer said in a barely audible tone as his eyes flickered to bright red. “Given that I’m the one who has your ticket to fairy land, I suggest you let me go. Otherwise, I might change my mind about helping you.”

“Helping me? That’s a fucking joke.” Asmodeus’ jaw clenched and he growled as he shoved his brother one more time before releasing him. Stepping back, he fought to keep his anger under control because like it or not, he needed Lucifer’s help. “You don’t give a shit about Kai. All you care about is getting the ring away from the Fae. The only person you’re concerned about helping is yourself.”

“Love has blinded you, hasn’t it?” Lucifer smoothed the fabric of his shirt before reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a small, black bottle. Rolling it between his fingers, he leaned casually against the wall and leveled those sharp, green eyes at Asmodeus. “It’s actually not just me I’m concerned about, brother. I’m surprised at you, Asmodeus. Allowing a woman to take priority over the Brotherhood?”

“I’m sure you are.” Asmodeus folded his arms over his chest and met Lucifer’s intense gaze. “Zemi knows better than anyone that you would never allow a woman to interfere with you duty. Doesn’t she?”

Lucifer stilled and his mask of arrogant calm wavered briefly as he closed his fingers around the precious potion in his hand. Fighting to keep his cool, the muscle in his jaw clenched, but Asmodeus knew him well enough to know that he’d touched a nerve.

“Drink this.” Lucifer tossed the bottle at Asmodeus, who caught it in mid-air. “It’s my last dose and you’re on your own once you get there. Kai will have to figure out how to get you back but since she’s part Fae, the woman should be able to use their light travel.”

“Where did--?”

“It’s left over from my momentary lapse of judgment with that woman,” Lucifer groused, referring to Zemi. “Women are nothing but trouble. Love and emotions are a sure fire way to fuck up your existence and something tells me you’re going to find that out the hard way. Stand in a beam of light and drink that. It will take you the Fae dimension, but I have no idea where you’ll end up or who’ll you find there. When I went it was always to see…well, for all I know, you could land in Zemi’s castle and then you’re really screwed”

“You’re not coming?” Asmodeus asked with more than a little surprise. “You’ve literally been raising hell about getting the ring back and now you’re sitting this part out? I thought you would want all seven of us to go.”

“First of all, that elixir will only take one of us at a time and secondly, showing up with the entire Brotherhood would be nothing short of a call to war. Besides, our presence there would be of little help,” Lucifer murmured. “Your only hope is that Kai was correct and Zemi doesn’t want that ring in the first place.”

“I’ll get Kai and bring her back with the ring.” Asmodeus clutched the bottle tightly and kept his sights on Lucifer. Back straight and hands at his side, his brother always looked ready for a fight. He brushed past Asmodeus and strode down the steps before stopping in the driveway. “I’ll fix this,” Asmodeus called after him.

“And then what?” Lucifer asked quietly. He turned around slowly and leveled a stern stare at Asmodeus. “What do you plan on doing with her? Will Kai work side by side with you in the Underworld ushering the damned to their eternity of torment? You can’t stay here and if you are foolish enough to attempt it, then you’ll destroy her. Even that ridiculous prophecy in Kai’s spell book confirmed it.”

Asmodeus opened his mouth to respond but snapped it shut because he had no idea how to answer that question. He tightened his grip on the potion, a sense of foreboding crawling up his back. Lucifer was absolutely correct.

“It’s brutal isn’t it?” Lucifer whispered.

“What is?” Asmodeus snapped as frustration and helplessness swamped him.

“The moment when you realize you’re not worthy of love.”

Heavy silence fell between them as Lucifer looked up at the moonlit sky and the leaden truth of his statement fell over Asmodeus like a shroud. For a moment, just a moment, he’d allowed himself to believe that Kai could be his and that love, real, pure love was within his reach but nothing could have been further from the truth.

When Lucifer finally turned his attention back to Asmodeus, he could swear he saw something akin to sadness in his brother’s eyes.

“We were created to oversee the damned for all eternity. Nothing more. Nothing less. Love is not a sin. It is not an abomination. It’s the kindest, gentlest part of humanity and we were not made to experience it or bask in its glow.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “And if you try to capture it, you will turn that love and anyone who touches it, to ash.”

Before Asmodeus could respond, Lucifer vanished in a flash of fire. As the last wisps of smoke dissipated, Lucifer’s warning ran through his mind but he pushed the hopeless message back. All that mattered was making certain Kai was safe.

Ripping the cork out of the bottle, Asmodeus ran down to the driveway and stood in a ray of moonlight that shone through the trees. Drinking down the sweet liquid, he kept one thought in the forefront of his mind…. I may not be worthy of love but Kai is.

An odd tingling sensation spread across Asmodeus’ chest, and radiated through his body as he watched the beam of moonlight grow. The pale light washed over him slowly, like water spreading on a smooth surface and the odd tingling sensation grew with it.

Out of nowhere, gut wrenching pain flashed around him and it felt as though his chest were being pinned in some kind of invisible vice. The crushing pressure stole his breath and his fists clenched, turning the bottle to dust as the throbbing agony surged. Asmodeus screamed with rage and blinding pain as the world around him exploded in a luminous blaze.

He landed facedown, on the marble floor with an audible grunt and immediately pushed himself up onto all fours. Asmodeus’ vision blurred and he shook his head, trying to bring the room into focus but everything was spinning. Muscles straining, palms pressed against the cool stone, he heard the faint sound of a woman laughing.

“Who’s there?” Something wet spilled into his eyes, further blurring his vision. Asmodeus shoved himself to his knees, and though his body wavered, he managed to stay upright. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and when he pulled them away, he saw his right hand was covered in blood. “What’s going on?”

Squinting, he looked up and found himself face to face with Zemi, the Fae Queen. Asmodeus looked around and swore under his breath because he was in what looked like Zemi’s bedroom. But he didn’t see any sign of Kai.

If he ever got out of this he was going to beat the shit out of Lucifer.

“Sorry, demon,” she said, with a wicked grin. “You’re in my dimension now.”

Asmodeus, struggling to get to his feet, raised his hand to conjure up a ball of fire in an attempt to have Zemi keep her distance. However, much to his surprise, no magic came. Swearing, he tried again but still…nothing.

Asmodeus was powerless, bleeding, and mortal.

Zemi must have seen the look of confusion on his face and it only made her laugh harder. A sudden wave of dizziness swamped him but despite his best efforts to remain upright, he dropped to the floor like a stone.

“Didn’t Lucifer tell you?” Zemi’s amused voice was the last thing he heard, as the darkness closed in. “Demons have no power in the Fae dimension. Welcome to you own personal hell.”

Chapter Seventeen

Dressed in a long sapphire colored gown of chiffon and silk, the woman who looked just like Kai’s grandmother, placed the tray of food onto a small table. Kai, not quite sure she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing, pushed herself up to a sitting position while she watched the woman unfurl a napkin and arrange the food.

“Y—you’re my…I mean you look just like my…” Kai’s voice trailed off as she struggled to make sense of the latest development. “This is nuts.”

“I’m your grandmother.” The elegant woman dressed in blue turned to face her. “You can call me Kristine and to be quite honest, I’m surprised by your reaction. You already know that you have Fae and Witch blood. You’re sleeping with one of the Brotherhood and you wear the Ring of Solomon. Really, Kai, I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Large dark, brown eyes and wavy, sandy blonde hair framed a heart shaped face that was strikingly similar to Kai’s mother. Tall, and with the lithe, elegant body of a dancer, she was luminous, beautiful and young. By all accounts, Kai’s grandmother should be eighty or so years old but this woman didn’t look a day over thirty.

“You should really eat it before it gets cold.” She gestured to the lovely breakfast she’d set out on the table. “Come sit on the loveseat and have some breakfast. I believe I made your favorite.”

Unmoving, Kai stared at Kristine like she’d just sprouted wings. Clutching the sheet between her fingers, her stomach rumbled again from the delectable smell of bacon.

“You did.” Kai laughed nervously and shrugged. “Pancakes and bacon is my favorite breakfast.”

“See? I’m not so bad at this grandmother thing.” Kristine winked and clapped her hands. “Come on, now. We have a big day ahead of us, so come, sit and eat.”

“That’s it?” Kai asked with more than a little incredulity. “You show up, back from the grave, looking more like my sister than my grandmother, and you want me to eat breakfast? What’s going on? Where’s Asmodeus?”

“He’s in the mortal dimension or maybe he went back to the Underworld but wherever he is, I’m sure he’s pitching a fit as we speak. Now have something to eat, Kai.” Kristine smoothed the chiffon of her long dress and swept over to the rocking chair before making herself comfortable in it. She waved toward the food. “Come on.”

“You’re a piece of work, lady.” Kai shook her head as she got out of bed and went to the couch because crazy or not, she was hungry. “I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll eat this if you’ll tell me what in the hell is going on. For starters, where am I and where have you been all this time?”

“I’ve been here,” she waved her hand around, “in the Fae dimension.”

“I’m in the Fae dimension?” Kai looked around the room and when her gaze drifted over the sunlight peeking in around the shades, it came together. “My dream…”

“It wasn’t a dream. I brought you here using our light travel but you fainted along the way.” Kristine lifted one shoulder. “I would have come for you sooner but you hadn’t tapped into enough of your Fae power and I had to wait and see if you and Asmodeus would…connect.”

“Yeah, we connected but I hope you haven’t been peeking through any keyholes.” Kai’s face heated with embarrassment. “As for the fainting thing, apparently magical travel makes me pass out. Who knew?”

“At any rate, you have to understand that time doesn’t pass here the same way it does in the human dimension.” Kristine pointed at the food. Kai let out a sigh before sitting down, grabbing a piece of bacon and taking a big bite. “Thank you. Now. Where was I? Oh yes, the time discrepancy. Time in the mortal dimension passes rather quickly compared to time here. The mortals exist in dog years compared to the Fae.”

Kai’s forkful of pancake came to a screeching halt. “Are you saying that we’re dogs?”

“No,” Kristine laughed and began to rock slowly in the chair. “I’m just trying to help you understand. One Fae year is like twenty of your mortal years. As far as you’re concerned, I’ve been gone for a little over fifty years but from my perspective it’s only been about two and a half.”

“Okay,” Kai said slowly between bites of the remarkably delicious breakfast. “That’s all fine and dandy but why did you leave? Why didn’t you come back and teach my mother or me? It would have been nice to have some guidance through this freak show that I now call a life.”

“I tried. I came back for your mother when she turned eighteen.” Her eyes lit up as she recalled the memory. “I was so excited to show Katherine the altar I created for her in the barn and Jacob had kept it up so beautifully. I’d hoped it would please her to see me but it didn’t.” The smile faded from her eyes as she let out a slow breath in a clear attempt to get a handle on her burgeoning emotions. “When I told your mother about being Fae and a Custodian of the Light, she was enraged, furious with me for staying away. She blamed the Fae world for robbing her of a normal childhood, for taking her mother away and for the pain I caused Jacob. Katherine wanted no part of the magical realm. I was, as you can imagine, saddened by her decision and when I saw that she hadn’t discovered the ring and that she wanted to marry that mortal…”

“Watch it, Grandma. That mortal was my father and he was awesome. As for my mom, well, I can’t really blame her for being pissed.” Kai wiped her mouth with the napkin before tossing it onto the plate. She pulled her feet up on to the loveseat and looked at Kristine with thinly veiled disgust. “You left her, Kristine. You didn’t die like she thought you did. You weren’t taken…you chose to leave your own daughter. That’s shitty, lady. What kind of mother leaves her kid like that?”

“You don’t understand, Kai.” Kristine’s voice wavered and she looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to stay away until Katherine was of age. That’s how it’s done…how it’s always been done. Zemi is quite firm on that rule.”

“How what’s done?” Kai scoffed. “Being a crappy mother?”

Kristine flinched but sucked in a calming breath and for a split second, Kai actually felt sorry for her.

“When Fae produce Halfling children, we aren’t permitted to participate in their upbringing. It’s the only way to determine if they truly possess the light of the Fae and Katherine was not only Fae but, part Witch as well. Jacob didn’t know it but he had Witch blood running in his veins.” Kristine looked down at her hands and her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s why I chose him.”

“Okay. What do you mean chose him?” Kai rolled her eyes and grabbed the mug of coffee off the tray before taking a sip. Part of her wished it that was a shot of bourbon. “And why are you running off to earth and making Halfling fairy babies or whatever.”

“The Prophecy. Zemi has always been obsessed with it,” Kristine whispered as her large, dark eyes latched onto Kai’s. “It could not be set in motion until the arrival of the first Chosen One who we knew would be a Fae Custodian with Witch blood. Though several Halfling children have been born over the years, none had discovered the ring…until now.”

“The Prophecy?” Kai swallowed the lump of dread in her throat and gripped the mug. “Right. I read about that in the spell book,” she said with a gesture toward the nightstand. “How did the book get here anyway?”

“It will always remain with the one who wears the ring.”

“Weird, but okay.” Kai sipped her coffee and stared at the book. “So when I stumbled across that crate and put the ring on, then I kick started this Prophecy. Right?”

“Yes, but you didn’t just stumble across it. You are the first of seven Chosen Ones. There will be one for each member of the Brotherhood.” Katherine rose from the chair and sat next to Kai on the loveseat. She brushed Kai’s hair off her shoulder and trailed one finger down her cheek in a heartbreakingly tender gesture. “You are the first, Kai and we have been waiting for you for three thousand years.”

“To do what? What the hell am I being chosen to do exactly? Because Asmodeus and I were reading that Prophecy and I have to tell you, it sounds kind of sketchy.” Kai’s gut clenched, terrified of hearing the answer but at the same time desperate to find out. “Do you know what Asmodeus and the rest of the Brotherhood think? They are under the impression that Zemi, and the rest of the Fae, wants to use the ring to turn them into slaves or something.”

“No,” Kristine said quietly. “That is not what the Prophecy foretells.”

“I didn’t think so,” Kai said triumphantly. “It didn’t really make sense to me given what’s happened or, more to the point, what hasn’t happened. So, I was thinking—”

Kai was about to tell Kristine about her theory regarding Ben Flaherty but the familiar tune of wind chimes could be heard in the hallway. Kristine stilled as though she was listening to something Kai couldn’t hear and then nodded curtly. The wind chimes jingled again briefly before silence fell over the room.

“What does that sound mean?” Kai asked slowly as she set the coffee mug down and looked from the door to Kristine. “That wind chime noise. I heard it right before you beamed me here, or whatever.”

“It happens when we use light travel. That was Bentley, the queen’s advisor, and I thought he would come in and introduce himself but he was in far too much of a rush.” Kristine forced a smile and patted Kai on the arm before rising to her feet. “We will be leaving shortly for Zemi’s palace. You must get ready to go now.”

“But, how were you talking to him?”

“Telepathy,” she interrupted. Kristine’s entire demeanor had changed. She went from being loving and concerned, to cold and uptight in a split second. “You don’t possess that ability because you aren’t pure Fae. Please, Kai. We have to go.”

There was something about the way Kristine referenced not being pure Fae that sent a chill up Kai’s spine. Without looking at Kai, she went over to the massive white wardrobe, opened it up and pointed to an array of colorful dresses.

“You may select whichever one you like. They are all in your size.” Kristine swept over and opened the door, which led out to an empty hallway that reminded Kai of a hotel. “I’ll be right out here but please hurry as Zemi doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Kristine, wait.” Kai hopped off the loveseat, ran over and grabbed her grandmother’s arm before she could leave. “If Zemi doesn’t want to enslave Asmodeus and the others, then what does she want? I mean, why did you bring me here?”

“To destroy the Brotherhood,” Kristine whispered. “The Chosen Ones are the only ones capable of doing it.”

“Me?” Kai let out a sound of total incredulity. “No way. This is crazy. She wants me to kill them? Asmodeus? Well, forget it. I won’t do it.”

“Yes, you will.” Kristine lowered her gaze briefly before looking Kai dead in the eyes. Her voice dropped low but she held Kai’s stunned gaze as she repeated the Prophecy. “She who wears the ring holds the light for the dark. When the circles of seven are dark no more, the prophecy will be fulfilled and keepers of the damned will roam the earth.”

“I know,” Kai said wearily. “Asmodeus and the rest of the Brotherhood will steal the Custodian’s light and roam the earth. Blah blah blah. I don’t see how that’s destroying them.”

“Kai.” Her eyes, rimmed with sadness, stared earnestly at Kai. “Please, just get dressed.”

“This is crazy.” Kai almost laughed out loud. “If you ask me there’s a lot of room for misinterpretation with the whole Prophecy deal. I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone.”

“Zemi will explain it further to you. My cousin is well versed in the Prophecy.”

“Wait?” Kai stilled. “Zemi is related to you? Er—to me?”

“Yes,” Kristine said quickly. “She’s our cousin and a Custodian of the Light as well, like all women in my clan.”

“Well you and our cousin have it all messed up.” Kai ran over and grabbed the spell book. Using the ring, she opened it and flipped to the correct page. “All this time and you’d think you’d have a clear explanation. Geez”

“Kai, we don’t have time for this,” she said impatiently. “Your destiny was laid out thousands of years ago. Please don’t fight it or you’ll only make it worse. Now, we must go.”

“What’s the rush?” Kai grabbed Kristine’s arm before she could leave. “I mean I know Zemi’s got a bug up her ass about the Brotherhood and everything but Asmodeus isn’t even here.”

“Yes, he is.” Her mouth set in a grim line. “Zemi is holding him prisoner.”

***

White-hot pain fired through Asmodeus’ head and he grit his teeth against the unfamiliar and unpleasant sensation. He had no idea how long he’d been chained up like a dog but it seemed like forever. He’d been trying, to no avail, to use his powers but it was futile. He was completely void of all of his abilities.

Talk about being screwed.

Arms stretched over his head, he was chained and shackled by his wrists and ankles to the wall of what could only be described as a dungeon. His shirt had been removed at some point, as well as his shoes, and the jeans he was wearing were bloody and torn.

The dank room was about thirty feet square with various torture chamber type devices scattered about. Light flickered through the cracks of a massive wooden door that was directly across from him and the only other light came from a window to the left that was about ten feet up with iron bars cutting through it.

He could see that the sky was a vibrant shade of lavender and had pink clouds floating in it that conjured up images of cotton candy. Asmodeus let out a wry laugh but winced as bone rattling pain fired through him from head to toe. It was fascinating that so much discomfort could be generated from such a small movement.

A jingling sound of keys and the click of the lock opening caught Asmodeus’ attention. Biting through the vicious pain ripping through his head, he forced himself to stand as tall as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was show weakness because he knew that’s exactly what Zemi wanted.

Two of Zemi’s guards, both men dressed in full silver armor, carried long spears of about seven feet. They stepped in the room and immediately stood at attention on either side of the door. A moment later, Zemi whisked into the room, looking as beautiful and deadly as ever.

Adorned in a medieval style ivory dress with intricate gold embellishments, she emitted a distinctly royal air, which was accentuated by the gold and pearl crown she wore. A mass of springy, black, curls spilled down her back and bright, blue eyes stared at him from a stunningly, lovely face. Zemi may have been one pissed off Fae Queen but there was no denying her beauty. It was no wonder Lucifer was so hung up on her.

“Are you enjoying your stay with us, demon?” Zemi asked. Hands clasped in front of her, she walked around slowly but didn’t take her eyes off him. “I was hoping these accommodations would make you feel right at home.”

“The name is Asmodeus,” he seethed. “And I think your accommodations suck ass. Is this how you treat all of your guests, Zemi? Because so far, I’m not impressed.”

“Well, first of all, Asmodeus,” she murmured. Her blue eyes narrowed as she moved closer. “You aren’t my guest. You are an interloper who arrived in my dimension, to say nothing of my quarters, unannounced and uninvited. Now, why are you here? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the Ring of Solomon, would it?”

“I don’t give a crap about that ring. You know damn well why I’m here. You took Kai. Where is she?” He tugged on the chains and shouted, “What have you done with her, Zemi?”

“Kai?” Zemi asked with feigned ignorance. “Whomever are you talking about?”

“You know exactly whom I’m talking about, you crazy bitch,” he seethed.

Quicker than a snake, one of the soldiers ran over and whacked Asmodeus across the mouth with the shaft of his spear, making his teeth clatter. Pain ricocheted through his head and had him seeing stars but Asmodeus refused to flinch.

“Not bad for a fairy,” Asmodeus ground out before spitting blood on the ground. “But I’ve been hit harder by an elf.”

The soldier went to hit Asmodeus again but Zemi raised her hand, immediately bringing him to a halt.

“Enough.” Zemi waved the soldier back. “We wouldn’t want to wear him out before the big event this evening. He is, after all, not exactly himself.”

“Yeah,” Asmodeus licked the cut on his lip and adjusted his stance as the shackles dug into his ankles. “Lucifer failed to mention that demons turn mortal in the Fae dimension. I’ll have to remember to give him a kick in the nuts next the time I see him.”

“Yes. Soulless demons are quite powerless in the Fae realm.” Zemi’s lips lifted at the corner. “I’m sure omitting that little fact was an oversight because I can’t imagine your trusted leader would intentionally send you here so horribly unprepared.”

“So, what’s going on tonight? Have a big feast prepared in my honor?” He wrapped his fingers around the chain, wishing he could rip them out of the wall, but knowing he couldn’t. “What time should I be ready? I hope it’s not a dressy event because I left my tux on Earth.”

“So nice to see you’ve kept your sense of humor.” Zemi laughed loudly and clapped her hands. “I’ll be meeting with your girlfriend in a just a little while so I can explain it all to her. She might not be on board right away but once I tell her how you’ve been lying to her all this time…well…I’m sure she’ll see my side of things.”

“What are you talking about?” A sense of foreboding crawled up his back. “I haven’t been lying to Kai.”

“Yes, you have.” A smile cracked her face as she inched closer. Zemi trailed one silver fingernail down his cheek but he jerked his head away. “She’s really quite lovely, Asmodeus. Too bad it won’t work out for the two of you but then again it never could, could it?” Her smile faded and a cruel look glimmered in her eyes. Zemi’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The Brotherhood never chooses a woman over duty. Do they? You boys lie through your teeth to get what you want and then once you have it, you toss us aside as though we mean nothing.”

“You’d know that better than anyone, wouldn’t you, Zemi?” He leaned closer, meeting her challenge. “Lucifer really fucked you up, didn’t he? What happened between the two of you?”

Zemi’s mouth set in a tight line as her hands curled at her sides. Asmodeus saw that cool exterior falter and in that moment, she actually reminded him quite a bit of Lucifer. They were both arrogant leaders, obsessed with duty and obligation and neither wanted to admit being wounded by the other.

The only weakness Lucifer and Zemi seemed to have was each other.

“Leave us,” Zemi shouted to the guards. She glanced over her shoulder. “Now.”

When they didn’t move, she swept both arms wide and in a flash, a hurricane strength gust of wind rushed across the room and tossed the two men out like rag dolls. The door slammed shut behind them as Zemi smoothed her windblown hair and folded her hands delicately in front of her once again.

“You will not speak of him to me.” Zemi attempted to keep her voice calm but it continued to rise as she spoke. “All of the members of the Brotherhood are cut from the same cloth. You’re all liars. You seduced Kai’s heart and body just so you could get the ring from her and once you have it, you’ll toss her aside as though she means nothing to you at all.”

“Listen, I don’t know what went down between you and Lucifer and to be honest, I don’t give a shit. But I can tell you that I care about Kai. All I want is for her to be safe and to get that ring off her hand so everyone will leave her alone. So you can go ahead and do whatever you want to me. Kill me. Draw and quarter me. I don’t give a shit.” Muscles straining, he yanked on the chains but barely felt the metal as it cut into his flesh. “Just get that ring off Kai’s finger and send her back to the mortal dimension safely. That’s all I want.”

“Is that so?” Zemi smirked and walked away from him toward the light of the window. With her back to him she continued speaking. “Am I supposed to believe that you, a member of the Brotherhood, would put a woman’s needs above your own?”

“Believe what you want, lady.” Blood dripped down his arms from the gashes along his wrists. “I love Kai and I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect her.”

“Love? You love her?” Zemi spun around to face him. Eyes wild, she flew toward him, grabbed him by the chin and smashed his head against the stone. “Don’t you dare speak to me about love,” she seethed. Her face just inches from his, he saw silver tears glimmering in her eyes and her voice shook with emotion. “Demons know nothing of love or tenderness. You have no right to use a word when you have no comprehension of its meaning.”

Zemi’s hand fell away from his face as sterling tears fell over her cheeks. She backed away from him and into the beam of golden light that streamed into the room through the window.

“You shall be dark no more, demon.” A jingling, musical sound filled the space and as the sunlight consumed her, Zemi murmured, “The Prophecy has begun.”

Chapter Eighteen

Kai tried not to fidget with the green, silk and chiffon dress she chose but it was a far cry from her cut off jeans and sneakers. The silver trimmed concoction was beautiful but Kai felt like an escapee from a Renaissance fair or something. At least the silver slippers were comfortable and easy to walk in—or run in-- if the situation called for it.

Walking along the empty hallway with Kristine, Kai couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said. Zemi brought Kai here so she could kill Asmodeus? Not a chance. Aside from the fact that she wasn’t in favor of running around killing people, she also happened to be in love with the big brute.

I’m in love with a demon.

A smile played at her lips. Asmodeus may be a demon but he was the kindest, most thoughtful man she’d ever been involved with. Demon or not, she loved him. Kai clutched the spell book to her chest as she followed Kristine. There had to be something, some kind of spell or whammy, in this damn book that would help her and Asmodeus get out of this mess. She just needed the time to find one so she could figure out how to get back to her own dimension.

About a hundred more questions rattled through Kai’s head but when Kristine opened the door at the end of the hall, and Kai caught a glimpse of the world outside, her mind went blank. She stood at the top of a set of marble steps and gaped at the stunningly gorgeous world before her. It was like something out of a storybook from her childhood and everything someone would expect from a fairy dimension.

The sky reminded her of a watercolor painting she’d seen once. It was rippling waves of lavender and purple as far as the eye could see. Aside from the two yellow suns, the swath of violet sky was marred only by the occasional dots of pink, tufted clouds. The trees and grass were green but everything was brighter and seemed more alive than at home. The sleek, paved streets were bustling with people who blinked in and out of the sunlight, going to and from God knows where.

All of that aside, it was the towering castle in the distance that truly took Kai’s breath away. Zemi’s castle looked like it was made of diamonds and a glittering prism of colors wavered around it, almost like a rainbow colored aura.

“I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore,” Kai murmured.

She watched a family stroll by on the sidewalk and when the pigtailed girl waved, Kai instinctively waved back. Yet, as beautiful as the world was, something seemed amiss and it took a moment for Kai to realize what it was. The people here didn’t have auras. Kai trotted down the steps, holding her skirt so she wouldn’t trip, she met Kristine who was standing at the bottom of the steps.

“No one here has an aura,” she said breathlessly.

“Well, we do but you can’t see them when we’re in our own dimension. Our auras are only visible in the mortal plane,” her grandmother said impatiently. “You can sight see later on but we have to keep moving.”

Kai nodded her understanding and went with Kristine, even though all she wanted to do was find Asmodeus, get out of this place and go home. She decided that her best tactic right now was to smile and just go along with it until she could figure out what to do next.

They walked toward the castle in silence and Kai glanced at Kristine from time to time but she continued to stare straight ahead. But as they got closer to the diamond like structure, the ring on Kai’s hand burned against her skin with a now familiar warning. She curled her hand into a fist and held the book closer to her chest as dread crawled up her back.

They approached a clear beam of sunlight that was streaking through the clouds. Without a word, Kristine grabbed Kai’s arm with her left hand and dipped her right hand in the beam of light. Kai held her breath, knowing what was next. The light flashed over them in a prickling flash and an instant later they were standing outside the towering gates of the castle.

“Whoa.” Kai wavered a little but managed to stay on her feet while the lightheadedness subsided. “That’s wild but how did you get it to work? I mean do you just stick your hand in a beam of sunlight? Then boom, you’re there.”

“Yes.” Kristine kept her sights on the gate as it swung open slowly.

“No magic words?”

“No,” Kristine laughed. “The power is in your mind, Kai. All you have to do is think of where you want to go and the light will take you there.”

“That’s not all that different from the witches’ magic. Isadora told me the same thing, she said my mind holds the power,” Kai said murmured. “But the witches use spells and potions.” She brushed her fingers over the cover of the spell book as some of the pieces started to come together. “The Fae don’t use spells. Fae magic, the Power of the Light, is just kind of there, inside of us. Wait a minute…. this spell book isn’t a Fae book. Is it?”

“Not exactly,” Kristine said quietly. She sliced a nervous glance in Kai’s direction. “Come on.”

“Wait.” Kai followed her through the gates. “But, if it’s not a Fae spell book…?”

“It belongs to the Custodians of the Light,” Kristine said firmly. “And the Custodians are Fae. That’s all you need to know.”

“Hang on.” Kai stopped walking and looked at the book in her hands. “Are the Fae somehow related to the Witches? Is that why the first Chosen One, had to be both Fae and Witch bloodlines?”

Kristine stopped dead in her tracks but kept her back to Kai and she didn’t miss the tension in her grandmother’s body language.

“Holy crap.” Kai closed the distance between them as she spoke, keeping her voice low. “The Fae and the witches….you guys are related aren’t you?”

“Shhh.” Kristine grabbed Kai by the arm and pulled her close. Keeping her voice down, she kept talking so no one else would hear. “Thousands of years ago, yes, Fae and Witch lived together as one people but then we divided over differing ideologies. Most Fae wanted to remain here, free from the constraints of the mortal world, but there were others who desired nothing more than to live among humans.”

“Holy shit,” Kai shouted louder than she expected. She clapped her hand over her mouth and looked around but luckily no one was in sight. “So you’re part of the same race?’

“We were until about a thousand years ago.” Kristine released Kai’s arm and a pained expression flickered across her face. “But living in the mortal realm, for any length of time, robs us of our light.”

“For how long?”

“After a few days, we begin to see the effects and within a month, our light disappears.”

“So about a thousand years ago, there were Fae who stayed on earth and lost their powers and then they became witches?”

“To put it simply, yes. They lost their light but they weren’t entirely powerless.” Kristine looked past Kai toward the gate where two guards were now standing by and watching. “Over time, they learned how to parlay their abilities into spells and potions.”

“Okay, fine.” Kai rolled her eyes. “So what’s the big deal? Why are you acting so secretive about it?”

“Because we don’t speak of it.” Kristine clasped her hands in front of her and squared her shoulders. “We live separately. That’s simply the way it is.”

“Why?”

“Because the rift between them has never been repaired.” Kristine lowered her voice. “The betrayal was too great.”

“Rift between who?” Kai asked. “The Fae and the Witches?”

“No.” Kristine’s mouth set in a grim line. “Between Zemi and her sister.”

“Kristine,” Kai asked in a barely audible voice. “Who’s her sister?” Silence hung between them and Kai thought she’d scream with frustration if Kristine didn’t just spit it out. “Who is it?”

“Willow,” Kristine said through a shuddering breath. “Willow is Zemi’s sister and they haven’t spoken in over a thousand years. In fact, none of us are permitted to have anything to do with the witches unless Zemi first approves it.

“Oh shit,” Kai breathed. “Except when you need to find some poor, unsuspecting, part-witch-human guy to have a baby with.” Kai shook her head and looked Kristine up and down. “You people are fucked up.”

Without another word, Kristine spun on her heels and waved to the guards. As the gates opened, Kai stayed close to Kristine but kept note of her surroundings. Her situation was getting more precarious by the second and Kai didn’t trust anyone-- except Asmodeus.

Every single aspect of the castle was made of diamond or crystal but the color changed as light hit it. The prism of colors made the building seem as though it was breathing or had a heartbeat or something. Enormous doors, that had to be two stories high and looked to be made of sapphires, swung open and two more armored guards jumped to attention as Kristine and Kai strolled past.

Holding the book against her chest, she flinched when the sound of the closing doors ricocheted through the cavernous entry hall. Kai let out a whistle as she surveyed the lush surroundings. The ceilings, the walls, everything, it was all made of the same crystal as the outside of the building. It was like being inside fishbowl made of diamonds and they were the fish.

Her slipper clad feet brushed along a bright, pink carpet. It stretched out in front of them and along various adjacent hallways but she and Kristine were heading toward another set of doors.

“I’m feeling more like Dorothy with every passing second.” Kai fiddled with the ring and stayed close to Kristine as a few different people walked past them. Each person smiled and nodded but nobody spoke. “What’s the deal, grandma? Where’s the great and powerful Oz?

Kristine cast her a doubtful look but before she could answer, they were interrupted by one of the most unusual looking men Kai had ever seen. Standing in front of the arched doorway, he was dressed in a gold doorman’s uniform. He looked to be almost seven feet tall, was rail thin and had the darkest skin of any person she’d every laid eyes on.

“Welcome, ladies,” he said in a deep baritone. Giving them a wide smile, he bowed deeply and kissed both of their hands in the true fashion of a gentleman. Even given how tall he was, his most striking feature were his bright, blue eyes that sparkled with humor and intelligence. “Lovely to see you again, Kristine.”

“Murdoch, it’s always a pleasure to see you.” Kristine curtsied and gestured to Kai. “This is my granddaughter.”

“Kai Kelly,” Murdoch said with a wink. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, young lady. The queen is thrilled about your arrival and we have spent the past several hours setting up for tonight’s event. And of course, we have your guest quarters within the palace prepared for you as well.”

“Guest quarters?” Kai flicked a wary glance to Kristine. “But I thought I was staying with my grand—with Kristine—at her house.”

“That wasn’t my house. It was our equivalent of a hospital, Kai.” Kristine gave her a tight smile. “We had to assure that your transition into our realm would be safe for everyone. Not all Halflings survive in our dimension and given the power of the ring…well…we had to be sure that…”

“The queen was safe,” Kai said quietly. She studied Kristine closely. “So, you brought me to your world even though there was a chance I might die? Is there anything else you’d like to spring on me, lady?”

Kristine said nothing but looked at Kai with something that looked a lot like regret. Before she could respond, Murdoch interrupted.

“Now, now, my dear. That’s neither here nor there.” Murdoch waved his hand and the doors opened revealing a long, crystal corridor. “All is well and you are a cousin of the Fae Queen. Therefore, you will be staying here in the palace as her guest. Follow me.”

Kai and Kristine walked behind Murdoch in silence. A knot of anger coiled in Kai’s chest, as heat rippled over her arms and the ring burned. She wanted nothing more than to zap the crap out of Kristine because any illusions Kai had about a loving relationship with her grandmother were vanishing with each passing second.

The woman brought Kai here knowing it might kill her. Nice.

“Are you excited for tonight’s event?” Murdoch asked as they approached the end of the corridor. Stopping in front of the glistening red doors he looked down at Kai with an eager smile and pointed at the spell book in Kai’s arms. “I do hope you’ve picked a good spell to use on him.”

“Him? Do you mean Asmodeus?” Kai asked with more than a little dread. She looked from Murdoch to Kristine and didn’t miss the look of warning her grandmother gave him. “Is he in there?”

Kai tried to push past Murdoch but Kristine grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back. Murdoch laughed loudly and clapped his hands, clearly misunderstanding Kai’s motives.

“I’m glad to see how eager you are and I’m sure it will make for a fine display.”

“What display?” Kai tugged her arm out of Kristine’s grasp. “Cut the crap, Kristine.”

“That’s quite enough.” Kristine interrupted. Kai didn’t miss the look of warning she shot Murdoch. “As the queen’s secretary, I’m sure Murdoch knows that Zemi would like to tell Kai all about it herself.”

“Yes.” Murdoch bowed and a contrite look covered his face. “My apologies.”

He waved one hand and the doors swung inward, revealing an enormous silver and ivory hall that brought to mind the gladiator arenas of ancient Rome. The ruby red door closed silently behind as the three of them walked along sterling silver floors into the center of the hauntingly, silent arena.

When Kai looked back the doors were gone and she felt as though they had been entombed. The circular space was lined with ivory colored walls made of marble that were about twenty feet high. Directly above it were several rows of seating, which would give an audience a clear view of whatever happened on the arena floor.

Gauzy, red bunting hung around the edges of the domed ceiling and at the center was a massive crystal sunroof that cast a colorful, glittering beam of light into the center of the room.

Murdoch led them around the beam of light so that they stood to the left of it. Kai noticed that neither, Murdoch or Kristine attempted to touch the light. In fact they avoided it entirely.

Perched high above them there was a gilded balcony fit for a queen. Beneath a canopy of flowing fabric was a massive sterling throne encrusted with jewels and Kai had no doubt that’s where Zemi would be sitting. Just as Kai was going to inquire about the queen, the wall behind the throne vanished and four women scurried out. All of them were dressed in dresses similar to Kai’s but their hair was coiled on top of their heads. They stopped, two on either side of the door, and bowed their heads.

Kristine and Murdoch dropped to their knees as one of the most beautiful women Kai had ever laid eyes on, emerged onto the balcony. Her coffee colored skin stood out against an ivory and gold dress that fit her curvy body to perfection. Thick, curly, dark hair flowed over her shoulders and as she placed her hands delicately on the edge of the balcony, her piercing, blue gaze landed on Kai.

“Don’t you think you should kneel before your queen?” Zemi asked. “Clearly, you didn’t learn any manners on Earth.”

“Really?” Kai laughed as Kristine and Murdoch rose to their feet. She knew it was probably unwise to mouth off to the queen but she was tired of all the bullshit. “Well, you may be a queen but you aren’t my queen.”

“Kai,” Kristine warned. “Mind your tongue.”

“You certainly have the spirit of a Fae woman,” Zemi said, her voice echoing through the cavernous space. She clapped her hands. “Murdoch, you are dismissed. Please tend to the rest of the details for tonight’s gala.”

“As you wish.” Murdoch bowed regally and winked at Kai before leaving. “Until tonight.”

“Kristine, bring the girl up here.”

Laying one hand on Kai’s arm, Kristine waved the other in the beam of light. The familiar sound of wind chimes filled the air and when the light spread over them, that warm fuzzy feeling rippled through Kai.

A split second later, the two of them were standing on the balcony in front of Zemi, who was seated in her throne. Kai swooned with dizziness but fought the lightheaded sensation, clinging to the book like her life depended on it. Fainting in front of the queen would definitely make her look like an idiot.

“For a Chosen One, you seem to get woozy rather often,” Zemi, said, with mild amusement. She waved her hand and two small silver chairs appeared behind them. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

Kai and Kristine sat down and within a few seconds the four servant girls scurried over with gilded glasses of wine. Kai smiled but politely refused. Even though she wanted a drink—badly—it seemed a wise idea to keep a clear head.

“Do you like the stage we have set for you? I wanted to show it to you so that you’d be familiar with it before this evening,” Zemi said before sipping her wine. The queen’s intelligent gaze studied Kai intently over the rim of the gilded chalice. “I thought it only fitting that you eliminate him in a grand setting for all to see.”

“Yeah, about that,” Kai began, “I’m not eliminating anyone.” Kai placed the spell book on her lap. She folded her hands on top of it but kept her calm expression focused on Zemi. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“It’s really not up to you, Kai,” Zemi said sweetly. “You are the first of the chosen Custodians. You have been given the Ring of Solomon and that spell book so that you can eliminate Asmodeus. Once that is complete, then the duty will go to the next Chosen One and so on. The cycle will continue until all seven members of the Brotherhood are dark no more.” She sipped her wine and smiled. “Until they’re destroyed…and then we will be free to roam the earth.”

“What do you mean…we?” Kai swallowed the lump of dread in her throat.

“Keepers of the damned? Well, that doesn’t refer to the demons, my dear.” Zemi laughed and took another sip of wine. “It’s a reference to us. The Fae Custodians….we are the keepers of the damned. We hold the light for the Dark Ones--the light that will destroy them.”

“Oh my God.” Kai, completely agog, stared at Zemi as the ring burned against her flesh. “You can’t be on Earth for more than a few days without losing your power.”

“Not without becoming like my sister,” Zemi seethed. “That traitorous wretch and her pathetic coven living beneath Larrun Mountain like insects. They may live in the mortal world but their magic is weak. However, if we destroy the Brotherhood and bring an end to their evil, then all of the Fae can roam the earth freely without any danger of losing our light.”

“You crazy bitch,” Kai whispered. “I won’t do anything to help you harm Asmodeus or his brothers.”

“You forget yourself,” Zemi spat. She rose to her feet and tossed the chalice of wine aside, with little care that it almost hit one of the servant girls. “You may be the Chosen One but I am your queen and you will not speak to me with that insolent tone. Perhaps too much time with that filthy demon has made you lose your senses?”

“Zemi, please,” Kristine begged. “She has had much to adjust to in a very short time. I beg you to be patient with Kai while she learns our ways. I fear her judgment has been clouded by her feelings for the demon.”

“Leave us,” Zemi whispered. Holding Kai’s gaze, she waved her hands at the servant girls. “All of you.” She turned her sharp, blue stare to Kristine. “Now.”

Kristine and the four ladies-in-waiting scurried silently out of the room. Her grandmother sliced a worried look in Kai’s direction before she left but didn’t do a damn thing to help her. Fear oozed off all of them but Kai couldn’t blame them because she was feeling more than a little anxious herself.

“You love him, don’t you?” Zemi asked calmly. “And you are a foolish enough child to believe that he loves you.”

“I’m not foolish or a child. I may not be a million years old like you are but I know what it feels like to be loved.” Kai straightened her back and curled her hands around the edges of the spell book. “But maybe that’s your problem. You don’t know what it feels like to be loved do you?”

Zemi’s smile faltered and her body stiffened. Kai knew she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Asmodeus doesn’t love you, Kai.” Zemi’s tone grew cold and her eyes glittered with bitterness. Letting out a cruel laugh, she rose from her chair. As she spoke, she walked around the balcony but kept her attention on Kai. “He wants you to love him, though. Oh, yes. He desires nothing more than to have you weakened by your love for him because then, how could you possibly destroy him? Mark my words, child. Asmodeus will use your love and tenderness, against you before betraying you and laying you wasted. He’ll leave you barren, broken, and alone. Trust me,” she whispered in a quivering breath. “That is the only future possible with a member of the Brotherhood. Therefore, it is your duty to use your light to destroy them before they can do it to us.”

Sadness edged her voice and sterling tears glittered in Zemi’s eyes. And that’s when everything fell into place. The woman standing in front of Kai wasn’t a Fae Queen obsessed with freedom on earth. Her motive was far more personal.

Zemi was a woman scorned.

“This isn’t about the Fae getting freedom on earth at all. Is it?” Kai gripped the book tightly as she studied Zemi. “This is about taking out your revenge on Lucifer for whatever went down between you two. Listen, I don’t know what happened but I can tell you that Asmodeus is different. He loves me. You want to worry about someone betraying you, then how about Ben Flaherty?”

“Who?” Zemi looked at her with obvious confusion. “I know no one by that name.”

“Ben Flaherty is Fae.” Kai’s attention was caught by a single beam of light that shone past her and reflected off the jewels on Zemi’s throne. She rose to her feet slowly and inched toward it, but all the while kept her eyes on the queen. “He attacked me at the farm and tried to steal the ring. Based on your reaction, I’m guessing you didn’t send him to steal the ring from me.”

“Why would I do that? It cannot be removed.” Zemi rolled her eyes and gave Kai a bored look. “All of the Fae are aware of how important the Ring of Solomon is to the Chosen One and to the future of our people.”

“Well, maybe, but I think you better watch your back, Your Highness.” Kai moved casually toward the beam of light and prayed Zemi wouldn’t notice. “This Ben guy tried to take the ring. He seemed to think it was pretty valuable and since his little attack wasn’t sanctioned by you…well…I’d say you’ve got a traitor in your midst.”

“A traitor?” Zemi scoffed. “Let me tell you about traitors. The members of the Brotherhood are nothing but that. Demons know nothing of love. They lie, deceive, and toy with the hearts of women as a means to an end.” She looked at Kai as though she were a fool. “I used to be naïve like you. I believed in love…until Lucifer betrayed me with my own sister.”

Kai stilled. Lucifer and Willow? But didn’t Asmodeus say that Willow had a thing with Satan? She shook her head and let out a sound of frustration.

“I’d love to sit here and listen to the Real Housewives of the Fae Dimension.” Kai flicked her gaze to the beam of light, dipped her finger in it and focused her thoughts on where she wanted to go, as she whispered, “But I’ve never been into that kind of drama.”

As the familiar jingling sound filled her head and a tingling sensation flashed over her body, Zemi’s shocked face was the last sight Kai saw before she vanished.

Chapter Nineteen

Through inky darkness, a whisper of warmth washed over Asmodeus’ cheek and he imagined that velvety soft lips brushed over his. He moaned as pain mixed with pleasure and his imagination tormented him with what he knew couldn’t be real.

Dreaming, he thought, I must be dreaming. Demons didn’t dream but at the very least, Asmodeus knew he had to be hallucinating because he was still bleeding and chained to the dungeon wall.

“Asmodeus.” Kai’s voice sounded painfully real as she murmured his name. “Wake up.”

“Kai?” Fingertips fluttered across his chest as a clean, familiar scent filled his head. Asmodeus peeled his eyes open to see the Kai’s smiling face. Dressed in the garb of a Fae woman, she looked luminously beautiful and remarkably self-assured. He licked his dry, cracked lips and rasped, “How is this possible?”

“No time for explanations.” Kai kept her voice down and glanced over her shoulder toward the door. “I’ve got to get you out of here. You might want to close your eyes because I have no idea if this will work and I could blow your head off.”

“I trust you,” he rasped.

Asmodeus watched as a fiercely, determined look covered Kai’s face and the ring began to glow. She held up her hand and aimed the blooming light toward the chain where it was latched to the wall. A blast of heat and a blinding flash flew from her body and a split second later the chains were shattered to bits.

As bits of stone and metal rained around him, Asmodeus dropped his arms. He bit back the pain that fired through his stiff, tortured muscles and sagged against the wall while Kai used her magic to vaporize the chains that shackled his ankles.

“Come on.” Kai wrapped her arm around his waist, encouraging him to lean on her for support. “We’re getting out of here.”

“There’s nowhere to hide from Zemi. She knows every nook and cranny of her own dimension.” He did his best not to put too much weight on Kai but, much to his dismay, the mortal body he was bound in was far weaker than expected. The sound of guards in the hall captured his attention and he tried to push Kai away. “Leave me.”

“Are you kidding?” She raised one eyebrow and shuffled with him into the ray of light that streamed in through the window. “After all of the crap we’ve been through, do you really think I’d leave without you? And who said we were staying in this dimension?”

Light seeped over their bodies just as the door of the dungeon burst open. An instant later, Kai and Asmodeus were consumed by the sunlight.

***

The clean scent of lavender and ivory soap drifted over Asmodeus, along with the crackling sound of fire. His eyes drifted open to see Kai, barefoot and clad in a pair of cut off shorts and a tank top. She had her back to him and was speaking quietly in the corner with Isadora.

They were back at Larrun Mountain.

Asmodeus pushed himself up to a sitting position in the bed, bracing himself for the pain he’d become accustomed to over the past few hours, but none came. He lifted his hands and saw that a subtle aura glowed over his flesh and while the tattoos of the Brotherhood were there, the lacerations from the shackles were not.

He was completely healed and with any luck, all of his powers were restored now that he was back in the mortal plane. Testing his theory, Asmodeus he held his hands in front of him and called up the power of fire. An instant later, energy pulsed through him with a familiar and comforting surge. He smiled while when a red and orange ball of flames materialized in the air.

“You’re awake,” Kai said with a smile. Asmodeus pulled the power back inside him, making the fire vanish just before she climbed up and kneeled on the bed next to him. She placed a warm, welcoming kiss on his mouth and murmured, “How do you feel?”

“Is that a trick question?” He teased. Asmodeus curled his hand around the back of Kai’s neck and brushed a kiss on the corner of her mouth before she snuggled up against to him. “Because the only thing I want to feel, right now, is you.”

“Good to see you back in the land of the living. You’ve been passed out for hours but given the extent of your injuries, I’m not surprised. You got your ass kicked by a bunch of fairies.” Isadora, who once again looked young and beautiful, folded her arms over her chest and wiggled her eyebrows. “But you’re feeling as horny as ever, I see.”

“Only for Kai.” Asmodeus kissed Kai again and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “How did you get us back here?”

“Well, I am a Fae you know,” Kai, teased. He knew she was mimicking him and it only made him adore her more. “I used the light travel, and you’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t faint for a change. Anyway, I figured this was the safest place to come while we planned out what our next steps would be.”

Asmodeus kissed her again and pulled her into his arms as he breathed in the clean, shampoo smell of Kai’s hair. The woman embodied purity and goodness and it killed him to know that he’d have to let her go. Eyes closed, he kissed the top of her head and peered at Isadora who gave him a knowing look.

“I can see that you two need some time alone and besides, I have to deliver our message.” Isadora opened the massive wooden door but stopped before leaving. “You’re a smart woman, Kai. It’s no wonder you are the first of the Chosen Ones. I’ll see you in three hours at the rendezvous point but don’t be surprised if Zemi doesn’t show up.”

“What rendezvous?” He asked with more than a little concern but Kai didn’t answer him. “Kai? What is this nonsense about meeting with Zemi?”

The door closed quietly behind Isadora and, without a word, Kai hopped off the bed. She moved to the windowsill and opened the spell book. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he pushed the covers aside and stood up, uncaring that he was stark naked.

“Do you love me, Asmodeus?” Kai asked quietly. She peered at him over her shoulder before looking back at the book quickly, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him. “Do you just want to get the ring and take it back to Underworld, like Zemi said? Or do you love me and want to spend your life with me?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s not possible,” he murmured. “If I stay with you…”

“I didn’t ask you if it was possible.” Kai squared her shoulders and kept her voice steady as she stared out the window. “I asked you if you loved me.”

Every single instinct he had told him to push her away, that Kai would be better off without him in her life. What kind of life could he give her? His choices were either offer Kai an eternity in Hell or her destruction on Earth. An ache bloomed and throbbed deep in his chest as he went against nature and spoke the words he had no right to utter.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I do love you, Kai.”

Kai let out a slow breath and nodded her head, but still, she avoided his gaze.

“Why do you think you’ve been taking my light, Asmodeus?” Kai asked quietly. She kept her back to him and ran her fingertips over the Prophecy that was written out on the ancient page. “The Prophecy says… holds the light for the dark…not from the dark.”

Unsure of what else to say, he sidled up behind her and brushed her long hair off her shoulder. Kai turned to face him and linked her hands with his and even though his body instantly responded to being so close to Kai, he held his desires in check. As the Demon of Lust, his first reaction was to soothe or comfort with pleasures of the flesh, but Kai was asking for something far more intimate.

“Do you know what I think it means?” Kai lifted his fingers to her lips and placed a tender kiss on his knuckles while holding his stare. “I think it’s about love, Asmodeus. Love and light. You and your brothers are chained to Hell by the tortured souls who abuse the gifts of the mortal world. Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” His body rigid, he fought for restraint as Kai inched closer.

“I have a theory. I suspected this before I went to the Fae dimension but after talking to Zemi, I think I’m on to something. Want to hear it?” Kai unlinked her fingers from his and a sexy smile played at her lips just before she pulled her tank top off and tossed it aside. She unhooked her bra and let it drop to floor as she spoke to him. “I’ve always thought that Hell would be the absence of love. Hell is darkness and loneliness. Would you agree with that?”

Asmodeus, rendered speechless by the sight of her gorgeous flesh in the firelight, simply nodded curtly. Hands curled into fists at his side, every inch of him hardened as she drifted just inches from his aroused state.

“Every time you touch me, each brush of your flesh against mine, makes your light glow brighter.” Kai unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them past her hips along with her panties. Asmodeus watched with rapt attention as the garments slid down her legs and she kicked them aside. Kai ran her fingers up the taut muscles of his arms before trailing them down his chest. “You keep saying that taking my light will harm me but it doesn’t. In fact, I’m more empowered and alive now, than I’ve ever been.”

Kai slid her hands down to his waist and inched closer still, so that his erection was pressed between their naked bodies. Asmodeus shook with restrained need as her fingers wandered over his ass and her warm breath puffed enticingly over his chest.

“I don’t think you’re taking my light,” she murmured. “I believe you’re taking my love, Asmodeus. That darkness, the absence of love you’ve lived with, is vanishing and being replaced by love and light.”

“What if you’re wrong?” His voice, tight and gravelly sounded more like growl.

“What if I’m not?” Kai arched one eyebrow and a smile lingered on her sweet lips. “Enough talking.”

Before he could respond, Kai captured his lips with hers. Asmodeus groaned and wrapped her up in his arms as her tongue tangled enticingly with his. Need, stark carnal need, fired through him as her soft, sexy body melded against his flesh. Kissing her deeply, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed while reveling in the silky, soft feel of her skin.

This couldn’t be wrong. Being with Kai was, by far, the most perfect act he’d ever participated in and he would no longer be convinced otherwise. He laid her on covers and she stretched her arms over her head as he settled himself between her legs. Propped up with his elbows on either side of her head, he tangled her long locks between his fingers and took his time, licking and suckling those sweet, plump lips.

Kai giggled and captured his lower lip between her teeth briefly. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, Kai urged him to turn onto his back, so that she was straddling him on the bed. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them over his head while rocking her hips in slow, tantalizing strokes, brushing her hot, wet center over the rigid length of his cock.

Asmodeus almost lost it while he watched Kai pleasure herself as she rubbed her clit against him. She threw her head back and moaned and that erotic sight was more than he could take. Asmodeus tore one hand from her grasp, reached in between them just as she lifted her hips, and inserted the head of his erection in between her slick folds.

Kai gasped and remained on her knees, hovering above him. Holding his stare, she sank down onto his rock hard shaft, inch by wickedly, hot inch. Asmodeus groaned when she impaled herself on the entire length of him and took all of his cock inside. He swore and grabbed her hips with both hands as she began to move with the rhythm of pure desire.

Gazes locked, Kai raised her arms over her head as she rode him.

Slowly at first, she rolled her hips and arched her back with every pass, making her breasts jut toward him temptingly.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, Asmodeus sat up and flicked her nipple with his tongue as she rode him. He couldn’t get close enough or deep enough and as though reading his mind, Kai wrapped her legs around his waist and took him deeper still.

She fucked him faster and cried his name as the orgasm crested and the most intimate part of her shuddered around him in tiny spasms. Asmodeus held her close and buried his face in her neck and as the orgasm ripped through his body, with Kai curled around him, he whispered, “I love you.”

***

Kai and Asmodeus stood on the porch of her grandfather’s house ready and waiting. The early morning sun was already making the air feel hot and sticky which was just one of the reasons Kai refused to wear one of Isadora’s get ups. If she was going to face down supernatural crazies then she was gonna do it in her own clothes. Nothing beats a pair of Levi cutoffs, her tank top and Converse sneakers. Comfort was paramount at this point.

Even though he’d agreed to come with her, she could tell that Asmodeus still wasn’t convinced that Kai’s plan would work. He stood at attention, scanning the property, with a laser sharp intensity that put all of his other efforts to shame. The man, demon or not, was a tension filled bundle of nerves and he was beginning to stress Kai out.

“Where are they?” Asmodeus seethed. He sliced an annoyed look in Isadora’s direction. She was sitting on the steps of the porch with Zephyr in her lap, looking totally unconcerned. “I’ve tried communicating with them but I can’t seem to connect with the collective consciousness of the Brotherhood.”

“Relax. Maybe it’s a left over side effect from your time in the Fae dimension? They’ll be here.” Isadora rolled her eyes at his impatience. “I told you. We’ve got it all set up. They’re coming and so is Zemi, although I’m sure she’ll bring an entourage with her.”

“I cannot believe I let you convince me this was a good idea,” Asmodeus said with an annoyed glance in Kai’s direction. “There is no way this will end well and I find it hard to believe that Zemi agreed to this meeting with Lucifer.”

“Well, at least here, in the mortal realm, we are all on an even playing field here. Anyone who’s got magic will be able to use it.” Kai shrugged. “We’ve all got a weapon to use, so maybe no one will use it. It’s kind of like the world super powers and their nuclear weapons. Everyone’s got nukes but they don’t use ’em. Get it?”

“Perhaps,” Asmodeus murmured. “But Zemi is not exactly stable and she’s even less stable when it comes to Lucifer.”

“Who said she even knows that he’s gonna be here?” Isadora smirked. “My message asked her for a temporary truce and to meet you and Kai here. Willow should be here soon as well. A neutral zone, so to speak.”

“Let’s hope so. Now, I can understand how you got a message to Willow but how did you get a message to Zemi?” Asmodeus asked, without taking his eyes off the horizon. “If memory serves, she doesn’t like you very much.”

“Murdoch,” Isadora said causally. “He’s Zemi’s secretary but he also happens to be an occasional lover of mine. Damn if he isn’t one fine lookin’ fairy man. Anyway, he and I take a tussle in the sack from time to time. I had him meet me for a quickie at my place and then he took the message back to Zemi. Ain’t nothin’ that man won’t do for me if he thinks he’s gonna get some nookie.”

Kai laughed and shook her head at Isadora’s typically frank commentary but the moment of lightheartedness was cut short by a sudden burst of smoke and fire. Seconds later Lucifer and the other five members of the Brotherhood stood in Kai’s driveway. Dressed in black from head to toe, they looked like a squadron of super-secret government soldiers or something.

“Glad to see you made it back from the Fae dimension unscathed, Asmodeus.” Lucifer winked at Kai. “And you too, of course, Ms. Kelly.”

Zephyr hissed and fled Isadora’s lap before she rose to her feet and stood by Asmodeus’ side.

“I knew my cat had good taste,” Kai said with a triumphant glance in Lucifer’s direction.

“I’m hurt, Ms. Kelly,” Lucifer simpered. “Why so angry?”

“You conveniently forgot to tell Asmodeus that he’d lose his powers in the Fae dimension.” Kai glared at him and moved closer to Asmodeus. “That was a shitty thing to do.”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Lucifer shrugged. “Apologies. Besides, he looks no worse for the wear and in fact, one could say you’re positively glowing, brother.”

“Dude, what’s with that bright ass light you’ve got?” Belphegor asked Asmodeus with genuine interest. He pushed his long blonde hair off his forehead and hooked his thumbs in the pocket of his pants. “You’ve got a full on aura man and your girl, here, still has hers. I thought she’d be almost dark by now but she’s still way luminous. That is some freaky shit.”

“Shut up, Belphegor,” Satan hissed. He flicked his ebony eyes to Kai before turning to Lucifer. “I don’t give a crap if he can light up an entire fucking city, right now I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Asmodeus,” Mammon interjected, “Lucifer said you have some news regarding this Prophecy and the Fae.”

“Patience, gentleman,” Isadora purred. She sashayed down the steps, bewitching all six demons with her youthful beauty. Kai couldn’t help but wonder what they’d think of good old Isadora without her youth spell. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Well, sweet thing,” Satan said with a wink. “Why don’t you come over here and wait with me?”

“No.” Isadora stood at the bottom of the steps and leaned on the stair railing. “I think it would be wise if I kept my distance from you. Willow is a High Priestess and I don’t think she’d appreciate it if I let you get a whiff of my wiles.”

“Willow?” Satan shifted his weight and squared his shoulders. “What’s she got to do with it?”

Satan’s tirade was interrupted by the familiar sound of wind chimes.

“Fae,” Lucifer seethed, turning his furious sights on Asmodeus. “What the fuck is going on, Asmodeus?”

Kai watched as the eyes of all seven demons flickered to bright red and, as though it were a carefully coordinated dance, Lucifer and the others backed up and formed a circle. Facing out, arms at their sides and bodies taut, they looked ready to turn everyone around them into ash.

“Zemi’s coming,” Kai said quietly.

“No shit,” Lucifer spat.

“Just trust me, okay? We’ve got to face this situation head on. There are too many miscommunications flying around and I will not live my life on the run from anyone. Fairy. Demon. Witch. No more bullshit.” Kai looked at each of them in earnest. She knew there was a chance they would split but curiosity must have gotten the better of Lucifer because they didn’t leave. Moving in, next to Asmodeus, she rubbed her thumb against the band of the ring and threw a silent prayer to the universe that her hunch was right. “Just keep your cool and let me do the talking.”

Lucifer cast her a doubtful look before turning his attention back to the pulsing ray of sunlight that shone over the roof of the barn and into the driveway.

“If Zemi makes one move toward you, the last thing I’ll be doing is talking to her.” Asmodeus’ body hummed with tension and the muscles in his arms flickered beneath the faded tattooed rings. His eyes glowed red and heat wafted off his tall frame in thick waves but the tension in his voice made his feelings clear. “She’s going to find out just how much of a demon I can be.”

The wind chimes jingled louder and in a pulsing flash of light, Zemi and Murdoch materialized in front of the barn. Dressed in a turquoise and silver dress, she looked every bit the queen she was, but a mask of fury swiftly replaced a smug smile once she spotted Lucifer and the rest of the Brotherhood.

“You,” Zemi seethed.

She raised her hands to, undoubtedly, throw her light at the Brotherhood but Kai ran down the steps and stood between them, using her body as a shield. Asmodeus, of course, was right there with her and the two of them stood back to back, with their magic at the ready. He faced his brothers while Kai aimed her power toward Zemi and Murdoch.

“Please wait.” Kai’s voice sounded remarkably strong and she prayed Zemi didn’t know how terrified she actually was. “I asked Lucifer and the others to come here so we could all talk and straighten this whole mess out. And before you have another royal size temper tantrum, Willow is coming soon too. At least, she’s supposed to. You’re all wrong about the Prophecy.”

Shaking like a leaf, Kai’s heart hammered in her chest and she started to sweat as the power coiled and swirled inside of her. Light glowed from the ring that burned against her flesh as Kai held out her palm toward Zemi. The only person who hadn’t moved was Isadora. She was standing at the foot of the steps with her hands on her hips, looking at all of them like they were a bunch of idiots.

“So are you gonna blast the shit out of each other or what?” Isadora snapped. She folded her arms over her breasts and walked causally between Kai and Zemi while looking them all up and down. “I could cut the tension in the air with a knife and the buzz from all the magic is making me feel a little stoned. Now, as much as I love a good high, I have a feeling that no one is gonna win if you all start zapping each other’s butts.”

“She’s right,” Kai said firmly. With a deep breath, Kai lowered her hands slowly but all the while kept her sights on Zemi. “Please, Zemi. Give me five minutes to explain why I brought you all here.”

“Your majesty,” Murdoch whispered. Hands raised, he was ready to fight but clearly had no interest in doing so. “I beg you. Please hear what the girl has to say.”

“You knew that he would be here and that Willow was coming?” Zemi asked without taking her furious gaze off Kai. Her mouth set in a grim line and her voice dropped to dangerous tones while she slowly lowered her hands. “I’ll deal with you later Murdoch, but right now I want to know why he has been brought into my presence.”

“Actually, I was here first, darling,” Lucifer teased. “So technically you came into my presence.”

“Shut up,” Asmodeus barked. “You’re not helping matters.”

“Typical,” Zemi simpered. She brushed her long, curly hair off her shoulders and folded her hands in front of her before turning her bright, blue eyes to Kai. “Fine. I will hear what you have to say, Kai. Unlike a demon, I am capable of controlling my urges. I realize my sister isn’t here yet but I have matters to attend to in my own realm and cannot dally here all day.”

“Fine. I’ll get started,” Kai said with relief. She let out a sigh and leaned against Asmodeus’ strong frame for a just a second before finding the strength to continue. “Lucifer?” Looking over her shoulder, she smiled when she saw all members of the Brotherhood had relaxed their position. Though their eyes glowed red, they weren’t poised to douse everyone with fire. “Okay, good. This is…progress.”

“Get on with it, Kai,” Satan groused.

“I’d watch the way you speak to my woman if I were you,” Asmodeus growled.

“Anyway,” Kai said, giving Asmodeus a look that pleaded for him to give the macho stuff a rest. She took his hand in hers and shifted her body so she could look easily from Zemi to the Brotherhood. “I asked you to be here so we could clear up the confusion about the Ring of Solomon and the Prophecy. This ring does not have the power to control Hell or command demons…at least, not for me.” She gave Asmodeus a small smile before continuing. “There have been several times since I put this damn ring on, that I wanted Asmodeus to do certain things and he didn’t. So, let’s put that rumor to rest.”

“I don’t buy it,” Mammon scoffed.

“Really?” Kai arched one eyebrow held up the hand with the ring and shouted, “Dance like a clown, Mammon.”

“No way.” Mammon folded his arms over his broad chest and made a sound of derision. Squaring his shoulders he looked awkwardly from Kai to his brothers and said, “I’m not fuckin’ doing that.”

“See? No commanding of demons over here.” Kai looked at each of them earnestly. “I cannot control you boys and I have no desire to do so.”

“I don’t get it,” Belphegor interjected. “Solomon was able to control us with it. So why can’t you?”

“I don’t know and neither do you.” Kai looked fondly at Asmodeus. “And that’s the problem. All of us have a lot of a little bit of information but none of us have the whole story. From what I understand, like a million years ago, King Solomon suddenly had this ring one day and started controlling all of you. It didn’t stop until he got drunk, took of the ring and gave it to Asmodeus who then tossed it into the ocean. Right?”

The boys in the Brotherhood nodded and Kai didn’t miss the looks of discomfort that passed between them while recalling unpleasant memories. Asmodeus’ body tensed at the mention of it but Kai gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Zemi, however, stifled a giggle at the mention of their unfortunate experience and Kai caught Lucifer giving her a look that could kill.

“Zemi?” Kai turned her attention to the queen who’d been staring at Lucifer. “Right around that same time, something big went down with the Fae didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Zemi lifted her chin as though she was trying to rise above the difficult memory. “That was when my sister and the others walked away from the Fae dimension to reside in the mortal world and live as witches.”

“Fine.” Kai nodded and put her hands on her hips. “I have another question. If this ring is part of the Custodian legacy then how the heck did old Solomon get his hands on it?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion.” Zemi smiled. Even though she acted clueless, Kai had a sinking suspicion that she knew exactly how Solomon got it. “Just a stroke of luck, I suppose.” She winked at Lucifer. “Or bad luck, depending on how one sees it.”

“You?” Lucifer seethed. He lifted his hands but Asmodeus countered and gave him a warning glare, which made Lucifer lower his hands. “You gave Solomon that ring. Didn’t you?”

“I don’t recall,” Zemi said, while twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “It was an awfully long time ago.”

“Actually, it might not have been Zemi.” Kai looked at Lucifer and then to Satan. “Willow would have enjoyed seeing you suffer a little. Wouldn’t she, Satan?”

“Son of a bitch,” Satan spat. “How could she do that to me?”

“Witches can be bitches,” Isadora said with a wink to Satan. “But I suppose you can ask her that for yourself, if she ever gets here.”

“Anyway,” Kai said, with a warning look to Isadora. “I have another question for you people. Where did this spell book come from?”

Kai extended both hands and an instant later the spell book flew off the wicker table on the porch with wicked speed before landing in her hands with an audible slap.

“Be careful with that,” Zemi cautioned in an oddly gentle tone. “It possesses more power than you could possibly fathom, Halfling.”

“I’m sure it does.” Kai held it against her chest and studied Zemi closely. “I haven’t had time to read all of it but there are some spells in here that can do serious damage to every one of the members of the Brotherhood, not to mention anyone else who pisses me off. Now, I’m the one who’s losing patience, so how about you cut the crap and tell me where this book came from and who wrote this Prophecy?”

“Why?” Zemi’s voice quivered with something that sounded like fear. Her blue eyes flicked from Kai to Lucifer. “It is of no importance who wrote it or why.”

“I beg to differ,” Lucifer said in a surprisingly calm voice. “If our destruction is at stake, I’d say that the origin of this so-called Prophecy is of the highest importance.”

“Please,” Zemi whispered. Her eyes glimmered with silver tears as she stared at Lucifer. “There are some wounds that are best left alone. I’m sorry but once the Prophecy has been set in motion there is no way to stop it.”

Kai looked from Zemi to Lucifer and saw that the anger and frustration that flowed between them so freely before, was replaced with sadness and regret. Lucifer stepped away from his brothers and walked slowly toward Zemi. Asmodeus went to stop him but Kai grabbed his arm and held him back. “Let him go.”

“Zemi?” Lucifer moved closer, until he was only a few feet from the queen. “How long are you going to punish me for one foolish mistake?”

The unusually tender moment was interrupted when Murdoch, who was standing behind Zemi, started to make an odd gurgling sound and what happened next, went by in slow motion. Kai watched in horrified fascination as Murdoch’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body shuddered before erupting in an explosive flash of light. The look of surprise on Zemi’s face as she spun around, was swiftly replaced by rage when she saw her secretary disintegrate into nothingness.

An instant later, Kai noticed disruptions in the air around them and it became very clear that their party was getting crashed.

In a split second, chaos erupted and a supernatural war came to Bliss.

Flashes of fire and white light exploded from every angle and through the smoke she saw an evil smile on a familiar face as it emerged from the light.

Ben Flaherty.

The smell of burnt flesh and smoke filled Kai’s head and made her stomach roll. Somewhere in the background, Kai heard Isadora scream but she sounded so far away that Kai wasn’t even sure that’s who was screaming. For all Kai knew, the scream may have come from her.

A blast of heat and otherworldly power knocked Kai through the air and slammed her into the trunk of the massive elm tree by the driveway. The book fell from her hands and she dropped to the ground in a gasping, writhing heap. Pain fired through her body as she struggled to get to her feet, while dirt and gravel dug into her palms. Coughing and gasping to find her breath, she squinted but could only make out ghostly figures in the smoke.

Through the chaos, Kai heard a woman’s voice chanting. It was quiet at first but as it was repeated, the chant grew louder and Kai stifled a scream.

Someone was casting a spell and it wasn’t Isadora. And Kai had no idea how to stop it.

Bound and frozen, solid as stone.

Bodies fall still, blood and bone.

No sound, no breath, no whimpers or pleas.

The wicked will halt and their magic shall cease.

“Kai!” Asmodeus screamed her name but she couldn’t see him. He started to call her name again but was cut off and horrid silence followed.

“Asmodeus! Lucifer….Isadora?” She called and called but no one answered.

The world around her was burning. Blinded by smoke and submerged in darkness, Kai stumbled forward, held up her hand with the ring and though the power swirled violently in her chest, she was terrified to use it because she had no idea who she might hit.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the explosions and the chanting stopped. A haunting, unnatural quiet fell over the property and Kai shuddered with blood curdling fear. Hands raised, the ring glowed while she held her ground and tried to calm her rapid breathing.

A gust of wind came along and in one fell swoop, all of the smoke was sucked away but a pall of darkness covered the sky, blotting out the sun. Kai’s hands flew to her mouth in horror when she saw the scene before her.

All of them were frozen. Everyone. Zemi, Isadora, all of the Brotherhood…and Asmodeus. Frozen in time and space.

Isadora was standing with her arms in the air attempting to call up a spell and her long, black hair whipped around her, suspended in mid-air. Five members of the Brotherhood were in various positions, all of them charging toward a perceived enemy. Trails of fire shot from their hands but they were frozen, like a snapshot in time.

Asmodeus was just a few feet from Kai and was immobilized like the others. Rage stamped into his features, he was reaching toward her, trying to protect her, no doubt. Zemi and Lucifer were back to back and looked like they were fighting a common enemy as opposed to each other.

Kai looked back at Asmodeus and when she captured his gaze with hers, she stifled a cry. He may have been frozen but he was totally aware of what was going on. Bodies frozen but minds alert, she could only imagine how tortured they all were and the cruelty of it fueled Kai’s rage because in the middle of it all were two frighteningly familiar faces. Ben Flaherty wasn’t alone. Standing next to him was one of the secretaries to the Witches Council—Rosalyn.

Chapter Twenty

Asmodeus watched in helpless fury as Kai threw her light toward their two attackers. However, Ben and Rosalyn matched Kai’s magic with their own, creating a mid-air explosion that was almost as deafening as it was blinding. Kai staggered backward as the power bounced back into her and when she found her feet again, Rosalyn was standing in front of her with a jagged, ancient looking dagger pointed at Kai’s throat.

Kai had been visibly weakened by the exchange of magic and Asmodeus watched her attempt to call up her light, but nothing happened. The ring’s light sputtered and Rosalyn laughed cruelly at Kai’s failure to rejuvenate her power.

“Seems you shot your load,” Rosalyn laughed. She leaned close and grabbed Kai’s jaw, while pressing the knife against her throat. “I’m not surprised to see you out of gas so quickly. An inexperienced half-breed like you doesn’t deserve the power of the ring or the glories hidden within the spell book.”

Kai’s body shook and she looked at Asmodeus through wide, frightened eyes. Rosalyn was going to kill Kai and there wasn’t a damn thing Asmodeus could do to help her. A scream echoed through his head but wouldn’t escape his lips. All he could do was watch the horrific scene play out in front of him.

“Now, I know you can’t remove the ring,” Rosalyn hissed. “But I could cut off that pretty little finger, couldn’t I? I was wondering if my immobility spell would work on you but that damn ring seems to be protecting you somehow.”

“Quit fucking around, Rosalyn,” Ben shouted. He was behind Asmodeus and most likely right next to Zemi and Lucifer. “I’ve got the queen, kill that girl and get the damn ring off her hand. Don’t forget to grab the spell book. We have to get out of here and take Zemi to the others before your damn spell wears off or her magic rejuvenates.”

“Fine.” Rosalyn moved with the speed of an ancient witch, and in a blur, had Kai pinned up against the tree. “I never liked you much anyway.”

Asmodeus, his body burning from the inside out, watched with disbelief as Rosalyn raised the knife high in the air. Kai’s frightened gaze met his, and as the scene unfolded, a fire erupted inside of him. With a bone shattering bellow of outrage, Asmodeus burst free from the constraints of the spell and charged toward Rosalyn.

“Get away from her.” Asmodeus called up the power of fire and incinerated Rosalyn when she turned around to charge him. Rosalyn’s body exploded in a flash of fire and smoke.

Weakened from breaking through the spell, Asmodeus stumbled and fell to the ground at Kai’s feet. She immediately squatted next to him and rained kisses over his face. He couldn’t help but smile because even in the midst of all the death and destruction, she still smelled like ivory soap and lavender.

“No!” Ben, red faced, screamed with indignation while Rosalyn’s ashes rain down like snow. Stalking slowly toward Kai and Asmodeus and with ashes covering his face, he whispered, “I will avenge you, my love.”

The look in his eyes was nothing short of ice-cold revenge.

“Why are you doing this?” Kai huddled behind Asmodeus and wrapped her arms around him protectively. “The ring won’t do you any good, Ben. You’re not a Custodian or a Chosen One and good luck opening that book. It won’t even let you near it, let alone allow you to open it.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been searching for that ring? I spent countless hours, weeks, tearing this shit hole upside down and you come in here after a few days and find it.”

“It wasn’t yours to find,” Asmodeus said, between halting breaths. Heat flickered along his arms but still his powers remained just outside his reach. “It’s not yours to possess. It’s not your place.”

“Not my place?” He seethed. “My place is on the throne not being her advisor. The woman never listened to a damn thing anyway. She has driven our people to the edge of extinction with her obsession over this Prophecy and her ridiculous infatuation with that demon.” He gestured toward Lucifer who was still frozen next to Zemi. “She’s had the finest Fae women breeding with half-warlock humans in an effort to create the Chosen One. She doesn’t deserve to rule our people and now she rules no longer.”

“You’re Bentley?” Kai asked quietly. “Zemi’s advisor.”

“Her advisor?” He let out a sound of disgust and threw another bolt of light above their heads, which made the leaves of the tree burst into flames. “I’m her son and her dirty little secret. A Witch-Fae offspring who just didn’t fit the bill for her precious Prophecy. She prohibits the Fae from having contact with the Witches so how would it look if the queen herself mated with one and had a little half-breed boy? I made the mistake of being born with a dick and we all know the Chosen One had to be a girl.”

“Listen, it’s a shitty gig,” Kai laughed. “I don’t want to be the Chosen One and I’d gladly pass the baton to you or anyone else but I can’t.”

“You can if you’re dead.” Ben’s body shook with unbridled rage and he stalked toward them, throwing rippling bolts of power one after the other but he wasn’t aiming at Asmodeus…he was aiming at Kai. Yet every strike of light he threw landed inches on either side of them, always close but never hitting their mark. Kai’s body shivered against Asmodeus’ as Ben toyed with them time and time again.

He stopped when he was just a couple of feet away and leveled a deadly glare at Asmodeus.

“Say good-bye to your girlfriend,” Ben leered.

Ben roared with fury and raised his hands for the final, deadly blow. Asmodeus, with his last shred of strength, scrambled to his feet, pushed Kai back and took the strike of lightning point blank in the chest. Agonizing pain seared Asmodeus’ torso and his arms flew out to his side as every muscle in his body hummed with white-hot agony. The entire world seemed to explode around him in a luminous blaze before the darkness closed in.

***

Asmodeus was dead.

That was the first thought that ran through Kai’s mind when she watched Ben’s light slam into his hulking form. Asmodeus sacrificed himself for Kai and while she watched his immortal body shake with otherworldly power, her heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

The only man she’d ever truly loved---was dying before her eyes.

And that’s when it happened.

Ben’s light consumed Asmodeus in an incandescent flash just before it ricocheted back out and slammed into Ben. The power threw him head over heels through the air across the property. His limp body landed with a sickening thud just before it skidded to a halt at Zemi’s feet. Kai held her breath while his aura sputter violently before finally going dark.

Shaking and sweating from fear, relief, and pure adrenaline, Kai scrambled over to Asmodeus’ unmoving form. At first glance, someone else might think he was dead, but Kai knew better.

Asmodeus’ aura glowed brighter than it ever had but something else was different as well.

The tattoos on his arms were gone.

Kneeling next to him, Kai wiped at the tears that fell down her cheeks. Placing a warm kiss on his forehead, she brushed his stubble-covered jaw with the back of her fingers. She whispered his name and laughed through her tears when his eyes fluttered open before staring into hers. Sobbing with relief, Kai rained kisses all over his face as he sat up and pulled her into his arms.

“You did it,” she said in between kisses. Sitting in his lap, she linked her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “And I hate to say I told you so…but I told you so. I was right.”

“What are you talking about?” Asmodeus held her face in his hands and pulled back so he could look her in the eyes. “Right about what?”

“Look.” Kai stood up and pulled Asmodeus to his feet. Holding his hand in hers, she lifted his arm and ran her fingers over the unmarked flesh. “The mark of the Brotherhood…the chains…they’re gone. And you still have an aura. Like I said, baby. Light and love. You haven’t been taking my light, Asmodeus. You’ve been taking my love and that fed your soul.”

“This can’t be possible,” he murmured. Asmodeus stared at his arms and shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand. I still have my powers.” He conjured up a fireball briefly before reabsorbing the energy. “I’m still a demon, so how can I possibly have a soul?”

“You were willing to sacrifice your life for mine.” Kai made a wide sweeping gesture with her arms. “What could be more loving and soulful than that?”

A clinking sound caught Kai’s attention and she noticed her hand felt markedly lighter.

“Holy shit,” Kai gasped. She pulled her hand in between them and they both stared at her now naked finger. Smiling broadly, Kai murmured, “The ring came off.”

Asmodeus’ smile was short lived as he looked around them. “Where is it?”

Just as the words escaped his lips, a rumbling and cracking sound filled the air. The pall of darkness vanished and in a swirl of light the others were freed from the spell.

A chorus of grumbles, a considerable number of f-bombs, and a few explosions of localized fireballs filled the air while the others emerged from their restraints. Kai leaned into Asmodeus’ embrace and rested her head on his shoulder while Lucifer tended cautiously to Zemi. The two of former lovers huddled together and spoke in hushed tones, and Kai could only hope they were on the road to an on-again phase.

They had all witnessed what had happened so there was no need to fill them in and Kai couldn’t help but smile as she watched Isadora snuggle with Zephyr. It was a glimmer of normal behavior in a sea of weirdness.

“Where’s the ring?” Satan asked with his usual impatience. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his back as he stalked over to Asmodeus. “Right before the spell wore off, I heard Kai say that the ring came off. We’ve gotta find that damn thing and take it to the Underworld where it can’t do any more damage. No offense to you two and your weird lovey-dovey-soul-creating-union, but I like my darkness, thank you very much, and I don’t need some woman taking it away from me. It keeps my head clear.”

“I second that emotion,” Belphegor murmured. He was doing some kind of yoga stretch before rising to a standing position. “Dealing with the souls of the damned is hard enough without adding a chick into the mix.”

Mammon and the others all started talking at once and voicing their displeasure at the idea of losing their darkness. Kai peered up at Asmodeus who said nothing but simply pulled her into his arms and kissed her as he murmured, “I do love you, Kai Kelly.”

“You’re such a horny fucker, Asmodeus,” Satan muttered. “Can you stop pawing at her for two seconds and answer my damn question.”

“I said no, Lucifer,” Zemi’s angry voice rose above the din, capturing the attention of the group. Lucifer had his hand firmly around Zemi’s wrist but she was struggling to get free. Kai knew she couldn’t go to the Fae dimension without taking him with her but it was curious that Zemi wasn’t using her magic to get free either. “Please, don’t ask me to do this.”

“You see, Zemi,” Lucifer’s eyes burned red as he tugged her up against his much larger body. “That’s where you’re mistaken, my love. I’m not asking.”

Zemi’s aura gleamed a blinding shade of white but it was the glow on her hand that caught Kai’s attention. As the rest of them looked on with rapt fascination, Lucifer and Zemi vanished in a plume of smoke and fire.

“Well, put a spell on my ass,” Isadora said, in a genuinely awed tone. Turning to the others she jutted her thumb toward the fading cloud of smoke. “Did that son of a bitch just take the Fae Queen to the Underworld?”

“What the fuck is he thinking?” Mammon shouted. “Abducting the Fae Queen and taking her to the Underworld? Why would he do that? I mean, I know he’s still hung up on her, any fool can see that, but why would he take her there against her will?”

Kai looked up at Asmodeus through wide eyes before turning to Satan and the rest of the Brotherhood. “Because Zemi is wearing the ring.”

The End

LUCIFER: Demon of Pride (Princes of Hell #2)

Coming in 2015

About the Author

Sara is a graduate of Marist College, with a B.A. Degree in English Literature & Theater. Her initial career path after college was as a professional actress. Some of her television credits include, A&E Biography, Guiding Light, Another World, As the World Turns and Rescue Me.
In 2013 Sara’s novel UNTAMED won two PRISM awards--Dark Paranormal and Best of the Best. Sara has been a lover of both the paranormal and romance novels for years. Her sci-fi/fantasy/romance obsession began years ago with the TV Series STAR TREK and an enormous crush on Captain Kirk. That sci-fi obsession soon evolved into the love of all types of fantasy/paranormal; vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and of course shape shifters. Sara is married to her college sweetheart, Will. They live in New York with their 4 boys. You can find information about upcoming books on her website: www.sarahumphreys.com

Beauty and The Best

by,

Judi Fennell

Beauty and The Best Copyright by Judi Fennell

Published by Mergenie Books

Cover design by Kimberly Van Meter

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author. Please contact the author at JudiFennell@JudiFennell.com. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author and her works, please see www.JudiFennell.com

This book is also available in print from some online retailers.

Jolie Gardener’s new boss, reclusive widowed artist Todd Best, who hasn’t produced anything since the death of his wife two years ago, is a pretty interesting guy. He:

a) shows up buck naked on her first day on the job,
b) asks her to pose for him - in the nude!

and
c) discovers she’s an aspiring romance novelist who finds the tragedy of his lost love inspiring, thereby throwing her out of his house, his life... and his heart.

What’s a girl to do?

Fall in love, of course!

To my family, as always,
and to Beth Hill of ANovelEdit.com
for your generosity and friendship.

Once upon a time…

a long time ago,
there lived a beast of a man,
locked within a castle
with no one to love him.

This is not his story.

This is the story of another man,
locked within himself,
and the Beauty
who sets him free.

Chapter One

There’s a naked man in my kitchen.

The thought registered just as the terse, “Who the hell are you?” had Jolie Gardener spinning around faster than a figure skater on speed.

He had the nerve to ask this? He of the broad shoulders, six-pack abs, and other, nice, um, parts...

Really. A naked man. In her kitchen.

Well, technically, she was in a naked man’s kitchen. Even more technically, she was in a naked Todd Best’s kitchen—and there wasn’t one hint of self-consciousness or embarrassment on his part.

Of course with that body, there shouldn’t be. The guy should flaunt his nudity for the world to see. Which, at present, consisted of one single, solitary person: Jolie Gardener, aspiring writer and personal chef extraordinaire.

“Well?” His hands slammed to his hips.

“You’re naked,” she squeaked, which, really, was the only way to state that kind of obvious.

“I’m what?” Mr. Six-Pack Abs glanced down.

Jolie tried not to—so unsuccessfully it was pitiful.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I am. I, uh, fell asleep last night…”

As butter sizzled in the new super-slick omelet pan on the top-of-the-line range, Jolie’s gaze alternated between some rock-hard abs and a scruffy eight a.m. shadow while her fingers danced along the speckled granite countertop in search of a napkin, placemat, oven mitt… something.

Mercifully, they scooped up a thick dishtowel that, in her world, would constitute a very plush, very luxurious hand towel from The Ritz or The Four Seasons, but which, here, apparently, was used to soak up water from designer flatware. She dangled it in the direction of Mr. Au Naturel. “Here.”

He placed an empty bottle of Jim Beam on the island countertop with a clink, then took the towel with a grunt. “So, who are you, what are you doing in my kitchen, and would you mind turning around?”

She turned. “I’m the new girl the agency sent over.”

“Hell. There better be some aspirin left,” he muttered beside her, his bare (of course) feet making no sound on the limestone floor.

She peeked over at him.

His eyebrow soared skyward.

Right.

She turned back to the sizzling butter. Which had started to burn. Sigh.

He rummaged around in one of the drawers as she carried the pan to the sink. Trying to impress the new boss on her first day with his favorite omelet ranchero and she burned the butter. Not good, but then, it wasn’t exactly her fault because nowhere in those papers she’d signed with her employment agency, Domestic Gods & Goddesses, was mention made of an optional dress code. And she didn’t care how much they were paying her, nudity did tend to throw one off. As for the alcohol-before-breakfast debacle, she wasn’t even going to address that. His rudeness said it all.

And here, she’d been worried about making a good impression on him.

A click of plastic bottle cap followed by a shake of the bottle, the fridge opening, a gulp, then Naked Guy sighing punctuated the silence before she turned on the faucet. She cleaned out the pan, all the while the Naughty Girl side of her brain screaming, “Turn around!” with the other, Jolie side, going, “You want to keep this job?”

Self-preservation being the backbone of her existence since being dumped into the foster care system, she decided to listen to the Jolie side—no matter how much groaning Naughty Girl did.

Naughty Girl, however, couldn’t resist a peek, and was rewarded with a swish of his longish golden hair, a flex of his well-defined arm, and an accompanying sizzle to her own nerve endings.

So not good. Jolie had known he was a hunk before she accepted this position. Had had quite the crush on him, too. How could she not? The guy had been plastered all over every magazine in the country for years, most especially here in his hometown.

Todd Best. The Best, as the media had dubbed him. And rightfully so. The man’s landscape paintings were hanging in every high-end hotel, public library, and courtroom in the country. Even the White House, for Pete’s sake. Not that she had an eye for art, but when a painting looked like the scene down the road and made her think she was standing there, feeling the leaves rustling by, smelling the fresh cut grass, hearing the birds singing in the trees and the ducks quacking on the pond, the whole set-up, that, to her, was talent.

And, of course, there’d been his fairytale marriage. But then, sadly, his wife had died suddenly and he’d moved out of their home, turned the reins of his company over to his brother, and put down his paint brushes.

Yes, Jolie had known exactly who she’d be working for. That’d been half the incentive.

“So, new girl, do you have a name? And what are you doing here today?”

Since he was talking, she assumed it was safe to turn around.

The old adage about making an “ASS out of U and ME” proved true.

Although he was the one with the A-S-S. And what a nice one it was. As was the muscled shoulder leaning against the stainless steel of the microwave above the stove, and the ninety-degree jut of his jaw line, the sculpted cheekbones, a perfectly proportioned brow, the fall of hair over his forehead…

She tore her gaze away from the visual smorgasbord and, traitors that they were, her eyes headed south.

Thank goodness he had the dish towel spread across his nether regions like a loincloth. But a hot guy in a loincloth was just as distracting as a naked hot guy. And she’d seen him in both. Or not in both. Whatever.

She ordered her eyes back on the pan. “Um yes, I do have a name, and as to what I’m doing here, I think that’s obvious—burning the butter for your morning omelet.” She raised the pan to illustrate and managed a quick push with her hip to get him to back away from the stove so she could start cooking again, praying all the while she wasn’t hitting something vital.

Luckily, the guy had quick reflexes—or a good hunch—’cause he stepped out of the way before her hip came anywhere close to anything important, saving them the extreme embarrassment of that.

“How’d you get in?” Mr. Clothing-Optional asked.

Okay, what was the protocol here? How long did one actually have to converse with a buck-naked human being before someone said something about it? Or did a strategically placed dishtowel negate all observances of nudity?

“Look, um, Mister.” What did one call their bare boss? Todd? Sir? Big guy? “How ’bout you go freshen up a bit and I’ll make breakfast. We can have our chat when we’re both, um, well, prepared for the day. ’Kay?”

“Fine. I’ll get dressed. Then we’ll talk.”

“You do that.”

As he sauntered—okay, maybe that was her overactive imagination, because could one really saunter with a Jim Beam-sized hangover?—from the fourteen-foot-ceiling kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances that looked as if they’d come out of their packing boxes yesterday, so stainless steel shiny she could have used them as a mirror to fix her lipstick—if she’d worn lipstick—and she inhaled enough oxygen to jump-start primordial ooze.

Which posed a whole new set of problems for this job. How was she supposed to focus if she kept getting sidetracked by the physical?

But she would.

She could.

Heck, if she could outwit social workers and manage to keep her teenaged self out of the gutter, not to mention, actually make something of her life, she could certainly keep her own libido in check.

She had to. Her job, her livelihood, and all her dreams depended on it.

***

Each step up the goddamned grandiose stairway reverberated through Todd’s skull, setting his teeth on edge and his stomach roiling. Why the hell hadn’t the builder put carpet on these stairs?

Todd grabbed his head with one hand, keeping the other one hovering above his groin with the damned kitchen towel. It’d be funny if it weren’t so ungodly pitiful.

He, a grown man, hiding his modesty behind a piece of eight-by-twelve cotton because he didn’t have enough sense to pass out in his own bed.

He kicked open the bedroom door and grimaced. Bare, tan walls, minimal furniture, and the fucking king-sized bed mocked him.

He knew exactly why he’d chosen the couch.

And he wasn’t about to dwell on it. He’d done enough dwelling last night. More than enough, apparently.

He barreled through to the bathroom, his refusal to dwell on the reason just one more part of the person he’d become in the past two years.

And the poor woman downstairs who’d had to witness the person he’d become last night… God, wasn’t it just perfect she’d shown up this morning?

Todd grabbed the shower handle and turned the water full force to hot. He’d burn the alcohol out of his system if he had to. No one deserved that greeting her first day on the job. Even if it was his house.

Todd sucked in a breath as he stepped beneath the pelting liquid fire and realized he wasn’t as tough as he pretended. He turned the spigot back to warm and leaned his forehead against the cool ivory tile, and listened to the phone ring in his bedroom. Let the machine get the fucking thing. He couldn’t deal with the calls and the goddamned hounding.

Not today.

The water ran into his eyes and he wiped it away with the heels of his hands. Why today? Why’d she have to start today?

Why’d she have to start at all?

Why wouldn’t they all just leave him alone?

***

“You see what you’re up against, Jonathan?” The archangel, Raphael, waved his hand in front of the computer monitor in the executive office of Domestic Gods & Goddesses and the split-screen images of Todd and Jolie faded to a serene, heavenly blue screen saver. “Todd doesn’t think he’s ready to let go of his wife’s memory and Jolie is still a work in progress. Getting these two together could be difficult.”

Jonathan Griff took a seat on one of the burgundy chairs opposite the mahogany desk and sipped the lemonade Raphael had given him. Well, perhaps he gulped it. This was a big assignment. Todd was front-page news. Still. After two years out of the public eye, the man could have media coverage in an instant. He was high profile. He was hot.

What if Jonathan failed? Not only would Todd and Jolie, his Charges, suffer, but it’d be public. Then he’d never earn his wings.

Of course, personal aggrandizement was not what a Guardian should worry about. His Charges’ happiness should be his sole focus.

He’d had some success in the past, but there always seemed to be something he never got quite right. Could he take that risk with such a prominent case?

“You can do this, Jonathan.”

The archangel’s words reverberated inside his mind—another talent Jonathan hadn’t yet mastered. Why was Raphael offering him this assignment? The archangel had no malice in him so he couldn’t want to see him fail. Perhaps he had an overabundance of Hope?

Jonathan, left eye twitching, touched the keypad and the close-up of Todd’s face reappeared. The poor man was in so much pain and, while The Boss had a Plan for Todd, Jonathan couldn’t bear to see someone hurting.

And then there was Jolie. No one should have to endure what she had as a child. She was trying so hard to be all right that she’d almost convinced herself she was.

But she wasn’t. Not really. She played a good game, but she craved acceptance so much that she’d do anything to get it.

Well, almost anything.

Jonathan smiled, the twitch subsiding. He’d read her dossier. The girl had a fine moral character, as did Todd.

Character and a run of bad luck; that’s what the two of them shared. Not to mention the wellspring of love in their souls. That’s why the request for their happiness had been selected for fulfillment.

Now it was up to him to help them along.

Jonathan set the lemonade on an antique walnut-inlay table beside him and hopped off the chair to stand before the archangel. If Raphael thought he was capable of this job, then he owed it to his Charges to be the best Guardian possible.

“Yes, sir. I believe I can help them.”

Chapter Two

As Jolie pulled the omelet ranchero together, complete with nice little lemon- and orange-rind garnishes courtesy of the Julienne peeler—a must-have in every kitchen—Mr. Best descended the hardwood stairs to the accompaniment of yet another phone call. That made five since he’d headed up. Amazing he had time for a shower.

She glanced through the arched doorway. More amazing was that he ended up looking like that. Even in a boring brown golf shirt and khaki shorts, you had to love summer and lots of skin. His was quite worth looking at.

Calm down. You need this job, remember?

Oh, yes, she remembered. She had enough memories from her unstable childhood with Mom flitting from man to man to know not to get involved with anyone to whom she owed her financial stability.

Heck, this job was for getting out from being under anyone’s financial strings. She’d had enough of others dictating when, where, or how she could live or what she was going to do with her life, and she was determined to stand on her own two feet. She’d made that vow when she’d left the foster care system ten years ago, and though the road had been bumpy, it’d been her road. And once she had enough money to finish her education and open her own pastry shop, she would be finished being beholden to anyone. The only person responsible for her life, her happiness, and her bank account would be Hers Truly.

“Hey,” her new employer said, his golden hair curling damply at his collar. “I’m sorry about the nudity. I obviously wasn’t expecting anyone today.”

She set a glass of orange juice at his place at the table. “I should hope not. That is, I should hope nudity isn’t on the daily agenda. However, I am kind of confused as to why you weren’t expecting me.”

He ran a hand through that longish hair. A few strands fell forward onto his forehead. “I guess I got the dates mixed up. I thought I’d have the week to myself before the new girl started,” he answered.

“To dance naked through the house?” She folded a napkin next to his plate. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but honestly, it is kind of distracting.”

Finally, a smile.

Whooooa.

“Promise.” He raised his hand. “No more nudity. Back to wearing a robe and sleeping in pajamas.”

She wasn’t going to picture that—and with what she’d already seen, that was taking some major mental fortitude. But because of her mother’s wonderful example of male-female relationships, she was sticking him in the look-but-don’t-touch category. Heck, she shouldn’t even look, but she was human.

“So—” He grabbed a chair as the phone rang for Phone Call Number Six.

“Do you want me to answer that?” She reached for the receiver.

“Let the machine get it.” He scooted closer to the table. “So, do you really have a name, or am I just going to keep calling you ‘new girl’?”

Jolie whipped a folded letter from the pocket of the apron her friend, Giuseppe, had made for her when she’d graduated culinary school that now accompanied her to every job. “Here’s my letter of introduction from the agency, complete with references.”

Mr. Best, no longer Naked Guy (pity), scanned the letter from the DeLeos. He’d probably be counting his lucky stars she’d deigned to work for him after reading that missive. Mrs. DeLeo had gone a bit overboard, but Jolie couldn’t complain. She couldn’t have asked for a better reference than one from someone who owned a food service company yet had still hired a personal chef for her at-home dining experience.

She also wasn’t going to complain about Mrs. DeLeo’s verbosity because it was the perfect opportunity to check out Mr. Dressed Guy—vis-à-vis the whole being-human-and-allowed-to-look thing. Sans the nudity awkwardness, thank goodness.

She’d already noticed the taut muscles and broad shoulders, and his freshly-shaven jaw reminded her of the male models in those cigarette ads with their cowboy hats and boots, open collared shirts, and sexy-as-all-get-out jeans. Yep, she could see ol’ Todd here in the pages of a magazine. Those weren’t shoulder pads under his shirt and he had a nice start on a summer tan.

She glanced out the French doors. Yep, a pool. Probably like every other home in the Mirror Lake development. A necessity, she guessed, like the housekeeper, nanny, and circular driveway. Their own veritable Stepford.

“The name fits,” he said, tucking the letter in his back pocket.

Pretty nice place to be tucked.

“Uh… what?” She paused at the silverware drawer.

“Your name. Jolie.”

“Okay?”

“It means ‘pretty’ in French,” he explained with a smile.

Well if she didn’t get all tingly at that. Which, again, was not a good thing.

She opened the drawer and found a sudden interest in selecting just the right fork and knife. “Oh. Thanks. But my name was supposed to be Julie.”

He cocked his head and it was kinda cute.

She walked back to the table and set the utensils on the correct sides of his plate. “My mother knew absolutely no French.” The language, anyhow. “She was just a bit too groggy, I guess, when she filled out my birth certificate and wrote J-O-L-I-E instead of J-U-L-I-E. It wasn’t ’til grade school that a teacher called me ‘Jolie’ and I learned about the mix-up. So, I went with Jolie from then on.”

Nothing said “I love you” like misspelling your own kid’s name.

But she was over it.

Really.

“Well,” said Todd, “it worked out, because, as I said, the name fits.”

To which Jolie had no witty comeback without sounding like a teenager meeting her high school crush. Instead, she flourished the fluffiest three-egg white omelet ever under his nose, complete with perfectly done toast, a sprig of parsley and those little lemon and orange curlicues. Garnishes always made such a nice touch. Good for impressing the boss.

“Are you going to join me? Meals are included in your contract.” He emptied a forkful of egg into his mouth and used the tines to point to the chair across from him.

Jolie sat. “I’ll have to remember that.” Especially since sitting there staring at him while he ate was more than a bit uncomfortable. Okay, maybe not quite as uncomfortable as the naked thing, but still…

Besides, she was a bit of a talker and silence kinda made her edgy. “So? Is that the best omelet you’ve ever had or what?”

His mouth had a little twisty move going like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

She checked his plate. Both garnishes accounted for.

Then he covered his mouth and coughed. Then coughed some more.

Oh no, he was choking.

She hopped up and started pounding him on the back. “Boy, oh, boy. First day on the job and I’m killing you. Not the best way to stay employed.”

He waved his hands once his airway cleared, then coughed again. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, it is the best I’ve ever had,” he said around another cough. “So, awesome omelet aside, what else do you make, Jolie?”

His eyes got all crinkly around the edges when he smiled, sparkling like light colored emeralds.

She knew dozens of girls who’d kill for eyes like that. Herself included…well, maybe not. People had always told her that her violet eyes were unusual and she’d enjoyed the attention when she was younger. Nowadays, she’d love for anyone to be looking close enough to see she even had eyes.

But that was a thought for another lifetime. The one where she’d be able to make decisions based on what she wanted rather than what she needed. The lifetime where she’d be her own boss—and, someday after that, where there’d be someone who’d look close enough to see her.

That lifetime had to be waiting for her. Other people had it; she should be able to, too. And she was trying. No doubt about that. Why, she was even writing a novel in the hopes that it’d supplement her cooking income. Anything for financial independence.

And while novel-writing might not seem like an avenue to financial security and eternal happiness, in her hand-to-mouth childhood the one thing she could never seem to beg, borrow, or steal was love, so she’d looked for it in books. Money being scarce—or non-existent—she’d chosen the happy endings in romance novels whenever she could afford a book.

And, now, she figured that if she could fashion a fictional happy ending in a book, she could fashion one in reality as well. And if she earned some extra money doing so, all the better.

At least, that was the thought. And Todd here was her ticket to both ends. Her employer to handle the cooking-money end of things and the inspiration for her romance hero for the literary-money. She could learn what made him tick, what had made his relationship work, his emotions for his wife, see what it was about him that made him worthy of being loved and, voila! instant romance hero.

Not that she’d tell him. There were limits to what people would put up with and, because of his reticence with publicity since his wife died, she was putting hero-inspiration into that category. If he didn’t go for PR to talk about his career, he certainly wouldn’t want to go for it for hers.

“Hello in there?” Todd tapped the table.

Oops. “Sorry.” A blush blazed its way upward, warming her skin. “Um, well, I can whip up pretty much anything you want. What do you have in mind?”

The phone trilled yet again, but Todd ignored it and shrugged. “I’m not really much of a big eater these days. Feel free to try out whatever you want to keep yourself entertained. I usually give most of it to the Grays anyway.”

“Grays?”

“Jasmine and Earl. An older couple who’ve been with us—me—for years. Earl takes care of the outside of the house and Jasmine the inside.”

So why exactly was Jolie here collecting an exorbitant salary? He had a housekeeper, a gardener, and an answering machine, all with only one person living in the house.

She didn’t mind earning an honest living, but this was starting to feel like a handout. To her. And she didn’t do charity.

Unless… it was the company he was paying for? Someone to be here all day?

Hmm. That was understandable, given the circumstances, but still… Didn’t he have family? Friends?

“Not very talkative are you?”

Her? “Oh. Sorry. Just thinking what’s for dinner.” She was not about to call his bluff. She knew all about keeping up appearances that everything was going along swimmingly in one’s life. If he wanted to pretend, far be it from her to call him on it.

“Come up with anything?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ll have to go food shopping and see what strikes my fancy.”

The phone rang again. What was with these people?

Todd glanced toward the den, home of the (obviously) super-large-capacity answering machine. He set his fork down, then wiped his mouth with the cotton napkin.

Nice manners. Nice mouth, too.

She shouldn’t be noticing things like that.

“I’ll drive you in. I’ve got to stop by my offi—my brother’s office and take care of a few things.”

Nice recovery, but she saw that grimace. Self-deception must be the order of the day.

“That’s okay. I’ve got my car.”

“No sense wasting gas. I’ll take you.” He leaned his forearms on the edge of the table and turned those emerald eyes on her. “So, Jolie Gardener, how’d you end up in my kitchen?”

She shrugged, going for nonchalant. “Same way everyone else did. I applied at the agency, put the car in gear, and here I am.”

“No. What I meant was, how did you end up in cooking? And are you always this literal?”

She laughed. He got her. “Hey, that didn’t take you long. Good job.”

“What are you talking about?”

She scooched closer to the table and plopped her chin in her hand. “Well, it’s this test I do. To see how we’ll get along. If it takes someone too long to get me, it’s going to be a long assignment. And I don’t mean in terms of time. But if people, you for instance, get me—my humor—I can tell we’re going to work well together.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “getting it” all the more. “The litmus test of contractee and contractor. I like it.” He pushed his plate aside. “So, what happens if your client doesn’t ‘get’ you? Do you ask to be reassigned or do you just stick it out?”

“I never quit.”

“Never?”

“Never.” If she’d ever let quitting worm its way into her vocabulary she would’ve been one of those statistics on the news every night.

“Sometimes quitting is a good thing.”

His voice was barely out of whisper range, but she heard it. Heard the words and beneath them too.

But at least he’d said them.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he’d stopped painting, but maybe those words were a sign he was on the road to recovery. Perhaps that’s what her exorbitant salary was all about: having someone with him all day and so he could find some way to open up. Come back to the world of the living.

Paint again.

Oh, if she could somehow help him regain the will to pick up a paintbrush, it’d be worth a shot, because for Todd Best to give up painting was like Michelangelo putting clothes on the statue of David.

Yep, she was back to nudity again.

“Um, well, okay, I’ll definitely take that ride, if you’re still offering.” Inane chatter (or graciously accepting an offer) was a good way to get her mind off nudity—his, David’s, or otherwise. “But it’s not going to be a quick run. I’ll need to meander around the store. An hour at least, maybe more. Or I could just have the stuff delivered and grab a cab if you want to leave before me. If not, I hope your car has a good trunk ’cause I tend to splurge the first time in a new kitchen. To make sure I’ve got all the necessities. Okay with you?”

He had a really cute, little quirky look going. Like she was speaking some foreign language he knew a little of and he was trying to conjugate the verbs.

“Aren’t you exhausted yet?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Well, if your mouth is moving that fast, I can only imagine your brain has to work twice as hard to coordinate all those thoughts.”

His smile had taken the sting from his words, but still, they rankled. Yes, she was a talker. Sometimes it was scads better than silence. Or her thoughts.

“You’d be amazed.” She stood to clear the table but Todd beat her to it, picking up his plate and heading to the sink.

Boy, was he tall. She wasn’t used to feeling dwarfed around guys, since five-ten was no slouch in the height department, but with him…

It was such a screaming shame that the guy had pretty much every attribute in tall, dark, and gorgeous one could want. Except the dark part was dark blond. But it’d do. If she were wanting.

Which she most definitely was not. She’d learned her lesson. Falling for the guy who paid her salary—and greeted her naked—was not a good idea. Not to mention, a sure-fire way to disrupt the fictional exposé of his life she was working on, thereby derailing the perfectly planned path her life was about to take.

The phone rang again. Jolie glanced at it with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t want me to answer that?”

Todd’s steps faltered. Not again. He ran a hand through his hair again. He wasn’t ready to deal with this. Not yet.

Not today.

Fuck it. He tossed his plate into the sink, half-hoping to hear it shatter. At least it’d give him something to focus on instead of the goddamned phone.

“I’m sure. Let’s go, Jolie. I’ll take care of the dishes when we get back.”

“Um, well, okay. If you’re sure. I mean, it is my job—”

“And it’s my house. Dishes can sit.”

He held out a hand to her. The faster they got out of here, the faster he didn’t have to deal.

Then the doorbell chimed. Now what? He dropped his hand and spun on his heel toward the foyer. “I’ll get this while you hang up your apron and get your purse.”

He yanked on the brass handle, then immediately tried to shut the door when he saw who was on the other side, but Lizette was quick.

Too quick, dammit.

The news anchorwoman shoved a microphone in his face and her foot in the door, the cameraman’s red light blinking like a distress signal behind her.

“Mr. Best, if you could give our viewers an idea of what today means—”

“No comment. All publicity is to go through the office.” He stepped out of the line of filming and tried to maneuver her foot back through the door. He didn’t want to do bodily harm, but he could be persuaded to change his mind.

“They gave me the same response.”

“Then that’s your answer. No comment.” He closed the door enough to trap her foot and let her know he meant business. Luckily, she knew when enough was enough and retreated.

He shut the door, sliding the deadbolt home, then rested his head against the doorframe.

The phone rang again.

He was going to lose it. His stomach was churning, acid backing up into his throat. He wanted to scream, beat his head against the mahogany door, rip down walls…something. Anything to end this charade of normalcy that he was barely hanging on to.

He should have bought a new bottle of Beam last night, not just pulled out the remnants of another night’s misery. He could’ve spent the day in a stupor, fading in and out on his sofa, and letting this whole fucking day just pass him by.

“Are you okay?”

Jolie.

He sighed. He’d forgotten she was here.

He cleared his throat and pushed off the door, turning to face her. The phone rang again.

He had to get out of the house. “Yeah, I’m all right.” He took another breath. He would be all right; that was the sad irony of it. “How do you feel about a duck and run?”

“Duck and run?”

“My car’s inside the garage. You’re going to want to duck your head to avoid making tonight’s news.”

“I am?”

Poor thing was looking at him like a deer in the headlights. Or maybe like a sane person staring at a crazy one. He grabbed her hand and headed toward the garage door. “You are. Or you’ll find yourself the object of intense media scrutiny. That reporter, and others like her, will hound you for information about me.”

“What could I possibly tell them?”

Exactly.

He stopped, his grip tightening as she swung around to face him. His fingers clenched around hers. “Nothing, Jolie. You’re to tell them absolutely nothing. No matter how much anyone offers you for my life story these days, or any snippets about how I live, don’t tell them a damn thing.” He opened the garage door.

“The last thing I need or want is for my life to be an open book.”

Chapter Three

“Ready?” Todd secured his seatbelt in the 560 SL and turned on the ignition.

Sunlight streamed in the beveled windows at the top of the garage door as Jolie bent forward, her mink hair spread over a gauzy top so splashed with color it reminded him of his drop cloths.

Not that he’d seen one of those in two years. Nor would he ever again.

“As I’ll ever be.” She wrapped her arms around her legs, tucking her purse beneath the seat and her head between her Indian Yellow capris. Todd punched the garage door button, feeling like a racecar driver in the starting gate—only he had more to lose than a driving trophy.

Gunning it, they bounced over the end of the driveway as the newswoman and her cameraman clunked down the walkway. He knew Lizette; he’d been counting on her heels to slow her up.

In the street, he slammed on the brakes, silently apologizing to the Mercedes and Jolie, then shoved the car into drive, and tore off down the street just as Lizette reached the end of his driveway and flung her arms to her sides.

“Can I peek now?” Jolie spit some hair from her mouth as she turned his way from her doubled-over position.

“Sure.” He tapped the brakes once the video threat was gone. “Sorry about that.”

“What exactly was that?”

“A pain in my a—an invasion of privacy.” He glanced over. “I’m sorry about all the phone calls, the doorbell, the high-speed chase. I guess the job description didn’t say anything about a media circus.”

Jolie sat back and set the torso portion of her seatbelt in place, brushing long hair off her face. “You guess right.”

He turned back to the road, slowing his speed to a non-ticketable offense. “I always appreciated the press coverage back, well, before, but now—” He shook his head and stopped at the stop sign. “It’s gotten worse as today approached.”

“Today?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Not what he wanted to talk about. He leaned an arm on the steering wheel and checked the oncoming traffic.

“Oh, well, um… not a problem,” Jolie said with a happy-go-lucky tone he’d give anything to have back in his life. “Kind of exciting, I guess. And you know, the job description didn’t mention nudity either, but I seem to have overcome that.”

He glanced right and her face filled his line of vision. She had grayish eyes. No, not gray. Something beyond gray. Not blue, not hazel…

“Hello in there?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

He found himself responding to her smile. It wasn’t her fault he was having a shitty day. “Sorry. Again.”

“No biggie. But I have to tell you, if you’re in the habit of greeting your employees in the buff—not that I’m complaining, mind you—I think one’s the limit for this line of work.”

He ran a hand through his hair and massaged the back of his neck. Yeah, that.

He sighed. “I had a, well, rough night.”

“I gathered that. Oh, and you missed a spot.” She pointed to his chin.

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She waved her hand and sat back. “Go on.”

“Like I was saying, it was a tough night and I just kicked back on the sofa.” He should have gone up to bed; would have if he’d known the “new girl” would be a witness to his habit of sleeping naked. Not that he’d been thinking of much of anything. Or maybe he’d been thinking too much, hence the hangover. “I was pretty groggy when I heard you moving around. Hangovers and nudity are not normal occurrences, I promise.”

“I imagine the Grays would have apoplexy if they were. Where are they anyway?”

A car behind him honked and Todd turned left onto Orchard. The Grays were another thing he hadn’t wanted to deal with today—none of them had wanted to deal with today. Thank God they’d finally taken his advice—he couldn’t really order them around—and taken a vacation. “They usually show up around lunch. There’s not a lot for them to do, it’s all pretty much under control. And it’s not like I’m high maintenance. Right now they’re visiting their grandson.”

“Oh.”

He liked this chef. So far. She’d backed off the issue of today and wasn’t plying him with questions. She might work out.

He almost laughed. Who cared if she didn’t? Not him. It’d just be some other woman in his house where his wife should be.

“So—” Her animated hands never stopped moving. “Do you go to your brother’s office a lot during the day? Or hang out at home? The links? I mean, I don’t want to be invading your space. I can work around whatever schedule you’ve got going. I just like to know up front so I can plan. That way I won’t bother you, yet I can still get your meals ready when you want them.”

Hmm, maybe she wouldn’t work out. This was the chattiest one yet. Ah well, a few days in his presence would either cure her of it or have her running for the hills. Nothing new there.

He pulled up to a traffic light, then held up his hand to her.

“What?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Do you ever stop to take a breath?”

And in one fell swoop he swiped the refreshingly happy smile from her face and sent the corners of that perfect-bow mouth into a frown.

Way to go, asshole.

He blew out a breath and touched her shoulder.

Which sent her sliding against her door, back to the leather, shoulders squared, eyes like a kicked puppy.

Note to self: Don’t touch the chef.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He raised his hands. “And I didn’t mean that comment as an insult. I just don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with quite as much energy as you. At least, not in a long while... “ Two-fucking-years-long while.

He turned back to the steering wheel. Two fucking years.

The light turned green. Todd cleared his throat and stepped on the gas. The car lurched forward.

He didn’t need this. Not today. Not another chef to get used to, another person to make small talk with, someone else who knew his life story, or all the pity that entailed.

He just needed a clean start. He’d thought moving to this new house, one Trista had had nothing to do with, would do it. But he’d brought it all with him. The memories, the pain…Even the art. Oh, that was all hidden in the attic over the garage, but still, it was there, gnawing at him.

He needed to deal with it. Finally, inexorably, deal with it.

***

Jolie smoothed her yellow capris and squidged back into her seat in the proper position. Talk about overreacting. She shouldn’t have flinched, but she wasn’t used to being touched. Bad mother, yada, yada, yada.

“Well, um, that’s okay. No apology necessary.” She sat up a little straighter—kinda hard to do in the bucket seat, but, hey, she was a trooper. “I have a thick shell anyhow. And I know you didn’t mean it that way. But I do tend to talk a lot. I like to get to know people and have them know me. ’Cause what you see is what you get and some people can’t deal with that, know what I mean? Some people are always looking for the hidden agendas and ulterior motives and that’s just so not me. I’ve got too much going on in my life to take the time to do little subplots.” She tucked some of her blowing hair behind her ear. She liked the top down—a sense of freedom rushing over her with the wind.

“So, Jolie—can I call you that?” he asked with a smile.

Oh, good. She’d gotten him smiling. “Sure. Why not? It’s my name.”

Another little chuckle. “About this morning. You were a good sport about the whole thing.”

“That’s me, Good Sport Jolie.”

“Can I finish my sentence?”

She slunk down in her seat, tucking hair behind both ears. Bad habit she had of cutting people’s sentences short even though she always tried very hard to adhere to the niceties. Not having had many growing up, niceties were important to her. “Yes.”

“Look. Today’s… well… “ He exhaled heavily and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I need to get out. Tonight. Not be home. How about if we grab some dinner out instead of you cooking? We can call it an apology and a get-to-know-the-new-employee wrapped up in one.” He touched her shoulder with his free hand.

Oh, he was one of those people. The touchy-feely kind. He probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. God, how lonely he must be since—

She was so not going there.

“Look, Mr. Best.” She slid to the right, just out of finger-reach. “You don’t have to take me out. The apology’s fine. I was hired to do a job and I don’t mind starting. Really.”

He zipped over to the curb, hitting the brakes in front of a brick building that looked more like a church than a grocery store. It even said St. Gabriel’s. She braced herself against the dashboard to stay in her seat. What?

“Let’s get one thing straight.” He was all business, quarter-turned in his seat, his arm leaning on the steering wheel, his other on the back of the seat, that nicely tanned muscular thigh sliding between them—

She really needed to stop noticing those things but that Naughty Girl side sometimes wouldn’t be denied.

“First of all, my name is Todd, not Mr. Best. Makes me feel like your damn grandfather. Second of all, I haven’t eaten out in over two years and I thought today it’d be a good idea, and third, I’ve just given you the night off with pay and a free meal. Are you going to take me up on the offer or not?”

Whoa. So much emotion over dinner. “Okay.”

“Okay?” His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What? No discourse on the type of restaurant? No dissertation on the correct time for the meal? Just okay?”

“Yep. Just okay. Whatever you say. Boss.”

He was quiet for a heartbeat or two, then cocked up an eyebrow and corresponding side of his mouth and chuckled again. Hmmm, maybe she missed the chuckling stipulation in the employment contract and that was what the exorbitant salary was about. She shrugged. Even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter; chuckling could only be good for the guy since he’d been through so much. Besides, she wasn’t cut out to deal with people who were that sad. Too much down emotion was bad karma, so making people chuckle was kind of her raison d’être. (That on-line French course she’d taken to help out with some of the trickier menus she learned in culinary school often came in handy outside the kitchen.)

“Okay. Dinner it is. Any special place you want to go?”

“Well, since you’re asking, yes, there is. I’ve always wanted to try out The Midnight Maiden.”

“The Midnight Maiden?” His voice got all hoarse and raspy as he moved the car back into traffic. Did he swallow a bug?

“Yeah. You know, the boat down on the riverfront landing? It’s a floating restaurant, but I’m pretty sure it’s docked.”

He nodded but seemed to be having trouble swallowing. Must have been a really big bug.

“Uh, Mister, uh, Todd? Maybe you should pull over? Cough that thing out?”

Oh, boy. It was worse than she thought. He was choking. His eyes grew wide, but then he coughed and shook his head, the insect seeming to have magically dissolved. “No, I’m fine. I know The Midnight Maiden. It’s a good choice. We can do that. Sure.”

Why did that sure sound less sure than the word sure implied?

“Here’s Arena’s Grocery,” he said, suddenly all choked out and business-like. “I’ll drop you off and run over to see Mike. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

He was looking somewhere over her left shoulder and she got the feeling he thought she wasn’t in the car anymore. Or maybe he hoped so.

Fine. She grabbed her purse and scooted off the warm leather, thankful she’d chosen capris today instead of a skirt. Much easier to slide with and not expose certain parts that shouldn’t be. Though since he had exposed—

Not going there.

“Sure,” she said in a tone loud enough to garner his attention, bunching her hair behind her neck like a ponytail and flipping it to settle down her back. “If I’m done earlier I’ll just head on up to the office. Around that corner and down a few blocks, right?” She pushed off the car door, wiped away the fingertip smudge marks, then slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Toodles.”

And so, she left the man with way too many dark thoughts for a summer day sitting in the bright sunshine.

Chapter Four

Todd pulled into his space in the parking garage, killed the engine and stared at the sign in front of him. Reserved for T. Best. Someone had written “he” after the T.

The Best.

Once upon a time that had meant the world to him.

Once upon a time he’d felt a sense of pride when he’d seen that nickname.

Now, he just wanted to throw something. The Best. Yeah, that was laughable. To be the best, you actually had to compete. Had to enter the race—the race he’d dropped out of two years ago and had absolutely no glimmer of desire to get back into. He was done with landscapes. He’d never paint one again.

He couldn’t. Trista had inspired those paintings during their first picnic years ago, when he couldn’t believe his luck that such a beautiful, vivacious woman had consented to go out with him, a poor artist without two nickels to his name.

He’d tried to be different from all the other guys she could date, guys he could never compete with because they’d been in different social circles. Then he’d taken her on that picnic, his sketchpad always with him, and when he’d drawn her, she’d focused on the scenery he’d depicted behind her, pointing out how he’d captured it, and that had been the start of it all.

Todd sucked in a breath, shutting his eyes against the pain lancing his gut. When would it stop? It’d been two years. He’d said goodbye a thousand times; what more did God want from him?

God—ha. The same God who’d stolen his wife, his life.

God, who’d left him to live an empty existence.

Todd gripped the steering wheel and pushed back, locking his arms.

He couldn’t go on like this, drowning in sadness. He’d gone through the motions for the past two years, trying to live a semblance of a normal life. But he never stopped thinking of her. It wasn’t healthy; he knew that. He had to move on; he just didn’t know how.

He swallowed and swiped a hand over his mouth. He’d missed a few spots shaving.

As if anyone would notice.

Jolie had.

Yeah, she had.

She’d noticed quite a bit, now that he thought of it. She’d noticed his pain and had changed the subject half a dozen times this morning. He didn’t know if she was always as chatty as she’d been today, but, ironically, it really hadn’t bothered him. He hadn’t wanted her to shut up and leave him alone the way he had with every other woman who’d been in to prepare gourmet meals he’d barely tasted.

Yet, with Jolie, he’d actually forgotten for a few minutes. That story about her mother misspelling her name…how could anyone care so little for someone they were supposed to love?

At least his crushing disappointment in the love department hadn’t been due to a lack of love, but Jolie…God. That must have been so rough on a kid.

Todd released his grip on the steering wheel. If an innocent kid could pick up her life and move on, he should be able to.

But how?

The parking spot sign wasn’t giving him any answers, so Todd clicked off his seatbelt and opened the door. Maybe something would come to him on this improvised trip to the office.

At least there he had Security and receptionists to keep the vultures at bay.

***

Jonathan Griff gripped the rim of his hat and straightened it, willing the twitch by his eye to subside. He could do this. He was ready.

He peeked out from behind Mr. Arena’s tower of paper towels. There she was. Now, how to do this? How to do this?

He tugged on the hem of his suit jacket. Maybe he should have worn a tie. No, that’d be too formal. He didn’t want her to think he was anything other than what he was supposed to be: a helpful older gentleman. They’d chat and maybe he could invite her to the store.

That was it. Be inconspicuous. Just happen along and start up a conversation. Let a cordial relationship develop.

He could do that.

He straightened his spectacles and stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, trying not to think of his personal stakes that were riding on this assignment. He was the only one of his initiate class who hadn’t earned his wings. Sure, some people took longer than others, but when that six-year-old had managed to earn them with one assignment, well, he’d been pretty demoralized. But Raphael seemed to have faith in him, and he wasn’t going to let the archangel down.

Nor would he let Jolie down. She deserved a happy ending, poor girl. Dealing with a drunk of a mother, then some of those foster families…

She needed a break and he was just the Guardian to give it to her.

If he could only find her.

“Well, hello there.” An elderly, silver-haired woman stopped her cart next to him, the smile hinting at something he had no need of as a celestial being.

Ah, widows. If he were still mortal—

But no. He was here to do a job. He patted her hand, injecting a little Befuddlement into the touch. He could manage Befuddlement without messing it up. She’d never remember having seen him.

Now where did Jolie go?

He hurried to the cleaning products aisle. Not there.

Then the pet food aisle. Not there, either.

He tried the breakfast cereal aisle, but, again, no sign of Jolie.

The twitch picked up the tempo as he rolled around the endcap to the book and greeting card aisle. Not there, either. Funny, he would’ve thought that’d be an aisle she’d check out, seeing as how much she adored books.

He was so proud of her for trying to write one. And a romance novel at that. That girl certainly deserved some romance in her life.

As did Todd.

Jonathan steepled his fingers against his lips. Dear Lord, please give me the knowledge to bring these two together.

He rolled around the endcap again, still praying, and—

“Ow!” Something smacked into him at just the right angle to send him tumbling.

His spectacles fell off, skittering somewhere across the floor, but he couldn’t follow their sound as a female voice chimed in with the clattering cart wheels, the ringing in his head from the pain in his knees as they hit the floor—

“Oh my gosh!” Slim arms reached for his. “Are you all right?”

It was her. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Fiddlesticks!” He stood up and brushed off his sleeves, then straightened his hat, trying not to squint too badly at her, the plus side being that the twitch had stopped. “Oh, no. I’ve crumpled my hat and lost my spectacles.”

Now how was he supposed to help her if he couldn’t even see her? This was not working out as he’d planned. So much for being inconspicuous.

Jonathan knelt, sweeping his hand along the linoleum floor for his spectacles.

Of course Jolie, God love her (and He did) dropped right beside him to help.

Jonathan’s fingers tripped over the wire frames. “Aha!” He toppled over, managing to get his butt on the floor first, his black shoes stretched out in front. Not the most graceful of landings, but better than smacking his schnozz on the linoleum. He affixed the spectacles to the bridge of said body part and smiled into her worried face.

“I am so sorry. I was in a hurry, and not paying attention. I didn’t see you.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, miss.”

“But I—”

Jonathan clambered to his feet and held out a hand to her. “Are you going to sit there all day, or are you going to join the world of the living, my dear?”

“Honestly, I’m really sorry. Are you okay?” She ignored his hand and scrambled to her feet unaided.

“Now, now, it’s over and done with.” He straightened his hat. Had to keep up appearances and all. “And it was both our faults. There’s nothing more to be said, you hear?” He went to pat her hand, then remembered her dislike of touching. Although… he had seen that second shoulder-touch Todd had done in the car and how she hadn’t freaked out quite so badly. Something to consider.

“You’re okay? No shooting pain down your legs? No sore elbows or anything?” Her eyes turned plum-colored when worried. She had such expressive eyes, the sweet thing. And to be so concerned…

But then, she always had been. Which was just one of the reasons listed on the Heavenly Checks and Balances Accounting Sheet that confirmed the need for his intervention.

“I’m fine,” Jonathan answered.

“That’s a relief.”

He doffed his hat. He’d always liked that word. Seemed so elegant and genteel. Something a Guardian should do when meeting his Charge for the first time in the flesh. So to speak. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Thank me? For what? Running you down?” She pointed to her shopping cart where a bright yellow something was caught beneath one of the wheels. “I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should’ve been. I tend to lose myself in the spice section.”

“Well, there’s no harm done. And thank you for helping an old man.” Jonathan looked around. Baking Goods. Yes, that made sense. “An interesting place to lose yourself in.”

Her cheeks flushed and it just made her all the prettier. It was true what they said about goodness shining through.

“I know it might sound silly, but I just love Italian grocery stores’ spice aisle.” She swept her hand around them. “Spices are like the national food of Italy. You can’t make good sauce without the right amount of fresh spices. Oh, and sugar.” She hefted a five-pound bag of just that off the shelf next to her and headed to her cart. “Of course, that’s a trade secret I don’t usually share, but if you put a pinch in the sauce with a big onion… yum!”

Jonathan couldn’t help but smile. Jolie was exuberance personified, always throwing herself into every venture with such hope and determination. It was up to him to make sure this all worked out for her. The way it should, and the way she deserved.

Yes, there was to be no more heartache for this Charge. Jolie was about to get her Happily-Ever-After, no matter what he had to do to ensure it.

***

She was blabbering. No surprise there.

Jolie couldn’t believe she’d run the old guy down. Shame on her. Mooning about her boss and she injured someone. That was just one reason why thinking about Mr. Best in any terms other than professional was a bad idea. She needed to remember that. This poor man was so gracious about the accident, but she felt awful.

Jolie set the sugar into the cart next to her purse and wrenched her kicky yellow flat out from beneath the asphalt-covered wheel. She deserved to have it ruined, but what a pity. They were a really comfortable pair of shoes and went with about half her wardrobe. How was she supposed to pass the remainder of her first day shoeless?

Was it too much to ask that she’d get through the day with her shoes intact? All she wanted to do was help out Mr. Best, earn her paycheck, and keep her life on track.

She looked up at the fluorescent lighting, hoping the roof would somehow open and heavenly wisdom would be imparted. Or that her shoe would magically float down, fully restored. Really, she wasn’t picky.

“But how are you feeling, my dear?” The little guy adjusted his glasses as he approached her cart.

Ha. He did not want to know how she was feeling.

“I really want to know.”

??

“You have a funny little twirl to your mouth, as if there are a million thoughts running through your mind. What’s got you so worked up?” He patted her hand.

What was it with men in this town today? She hadn’t been patted this much since Mama’s fifth—or was it sixth?—boyfriend decided she was cuter than her passed-out mother. Her imagination had saved her then (though it was a good thing the guy wasn’t too well-read or the bubonic plague she threatened him with wouldn’t have worked).

This patting was different though, but she still didn’t need anyone comforting her. She could take care of herself. She’d gotten pretty good at it.

Jolie stepped away and shook her head. “Nothing’s getting me all worked up. I’m just relieved that you’re okay. But now I’ve got to finish my shopping and figure out how to save my shoe.”

The guy snapped to attention, reached into his suit pocket, and removed a business card. He flipped it over to her between his first two fingers.

“Well, I can’t help with your shopping, but the shoe’s no problem.” He wiggled the card.

She took it. “Heavenly Shoes.” The address was just down the street. How was that for serendipity?

“My shop,” he said. “Stop down when you’re finished and I’ll fix the shoe quick as a wink.” He accompanied that statement with a wink.

Temptation floated before her, but, really, she ran over him. She should do something nice for him, not the other way around. Of course, if he had to hand out cards to drum up business, maybe he could use her money.

“All right. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Besides, now she had an excuse for the grocery delivery thing. She certainly couldn’t go running around town with one shoe, now, could she? And she doubted Mr. Best, make that, Todd, would want to run over to her apartment so she could find another pair of shoes to wear to dinner tonight. She might as well do some efficient time management and take this guy up on his offer.

“Oh, I’m Jolie Gardener, by the way.”

He nodded as if he already knew. But that wasn’t possible since they’d never met. Which was odd, considering how long she’d been in town—

“Jonathan Griff, at your service.” He tipped his hat to her. His poor, dented felt hat—yet another casualty.

“Are you new to town, Mr. Griff?”

“Oh no. I’ve been gone for a bit with other business, but I’m back now.” He quarter-turned, then looked back. “Be sure to stop by, okay?”

“I will.” She waved and he turned all the way with a little bow, then practically skipped through the check-out lanes without buying anything.

So what was he doing in the grocery store? Not like it was an interesting place to hang out. But then, she was the one who spent her time trying to make happily-ever-afters happen with imaginary people, so who was she to judge?

Chapter Five

A church bell chimed when Jolie entered Heavenly Shoes. Lovely bluish-white carpet covered the floor, making it feel as if she were walking on clouds.

Okay, so technically she’d fall through a cloud since a cloud was basically just water vapor, but she was sticking with the whole cottony, springy imagery.

Bright, sunshine-yellow walls led to a ceiling so covered in sparkling lights she could hardly see the tiles. It was one of those old-fashioned shoe stores with rows of seats and slanted bench thingies so Salesperson Prince Charmings could help Customer Cinderellas with their shoe selections.

A large glass case at the back was filled with an array of not-your-run-of-the-mill footwear. Shimmering ruby red slippers, cream-colored Victorian ankle boots complete with hook and eye lacings, a pair of pumps that looked like they were made of glass... Some really outlandish shoes in that case.

The girl behind the counter smiled at her. “Hi. I’m Dawn. Can I help you?”

“Hi.” Jolie held up her beleaguered shoe. “Mr. Griff said he’d take care of this for me. It’s definitely seen better days.”

Dawn commiserated, then took the shoe and disappeared into the stock room. Not a minute passed before she was out again. “It shouldn’t be long. Would you like to have a seat?”

“Actually, could I see these?” Jolie pointed to the clear pumps in the case.

Dawn smiled. “We get a lot of requests for those.” She took a key from her chain and opened the cabinet.

“I know. A friend of mine wore them in her wedding.”

Dawn smiled. “Mr. Griff does like to lend them out. Especially to brides.” She set the shoes on the counter. “Want to try them on?”

Jolie had to touch them. The temptation was too great. “What size are they? I wouldn’t want to crack them by trying to shove my foot in something too small.”

“You know, I don’t know.” Dawn looked puzzled, then shrugged. “But don’t worry about cracking them. They’re made of Lucite, not glass.”

“Okay.” Jolie was just about to slip the little suckers on when, lo and behold, out popped Mr. Griff from the back, her mangled shoe looking completely new. Completely. There weren’t even any smudge marks on the inside.

And he had a book with him.

It was pathetic really how Jolie’s heart sped at the sight of a book. She would’ve thought since she could now afford her own books (and she bought them, thankyouverymuch) that the old hunger for the printed word wouldn’t plague her any more. But nope. She saw that paperback in his hand and it was all she could do not to salivate.

“Here you go, my dear.” He was practically kicking up his serviceable black-clad heels. “All fixed and fit as a fiddle.” He handed her the shoe and she had to tear herself away from the book.

“And I thought you might like to have this. To get my new business off the ground, so to speak.” He held out the paperback.

Was he kidding? The guy must read minds. She wanted to grab it, stopping only when she saw the shaking of her hand. For Pete’s sake, it was just a book.

Yeah, and Todd’s abs were just another six-pack.

Not going there.

“Your new business?” she asked because she was interested; it had nothing whatsoever to do with Todd’s abs.

Really.

Mr. Griff went to tip his hat, but nodded instead, being that he was unable to remove his hat since it had gotten crushed in their—okay, her—little mishap. She really hoped he could get it back into shape as fast as he had her shoe which looked brand spankin’ yellow again.

She slipped it on to hide her unbridled curiosity at the book he was offering. “What new business is that?”

“I’m opening Heavenly Books next door. That way, people heading down to the river can pick up some reading material. It’s a nice way to pass the time on a pleasant day.”

He pushed the book toward her on the counter, right past those Lucite shoes she’d suddenly lost interest in.

All of the happy memories of her childhood were wrapped up in books. Adventure, escape, freedom, family… it was all there, so she simply couldn’t refuse the book—as long as it wasn’t charity. She didn’t do charity. Period, end of story.

“Take this book and mention me to all your friends. Word of mouth is the best advertising.”

“Oh, I most definitely will. Thank you so very much, Mr. Griff.” She took out her wallet and the little man patted her hand again.

“Now, now, you must call me Jonathan and put that away. These are my gift to you. Have a good day and come back when you need another story or a new pair of shoes.”

He was so earnest she couldn’t argue with him. And he was right anyway; she’d definitely mention him to her friends. Minus the running over part, of course.

She thanked him and departed with her treasures into a beautiful, if a bit on the hot side, summer day. Luckily, a nice breeze wafted from the river a block away. She loved this neighborhood. It was one of those old-fashioned ones where people took pride in, and care of, their storefronts and sidewalks. Window boxes overflowed with portulaca and geraniums dotted the second floor apartments above the brick storefronts. Nicely pruned trees lining the sidewalks held little twinkling lights during the Christmas season, making it real festive. Just like today with all the people heading to the river, tons of kids and baby carriages in tow.

Halfway down the street she finally gave in to temptation to see the book he’d given her.

It was a Regency. How did he know that, out of every kind of romance novel there was, Regencies were her favorite? There was something about the women in those books. Their society wanted them to be pretty little brainless ornaments, concerned with nothing but the latest fashion and on-dit, but those heroines wouldn’t stand for it. They worked within their mores to assert their independence and make their own way in the world.

She so admired that. It was what she’d always aspired to: to lose the case managers and social workers and make her own decisions. To be responsible for her own life. But no, what kid ever got that kind of autonomy? Especially one in the system?

That had to be why she was drawn to those books. They’d validated her desire to make a better life for herself during all those years when she’d needed the affirmation.

The breeze kicked up again, ruffling her hair, flouncing the hem of her gauzy shirt, whispering over her skin like the soft brush of a feather, and a songbird warbled in one of the trees as Jolie passed an old-fashioned, wrought-iron bench by Arena’s.

She’d love to park her tushy down and read a few chapters, but it probably wouldn’t look so hot when Todd pulled up and she’d sent the groceries home, only to be caught reading on the job.

The job. Right. Work first. Hard Work and Persistence, those were the mantras of her life, with a little Hope and Wait thrown in for good measure.

To that end, she hiked her purse strap farther up her shoulder, tucked the book under her arm, decided to bypass her friend Bella’s restaurant around the next corner, and headed over to Todd’s office—okay, his brother’s office.

Yeah, like that was the truth.

Jolie crossed Market, waving to Signore Girondi at his newsstand, then came to a stop a third of the way down the next block in front of the mirrored building.

Best Enterprises.

An entire building. An enterprise. He was that good. Or he would be if he’d just pick up a brush. Good thing demand was still high for his prints so he could afford his big ol’ empty house.

Tall glass doors swooshed open as she approached, and a blast of Freon-coated air rushed by, flipping the hem of her blouse, tickling her tummy like that tickle she got when a good-looking guy stared at her but she didn’t want to let him know she’d noticed, but she also didn’t want him to think she wasn’t interested so she’d shoot him eensy-weensy glances out of the corner of her eye, all the while little flips and twinges danced through her stomach. That kind of tickle.

A guy in rent-a-cop gray with a flashy gold emblem on his shirtsleeve stood up behind a desk when she headed over.

“Hi,” she said, putting enough chipper in her voice to merit a smile. “I’m here to see Mr. Best.”

“Which one?” The man didn’t crack a smile. Not even a little insincere twitch of the lips. Nothing.

She couldn’t have that. She’d asked a simple question, not the combination to Fort Knox, for Pete’s sake. “Um…Todd?”

He scanned her from head to toe. Now, if Joe Schmoe on the street were to do that she’d be highly insulted—or highly flattered depending where Mr. Schmoe fell on People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive list. But Sour-Puss made her feel as if she was in a doctor’s office. Or a police line-up. Honestly, did the guy think she was packing a gun in this outfit?

So just for kicks and giggles, she did a “ta-da” twirl on her repaired shoe, turning back to face him just in time to see him roll his eyes.

And the faintest glimmer of a smile. Bingo.

She only got the glimmer, but it was enough. He tucked his chin onto his security-guard-special collar and lifted a large leather book from somewhere below the chest-high marble security desk. “Sign this.”

Nice manners, buddy. She gave him that eyebrow-raising trick.

“Please,” he conceded, his smile getting a little bigger.

Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? “Sure, okay.” She scribbled her name in her best USA-Today-Best-Selling-Author autograph (yes, she’d been practicing; it never hurt to be prepared), and headed to the shiny silver elevator bank.

“Miss? Just a moment, please.”

Wow. He’d progressed from two words to five. She did tend to grow on people.

She turned around. “Yes?”

“Mr. Best’s office is on the tenth floor, but there’s a retirement party on the eighth, so you might want to stop there first.”

“Gotcha. Thanks for the info.” She tapped the UP button on the elevators. Retirement party? She doubted Todd was in party mode. Not “today.”

She’d take her chances in Mike’s office.

With a soft little ding, the doors opened to a nice, chi-chi elevator, all mirrors and muted lighting. And paintings. His paintings. Just like in the lobby.

A soft whir and before she knew it: Top Floor. Of course his office would be on top. Okay, his brother’s office. Yeah, she was getting tired of making that distinction. It was his office—his brother was just borrowing it. Or keeping it dust-free for him. Whatever.

She took a few steps into the empty elevator foyer. Where was everyone? At the retirement party? Hmm, maybe Todd had gone.

No, that just didn’t ring true. Not with his mood “today.” She’d take a look around.

Steel gray carpet, very plush and sound-absorbing, swallowed her footsteps. Pale gray walls, what few there were, stood as the perfect backdrop for Todd’s vivid landscapes. Banks of windows let in almost a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the town. Traffic on the street was light today. Probably because of all the people hanging out at the park on the riverbank. A rainbow of shirts of all sizes and shapes ringed the fountain there. A couple of paddleboats lazed around on the river with a pair of speedboats rippling past them.

She hung a right at the water cooler and headed toward the offices. Probably where the big guns handled all the sales that got Todd’s pictures into every prestigious building in the country. From the looks of the furnishings and décor, they did their jobs extremely well.

A huge expanse of cherry wood double doors loomed at the far end of the hall. It must be his office. His brother’s—oh, whatever.

A matched set of his paintings graced the doorway. She read the plaques beneath them. Riverwalk South and Riverwalk North.

Ah, yes. There was the fountain. The speedboats. The docks. A perfect depiction of the view from the windows. Man, the man had talent.

She was about to knock when she heard voices. Aha! She was right. He was here. But obviously not finished so she decided to park her butt on the ottoman by the door and wait.

She pulled out Mr. Griff’s book—it didn’t feel right to call him Jonathan—and read the back blurb.

Hmmm, the heroine refused proposal after proposal, determined that no man would be in charge of her life.

Substitute “no one” for “no man” and Jolie was right there with her.

Yep, this story looked promising. Mr. Griff had picked a good one. She flipped to the inside cover and read the excerpt.

“Destiny is mine,” proclaimed Rebecca Featherington.

You go, girl. Time for Chapter One.

“You’re taking her to The Midnight Maiden?”

Jolie’s ears perked up at the question coming from the office. They had to be talking about her since she was the only one she knew who was going to The Midnight Maiden with Todd—and qualified as a “her.”

This was better than any book. She put Miss Featherington down on her leg and shamelessly listened in. Self-preservation was a hard-learned battle and those lessons never left a person.

Someone cleared his throat. Todd, maybe.

“Uh, well, yeah.” Another throat clearing.

Bingo. Todd. The men’s voices were similar, but Todd’s seemed just a bit lower in pitch. Maybe that was because he still had something caught in his throat. She scooched a little closer to the door.

“Really? The Midnight Maiden?” asked his brother.

What was with the disbelief? It was just an old boat someone turned into a restaurant. Sheesh. He was making it sound like the Taj Mahal or something.

‘Course, the Taj Mahal was a monument to some guy’s wife. Like the biggest declaration of love in the world.

“Yeah,” Todd answered and whatever it was that was stuck in his throat was obviously gone. And yep, she was right, his voice was deeper. It resonated up her spine in a way his brother’s didn’t.

“I asked her where she wanted to go and she picked that place. So we’re going,” said Todd.

“Are you ready for that?”

“For God’s sake, Mike. It’s just a restaurant. I think I can handle it.”

“Well, after Trista—”

“Look, Mike, Trista is gone and I’m not. I realize that. I didn’t put any stipulations on Jolie’s restaurant choice, so I’ll have to live with it. I’ve had to live with a lot of things since my wife died. I’ll get over it.”

Why was she not liking where this conversation was headed? What did Trista and The Midnight Maiden have to do with each other?

“Well, if you’re sure—”

“Let it go, Mike, I’m thirty-four years old. I can handle a restaurant. I’m not an invalid.”

True. Those legs and other body parts had been in absolutely perfect working order this morning.

“Okay,” his brother continued, “but why are you taking the new chef out? You’ve never done that before. Is she cute?”

Oooh... Jolie wanted to hear the answer to that one.

“I guess,” was the much-awaited, tummy-twiddling response.

Gee, thanks for the vote.

“But what does that matter?” Todd continued. “She works for me.”

And has seen you in the buff, buddy.

“That’s what concerns me,” Mike answered. “She’s the first woman you’ve taken to dinner since Trista. What’s going on?”

Something hit a desktop. Sounded like a fist.

“Dammit, Mike. Leave it alone. I told her I’d take her to dinner to get to know her, so she wouldn’t have to cook on her first day. That’s it.”

Yeah? And what about apologizing for the whole naked thing? Where did that fit in, buddy boy? And the whole “I need to get out tonight,” hmmm?

Mike’s “Are you sure?” was followed by a piece of furniture slamming against something.

“Look, Mike. You might be older, but your claim to bullying went out when we were teenagers. Knock it off. Stop reading things into this. It’s dinner. Plain and simple. The fact that I’m taking her to our favorite restaurant has nothing to do with it. She asked, I said fine. End of story. Got it?”

“But on your anniversary?”

His anniversary. Their favorite restaurant. That explained the aspirin and OJ and today.

No wonder he weirded out in the car. Why didn’t he say something? She would have understood.

“Yeah, well, I… celebrated… last night. Toasted Trista, us, and happily-never-afters. Woke up with one hell of a hangover.”

And naked, with a strange woman witness to his binge.

“And what about reporters? They’ve been calling the office all day.”

“Yeah, I know. My house, too. Lizette even showed up on my doorstep, cameraman in tow.”

“So what do you think is going to happen if you’re seen out and about with a pretty woman, Todd? People are going to talk.” Finger-strumming on the desk. “Though it could stir up interest in your paintings again. Hell, maybe we should tip off the local papers.”

“Bad idea, Mike. That part of my life is over. And it’s just a dinner. Let it go, will you?”

Maybe Mike couldn’t let it go, but she sure could. Jolie grabbed her purse and her book and tiptoed back to the elevator to wait for Todd in the lobby. Whoever said no one ever heard anything good about themselves while eavesdropping hadn’t listened in on that conversation. She now knew she was “I guess” cute and that she had the power to stop Todd’s pain.

She’d just cancel dinner tonight. No big deal. That way he wouldn’t have to resurrect the memories and she wouldn’t have to watch him pine. Winners all around.

She made herself all comfy in the rounded burgundy chair in the lobby with the good wishes of Mr. Sour-Puss-Turned-Pussycat-Security-Guard, and had barely read two pages before Todd stepped from the elevator, looking surprised to find her there.

Or was that embarrassment? Had he heard her upstairs?

Well, she wasn’t going to open old wounds. If he wanted to talk about it, he could start the conversation.

“So where’s the food?” he asked.

Or not. Self-deception being the word of the day and all.

“Hiya,” She jumped up out of the chair with a little ballooning of her gauzy top. “Have a nice meeting? I finished the shopping early and thought I’d save you the stop. I sent the food home with the delivery service. There was quite a bit and I really don’t think it would all fit in the trunk of your car.”

“So can I still pay my mortgage this month?” A slim smile accompanied the sarcasm.

Gee, what a kidder. But at least he wasn’t stressing about his dinner options.

“Probably,” she answered. “But don’t count on next month. That’s when I break out the Lobster Newburg and shallots with escargot.”

“I guess I’ll just have to cut back on electricity then. But it’ll be worth it if your omelet’s anything to go by.”

“You got that right, mister.”

“So, shall we?” He gestured toward those big glass doors.

“Whatever you say, boss.” She jammed her book inside her purse and headed out.

“Oh, really? Whatever?” That slim smile opened just a tad for a glimmer of teeth, and an eyebrow arched.

Oh, so they had some innuendo going, did they? Normally she could double-entendre with the best of them, but somehow, seeing the guy in the buff—and a very buff buff it was—getting all squidgy around him, and the whole cute/dinner-at-the-wife’s-favorite-restaurant/hot-guy thing kinda put a damper on her banter. But at least he had his good mood back.

But still, she couldn’t let him have the last word. “Yes, whatever—as long as it’s got whipped cream attached to it.”

Oh Lord. What did she just say?

Chapter Six

Back in the Dream Machine, AKA her favorite car ever—his black 560 SL convertible, tan interior, complete with all the bells and whistles and the closest thing to a new car smell on a vintage—Jolie gnawed on the inside of her cheek trying to figure out how to disappear after that little comment back in the lobby. God. Whipped cream. Freud would have a field day with that.

Plus she had to come up with some way to change the venue for the evening’s meal. If she cancelled, it could open up a can of worms that would be better off staying closed. After that little episode with Mike, Todd would probably want to prove something, if just to himself. Maybe she should change where they were eating.

“So, what do you have planned for lunch?” he asked into the silence.

She kept waiting for some comeback to her one-upmanship in the lobby, but… nothing. He went right to lunch.

Lunch. Ohmigosh. Lunch. Of course there’d be lunch. She just happened to forget about it between the car and the food shopping, hitting Mr. Griff, then her shoe and the book. And, of course, that conversation. How was a girl supposed to think about food with that conversation roaming around inside her head?

Mind on the job, Jols.

She grabbed her hair, bunching it at the base of her neck, and rested her elbow on the door. “How about ham and cheese on an English muffin with honey mustard? Or I can throw a quick mandarin chicken salad together. Or do you want something on the grill? I bought salmon and tuna steaks. Though, they’re best if marinated and that’ll take too long. I guess a burger would be quick. Whatever you want, just—”

“Jolie.”

Then he started with the touching again, which stopped her from rattling on. Words, that is. Her nerves were a whole other story. She almost wished he wouldn’t touch her. Which was a big change from wishing he flat-out wouldn’t touch her, à la the earlier car ride.

She slid a peek at him. He was grinning.

“Jolie,” he said again.

Honest to God, no one ever said her name quite that way, a French slide to the “J” and a bit drawn out on the “ie.” She could listen to that sound for the rest of her—

“Yes?” She wasn’t dwelling on his voice. Or anything having to do with the rest of her life unless it included the words, “Jolie Gardener, Proprietor.”

“Relax. You don’t have to impress me with five-star meals. I’m just an average guy and an average sandwich sounds fine.” He nodded to the vehicle ahead of them. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the delivery truck. I’ll help you unload and then we’ll just grab whatever’s closest.”

Oh, boy. He really shouldn’t have said that. Naughty Girl sprang to life, ready to grab what was closest all right.

That would so not be good for their collective paycheck.

“Okay. Sure. Fine. Sounds like a plan.” Brilliant conversation, Jols.

Todd zipped in front of the truck and signed for all the stuff from the delivery guy. Amid the cacophony of something like fifteen phone calls, the three of them wrangled the bags to the kitchen in no time flat. Jolie started emptying the bags while Todd, a couple of grocery items in hand, saw the guy out.

“Sure do appreciate the help, sir,” Mr. Delivery said.

Sound reverberated in the house, probably due to all the empty wall space as Todd had yet to hang a picture, his or otherwise, and the front door was directly opposite the kitchen so she could see the man touch the rim of his baseball cap like a salute.

“You and the missus have fun putting all that away, ya hear?” There was a little tongue click at the end of his sentence.

The missus. That was probably a common enough mistake, but how would Todd react?

To her surprise, he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked as he entered the kitchen.

“This.” He held up two round white containers.

Whipped topping.

Oh.

The guy thought Todd and she— Mister and missus— Whipped topping—

Just crack open the limestone tiles and bury her beneath them. That’s what she got for trying to be a smart aleck.

“God only knows what he thought we’d need two of them for.” Todd arched his eyebrow. “So what was it you said earlier about whipped—”

“Okay, okay.” She threw a roll of paper towels at him. “It’s not nice to tease people.”

Todd caught the towels and, in a heartbeat, got all serious. “I’m not teasing you, Jolie. Well, okay, maybe I am, but in a good way. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings or embarrass you. You have to admit, it’s a funny coincidence.”

He was right, but the kicker was, she would actually like to see what the two of them could do with whipped cream. How was that for embarrassing? But no way, no how, would she admit to it. He was finding it funny while she was finding it a turn-on.

“Yes,” she said in the most devil-may-care voice she could muster, “it is pretty funny. And pretty messy.”

The ironic thing was, if that brand hadn’t been listed in his personal dossier the employment agency compiled on its clients, she would have bought real cream—unwhipped cream—and this debacle would never have happened. But no. He had to like the commercial stuff enough to mention it on his Favorites list.

The phone rang again, for which she was thankful. Todd? Not so much. He cursed and headed toward the den while she went back to emptying the bags.

“I unplugged the phone.” He was back in two seconds flat. “That ought to end the calls.”

Ah yes. She still had to address the dinner location tangent. “Uh, Todd?”

“Yes, Jolie?”

She had to bite back a sigh. He really did say her name completely differently than anyone else ever had. And before she analyzed if that was a good thing or not, she dumped a bag of peppers in the vegetable bin and stuck her head around the fridge door. “Um, about tonight—” She poked her head back into the fridge. She couldn’t look at him when she said it. She wasn’t a good enough liar.

“What about it?”

“Um, well.” Bam, clang, went the drawers and shelves. “I was thinking that I’m not really dressed for The Midnight Maiden. Maybe we should go someplace else. Fast food or something. It really doesn’t matter. It’s the gesture that counts. So I’m totally fine with someplace other than The Midnight Maiden. Or I could cook. Whatever.” For the fifth time she moved the butter between the dairy drawer and the little flip compartment on the door.

Silence.

Could be good, could be bad.

“Oh.”

Or utter dejection—which was not one of her options.

She peered around the door, ready to duck back in if he was staring at her. She could pretend all right, but flat out lying to him was sort of hard.

Does lying by omission count? Naughty Girl asked. You know. The love story thing?

Not now! Jolie shoved Naughty Girl to the depths of Whose-Side-Are-You-On-Anyway while Todd mangled one of the twisty-ties on a produce bag, his shoulders hunched. She banged the drawer a little more so he’d think she was still inside the fridge and not staring at him.

He took a big breath, then threw his shoulders back and raised his chin, dropping the bag on the table. Okay, they’d be eating bruised tomatoes.

He turned and—darn it!—she wasn’t quick enough to bury her face back in the fridge. Which was sort of a good thing since her nose was getting cold.

About the only part of her that was.

“I’ve made the reservations. We have to go,” he said as if declaring World War III. “I’ll unpack the rest of the things,” came out like orders in a military campaign. “You go ahead home and get ready. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“But... but... but... “

Really, Jolie, just ’cause the guy has a magnificent one, you don’t need to harp on it. Get your mind out of the boxers and into this conversation.

Naughty Girl was lecturing her?

“Lunch,” Jolie managed to spit out. Finally.

“I’m perfectly capable of throwing a sandwich together.”

“Well, um, okay. Of course you are. But the dishes. I can do the dishes.”

His shoved his hands into his pockets. “I said I’d get to them. And I will.”

First the dinner location, then the whipped cream fiasco. It was probably in her best interests to just agree with him and get the heck out of there.

She side-stepped toward the patio door with an ungraceful lunge to grab her purse off the tabletop where it had fallen over. “Well, if you’re sure, then. I mean, if you really want to go to The Midnight Maiden, I guess I can’t stop you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem with The Midnight Maiden? It’s where you said you want to go, right?”

“Problem?” Did she just squeak? That was so not attractive. He nodded. “No. No problem. Seven is fine. I’ll be ready.”

Of course she couldn’t exit gracefully. The darn purse got caught on the French door handle as she closed it and she had to make another exit. How mortifying.

God, she was only trying to do a good deed. She yanked open her car door and sat, banging her knee on the steering wheel of her Bug. The guy didn’t have to take her there. There were a zillion restaurants in the city; any one of them would do.

She turned on the ignition, the sputtering rumble rumble sounding as agitated as she felt. Why did he have to have his heart set on that one?

She backed out of his driveway and headed out of the cul-de-sac. Well, it wasn’t as if she had a say in the matter anymore. She’d tried. Now all she had to do was kill time until dinner. Thank goodness for Mr. Griff’s book. That ought to keep her occupied.

At the stop sign, she reached for her purse and opened it.

The book wasn’t there.

Oh crud. It was sitting on Todd’s kitchen table, right next to the bag of capers and spices.

Great. She was batting a thousand today. First she asked him to take her to his wife’s favorite restaurant, then she innuendo-ed all over the place with whipped cream, and then she left a love story sitting out in plain view.

Why didn’t she just rip the guy’s heart out and be done with it?

***

Todd stared at the bags on his counter after Jolie left.

It was so quiet.

Too quiet.

Funny, he hadn’t noticed the silence before today. It’d just been. Now, it screamed at him.

He grabbed the closest bag and removed sea salt, garlic, a bunch of parsley.

Get over it, Best. He couldn’t use chatter to fill the space in his life. No matter how pretty the chatterer.

He’d lied to Mike earlier. Jolie wasn’t cute; she was gorgeous. Tall and lithe with a ballet dancer’s frame, Jolie had a beauty he could appreciate with his artist’s eyes. Perfect bone structure, creamy skin warmed by a curtain of mink hair, those eyes… He still hadn’t figured out what to call that color.

He exhaled and pulled a bunch of fresh basil from the bag. The last thing he should be thinking about was the color of his chef’s eyes. For all he knew, she had a boyfriend somewhere who wouldn’t appreciate Todd’s observations.

And he had no business looking at another woman.

His gut clenched. Damn it all. When would it stop? He wasn’t being unfaithful to Trista by finding another woman attractive. He knew that. It just hurt so damned much that he couldn’t let go.

A yellow flyer clung to the band around the oregano. St. Gabe’s Church was having its annual fundraiser again. He’d participated every year—well, every year that he’d been painting. He’d done one special picture for the art auction, painted just for the church. A one-of-a-kind, never-to-be-done-in-print piece.

Those paintings had brought in enough money to launch a daycare, a shelter, and fully fund the school. It’d been Trista’s idea.

He crumpled the flyer in his fist. That was why he hadn’t participated since her death. It brought it all back—the times they’d gone together, his first unveiling of the painting, her excitement like a child on Christmas morning, as if he’d painted it just for her.

Of course, he had painted it just for her. Every landscape had been painted for her, through the eyes of his love. He wanted to give her the beauty she’d seen in him, for the faith she’d had in him.

He folded the brown bag and stuck it on top of the others. He should get the food put away and maybe grab a swim. Exercise, a good sweaty workout, always helped to clear his mind, something to do with endorphins. Whatever it was, he’d better get to it. Jolie had had enough to deal with already; he shouldn’t bring his troubles to dinner.

Life went on.

And so would he.

Chapter Seven

Jolie heard the vroom vroom of Todd’s car and grabbed her watch off the bedside table. Six forty. Crud. She had to hurry; no telling what could happen to the Dream Machine outside her less-than-desirable-address apartment complex if she kept him waiting.

She marked her page and headed to the one small window allotted her by Mr. Murphy, the avaricious landlord (which explained how fifteen mostly vacant apartments could fit in a building designed for half that number) and peeked out.

Sure enough, there he was. Man of her dre—her heroine’s dreams.

Sheesh, for someone who required thirty minutes max to get ready, she should have been able to squeeze those eighteen hundred seconds somewhere in the last four hours. But no. She had picked up a favorite book and wham! the world disappeared.

Jolie rushed back to the bathroom, grabbed the curling iron for two little flips, brushed some mascara on and, oh what the heck, grabbed the tube of pink sparkly lipstick. Sugar Plum Ice, Sugar Plum Gloss, some sweet fruity name. She was a flurry of flicking hands and twitching hair and then into the sink went the magic wand of hairdos, the magic wand of eyelashes, and the newly acquired magic wand of lips. Yeah, she was definitely destined to write fairytale happily-ever-afters.

His footsteps ching-ed against the metal steps in the stairwell. What the heck did she do with her shoe? She’d chosen the turquoise dress and her kicky yellow flats just wouldn’t do. Silver sandals would have to suffice. Well, one of them anyway. Where was that other one? She lived in an eighteen by eighteen foot box—how far could one footless shoe go?

Shadows flickered beneath her door. Great, he was there and she was still shoeless.

She kicked a pillow that God-knew-why decided to spend the day on the floor, and luckily found the other one.

She wasn’t normally this disorganized, but for some reason she was all thumbs trying to get ready for this date—dinner.

It’s a dinner, Jolie. Nothing more.

Tell that to her hormones.

Todd knocked.

“Be right there,” she said, trying not to break her neck as she slid Foot into the sandal. Of course, she shoved the little thong thingy between the wrong toes, so she had to do it again.

Shoe on, she took a quick breath and found herself going all 1950’s glamour goddess before opening the door, brushing the hair from her forehead and running her hands down the dress. If she’d had a mirror by the door she would’ve glanced into it and puckered her lips, brushing at the corner with her pinky finger in case any lipstick was smudged. But, no mirror, so Todd would have to take her with smudged lipstick or not.

Oh, take me, take me.

And it was with that thought that she opened the door.

Hellooooo.

Naughty Girl was on the mark with that assessment. The man was looking good. Really good. Sinfully good. The kind of good that could get a good girl into trouble.

And she was so trying to be a good girl.

“Hi,” Jolie said, trying to keep the husky glamour goddess from emanating from her throat à la Anne Bancroft in “The Graduate.” Or Mae West with her “Come up and see me sometime.”

Would it be too clichéd to lean back against the door frame? Probably. Not to mention pathetic. He thought she was, quote, “cute, I guess.” Not the most inviting reason to do a come-hither.

Plus there was the job she had going with him. And that was all she had going with him and as soon as Naughty Girl listened up and paid attention, they’d all have a much better evening.

Well, no, that wasn’t true. They’d probably have the best time if she took Nasty’s advice, but that couldn’t happen.

“You ready?” he asked.

“What? You can’t tell? Well, gosh, I didn’t think the fifteen minutes I was missing in my normal routine would show that drastically. See what happens when you get caught up in a good story? Pages fly by and the time even quicker. Before you know it, you’re missing dinner—and obviously necessary primping time—because you’ve got to find out if Lady Hammonton sashays across the crowded ballroom right into the oh-so-dashing Jeremy Godfield’s arms and—”

“Jolie?”

Okay, let the floor open up and swallow her whole right now.

“Um… right. Sure. I’m ready. Just let me grab, um… my bag.” Luckily, she’d had the forethought to hang her bag on the closet door so she wouldn’t have to do the throw-the-clothes-all-over-the-bed/sofa thing in front of him.

Bag in hand, she stepped through the door, pulling it shut behind her. “All ready,” she told him.

“You look very nice,” was what he told her in return, the upward curve of his lips drawing her attention to the sparkle in his green eyes and those crinkles at the corners.

And there went her knees to mush.

It only took four words. Four words! How did he do that? She’d have to remember that one and throw it in her book somewhere. Turn heroine’s knees to mush in four simple words, by Todd Best.

“Uh, thanks.” Uh? Uh? Good God, Jolie, your vocabulary is regressing. “You look pretty spiffy yourself.” Khakis with a forest green golf shirt tucked in the waistband showed off his upper body quite nicely. Not that she was supposed to be noticing. That “she was human” excuse was getting a bit thin.

It was a breezy night with the soft wind off the river, perfect for cooling the summer air. The early arrivals to the evening cricket chorus warmed up their “instruments” from the grove of elm trees behind the parking lot, Jolie’s heels clicking a soft rhythm along the pock-marked cement walkway. At the top of the steps to the asphalt, she turned to look at Todd and darn if she didn’t touch him on the arm. His touchy-feely-ness must be catching. “We’re eating outside, aren’t we? I hope so. I love to watch the stars come out.”

He tested the railing then pulled his hand back as it shook in the loose moorings of crumbling concrete, and lightly gripped her elbow instead. “Sure. We can eat on deck if you want.”

“Thank you. Oh, look.” She pointed to a flock of birds fluttering in for a landing. “How cute! Pigeons.”

“Pigeons are cute? That’s a new one,” Todd laughed. “Most people I know think they’re pests.”

“You must hang around city people. They call them rats with wings, but I think pigeons are pretty, with their soft gray feathers and all those jewel tones in their necks. I like to feed them. Appreciative little things, though I have to remember to stay away from parked cars when I bring them leftovers, ’cause my neighbors are not so appreciative.”

“You seem to have a penchant for feeding things,” he said as he held open the door to the Dream Machine.

That was a first. Never had a man opened a car door for her.

Showed the kind of guys she dated. Not that there’d been too many, anyway, but yes, there had been a few and she’d been “curious,” but once she saw what it was all about, she’d decided she was going to better herself so she had a choice of an improved caliber of men. If only her mom had had the same epiphany.

“I guess I just like to feed God’s creatures.” Plus their begging for scraps ran a little too close to home with memories of her childhood, so, yes, she fed them.

She slid into her seat, swinging her silver sandaled feet into the car, looking for a way to change the subject before becoming lost in the miasma that was her past. “Oh, look how the sky is laced with all those pretty shades of pink and orange and red.”

“Um hmmm,” Todd said, slipping into his tan leather seat beside her.

“Pretty non-committal for a guy who paints for a living.” She pulled the seatbelt across her chest, latching it in place.

“Do you have a music preference?” Todd reached for the radio.

Okay. Ixnay on the artistic talk. But music worked. “I enjoy classical.”

“Classical,” he returned, sans emotion, his fingers stilling.

Oh, dear God, she’d done it again. Trista must have been a big classical fan. Restaurant, book, music…

Just shoot her now.

“Todd, really, it doesn’t matter.” She reached for his hand and a thousand fires started under her skin. The guy was potent, so she ripped her hand away and stuffed it in her lap. How could she feel like that while he was remembering his wife? How could she feel like that at all? It just wasn’t a good idea, no matter how she tried to rationalize it. “We don’t need music. Or you can put on anything. Rap, hip-hop, Alternative, Top 40, I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

“What I want is... “ He blew out a breath and sat back in his seat, his hands clenching the steering wheel, eyes closed, mouth tightening.

This was so not a moment she wanted to be a part of. She had to leave.

She undid her seatbelt and scrambled for the door handle. She couldn’t be witness to this. It was too personal, too intense.

“What I want, is dinner.” He turned her way with the barest semblance of something called a grin and nodded at the seatbelt hanging over her shoulder. “Want to buckle up?”

“Um… all right.” She re-attached the seatbelt. If he wanted to pretend that flashback didn’t happen, she could too, though who were they kidding?

“Oh, here.” Todd did a funky sliding/grabbing movement over the seat. “I assume this is yours.” He handed her something small, rectangular, and paperback, and she wanted to slink under the seat.

“Unless you ordered The Dashing Rogue from the grocery store for dinner tonight?”

If she could order a dashing rogue for dinner, Todd would be her first choice.

Yeah, yeah, bad idea.

“Sorry. It must have fallen out of my purse. Thanks.” She shoved it under her thigh. “A new bookstore opened down the street from Arena’s Grocery and the owner gave it to me.”

“So, do you read those or was he just giving out anything?” Todd started the car and backed out of the parking spot.

This would be the perfect time to tell him she was writing one, but did she really want to do that? She couldn’t afford him to ever link himself to her story—not with the whole “I don’t want my life to be an open book” comment. He wouldn’t be too thrilled to show up in the pages of her manuscript, disguised or not, so she better make sure he had no cause to recognize himself.

“I’m a big fan of romance novels,” seemed like a safe answer since he’d caught her reading one on her first day.

He couldn’t take exception to that, right?

***

Jonathan Griff stared at the figures on the television screen in his sparse apartment. Guardians didn’t need many comforts. He wouldn’t even have the television if it weren’t absolutely necessary. Having given Bixby his laptop after Bixby had accidentally flung his into the river dodging that dog, and the human economic downturn having inspired tightening of gold-braided belts in the Celestial Realm, Jonathan had had to put in a request for a retro model television to be able to monitor his Charges. Rafael had raised his brow when he’d first seen it, but the archangel was nothing if not supportive.

Though how much longer Rafael would be patient with him, Jonathan didn’t know. He wasn’t quite sure what the criteria was for earning his wings, but he was going to try his hardest.

Starting with getting these two on the same wavelength.

Eye twitching, he’d cringed when Jolie shoved the book under her leg. He’d thought for sure the romance novel would help, but if she kept forgetting it or hiding it, the notion wouldn’t take hold. And Todd had totally dismissed the flyer.

Jonathan tapped his index fingers together then steepled them beneath his chin, resting his elbows on his knees. He needed another angle on this. Those two were in want of some serious help.

***

Todd ran a hand through his hair, then hit the turn signal at the entrance of the complex. Romance novels. That figured. “So, you’re one of those.”

“Those?”

“Happily-ever-after types.” A horn blared as the driver swerved around him. Stupid kids, doing fifty in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone. Thought they’d live forever.

If they only realized.

“Well, yes, I do hope for happily-ever-afters.” Graceful hand movements accompanied Jolie’s words as if the words alone weren’t enough to convey her hopefulness. Someone ought to bottle that enthusiasm as an antidote for depression. “Sure beats the alternative. Who wants an unhappily-ever-after? You have to find something good in any bad situation. Otherwise why bother doing anything? So, when life gets a little too real, it’s always nice to hop into a book where you know things are going to end up okay, no matter how bad they seem.” She dropped her hands into her lap, the fingers interlaced.

He’d been that optimistic once. “Real life’s not like that.”

“I know, but isn’t it cool to hope?” There went her hands again, a ballet of movement as she slicked her hair over her shoulder. “I mean, good things have to happen to people. Look at those who go through absolutely horrible situations then go out and become beacons of hope for others.”

“Such as?” He glanced over to see her eyes widen.

Violet. Her eyes were violet.

“Wow. Really? You don’t see this? At all? What about that fire on River Road?”

“Tragic.” No one would ever forget the largest block fire in the town’s history five years ago. He tapped his brakes and came to a stop at the traffic light behind a Salvation Army truck.

“I know. The factory exploded and the whole block went up in flames.”

A truck bearing the Red Cross logo crisscrossed the intersection with a Meals-On-Wheels delivery van. “I fail to see the hope in that, Jolie. Many people died, even those who went in after the kids in the daycare center.” Oh, yeah. He remembered that fire. And the new daycare his painting at the auction had funded afterward.

“But it’s the hope they gave us, Todd. The hope in human nature.”

“Hope in human nature? That’s your happily-ever-after?” Had she seen the news reports of that devastation? Hope in human nature? Oh to be that rose-colored-glasses-hopeful again.

She touched his arm, and Todd pulled his gaze from those violet eyes to where her warm, graceful fingers tightened against his skin.

“Do you remember that day?” she continued. “First the boom, then the smoke. No one knew what had happened before the building was one big gas ball. And then it spread. All those houses just went up in flames, fire racing down the street like a match to gunpowder right toward the daycare center. They couldn’t get those kids out fast enough.”

Todd let up on the gas as the truck in front of them started moving, and gave Jolie one last glance, the star on the Make-A-Wish Foundation billboard behind her framing her head like a crown. “You find this story uplifting?”

“Argh!” she huffed, facing front and throwing her hands in the air. Even that was a symphony of movement.

“Not uplifting, Todd. Of course not. But when the neighbors came, and all the factory workers who were running for their lives stopped to help get those kids out, it was amazing. People were coughing and crying, some were bleeding, but they ran into that building to get those kids. Babies were asleep on the upper floors in their cribs. And not one of the children died. If everyone had waited until the firemen arrived, most of the kids would have died from smoke inhalation or worse. That, to me, is heroic. And hopeful. Those injured and scared people chose to help others.”

A local bus pulled up, a banner for Habitat-For-Humanity gracing the side. “Some would argue it was instinct.”

“Not instinct, Todd. A genuine goodness in the human race. They could have elected to keep on running, got themselves out of harm’s way, but they didn’t. They chose to stop and help. We always have choices, Todd. It just depends on how we make them.”

As they passed Children’s Hospital, a car merged in front of them, American Cancer Society bumper stickers across its fender.

What was with all the charity advertising? Some philanthropist come to town? He’d been one of those once— “So, Jolie, do you have any idea where my happily-ever-after comes in, since you’re apparently able to see the good side to everything?”

“Well, actually, yes, I do.”

He did a double take. He probably should have expected that answer from Little Miss Sunshine, but honestly, she was surprising him at every turn.

“Your happily-ever-after is one day at a time. Seeing the people who care for you. Your brother, for instance. He wouldn’t worry himself about your business and welfare if he didn’t.”

Todd snorted and almost missed the turn-off. “Don’t forget the six-figure paycheck.”

“Really?” she squeaked. “Now I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have pegged you for being so negative. Or so cynical.” She shook her head. “You think your brother’s only helping you out for the money?”

She was right. Mike wasn’t like that. And Todd knew it.

He gauged the merging traffic before joining it. “No, you’re right. Mike’s a great guy. He jumped right in when I was... floundering, I guess, and has kept the company rolling. I owe him a lot.”

He owed him more than a lot. Hell, he didn’t know if he would’ve hung around taking the abuse, the constant barrage of “leave me alones” Mike had had to deal with.

But Mike had taken it all and more. Those first few days…

There’d been no hesitation on his brother’s part. He’d quit his job to take on the task of overseeing Best Enterprises, the company Todd had built with Trista’s encouragement. The company that kept his pictures in the public eye and his bank account full. The company that had proved Trista’s faith in him.

And what was he doing about it now? Griping. Being annoyed that it even existed. Wanting it gone.

What did that say about his value of Trista’s memory?

Todd reached over and squeezed Jolie’s hand. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He didn’t think her eyes could get any wider. Even more so than when she’d gotten an eyeful of something she never should have had to deal with this morning. He really did owe her this dinner and a nice time. Enough with the angst.

“Put a person’s life in perspective with a few simple words.”

She straightened her back. “Okay, number one—simple? I’ll have you know I’ve read and read, and studied, took classes to get my vocabulary out of simple.”

He bit back the smile. Such indignation. “And number two?”

She crossed her arms. “Number two is none of your business.”

And now he really wanted that answer. He cocked an eyebrow and the corresponding corner of his mouth at her, letting a little of his smile through. “Please? With whipped cream on top?”

Her exuberance returned in her smile. What was it she’d said earlier? He got her? Yes, he sure did.

“Okay,” she said after the laughter receded. “Number two is just a sunny outlook on life, because it’s true, you know. People do have choices. You’ve got a choice each morning to get out of bed on the right side or the wrong side. I mean, yeah, life’s hard. Different people have different definitions of hard, but it’s all in your perspective.

“Take me, for example. I could have let the system turn me into another welfare mom at age sixteen like a dozen girls I know, but I chose to get out of it. I wanted more for myself. So I struggled and stayed clean, and got myself into a decent school and learned a trade. I had the perfect excuse to be mad at the world, but I got mad at my circumstances instead and changed them.”

“And here you are.”

He was wrong. Her eyes could get wider.

“Ye…yes. Here I am.”

***

Jonathan sat back in the threadbare BarcaLounger. Had Jolie really said all of that? To Todd?

Jonathan tapped the corner of his mouth. My, my. Big strides for her.

He couldn’t help smiling.

Oh, yes, this was going to work out. He just knew it.

***

Jolie clamped her mouth shut. Had she just said what she thought she had? Had she just laid her entire life on the table for him? What was she thinking? She’d never told anyone that stuff. It made her feel a little weird, kinda open and vulnerable. Naked.

And they were back to that.

“So, Jolie Gardener,” Todd said after a few minutes of much-needed silence.

Much needed for her so she could recover from that unplanned therapy session. Not that she needed therapy; she was just fine. Really. Talking about it without breaking down was a positive. Proved she was beyond it all.

She smoothed her dress over her lap and checked her earrings. Proving it to herself just like Todd was with his determination to have dinner at The Midnight Maiden. See? They had something in common.

“Yes, Todd Best?” There. Pleasant, solid, no shakiness in her voice. She was fine.

“What does a personal chef do with herself when she’s not cooking meals?”

“Plan them?”

He laughed. Good.

“You are really good for me.” He squeezed her hand again as he slowed down on the exit ramp of the closest thing to a highway this little burg had to offer. “I’m glad you took this job.”

She let the words wash over her as Todd zipped into the parking lot by The Midnight Maiden. Other than for her meals, she hadn’t received many compliments in her twenty-eight years.

The boat bobbed on the tiny river waves, the ropes creaking against their moorings, a line of white Christmas lights blinking from the upper deck. Yes, she was glad she’d taken this job as well. For a whole host of reasons.

They found an empty parking spot near the gangplank and Todd held out his hand as he, once again, opened the car door for her. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She slid off the seat and something plopped on the pavement just as her feet did.

“Your book.” Todd bent to retrieve it. “Here, you better not lose this. How else will you find out if The Dashing Rogue lives happily-ever-after?”

He was teasing and she was enjoying.

And, yes, she did want to believe that, somehow, the dashing rogue would have his happily-ever-after.

Chapter Eight

Hurricane glass sconces lined the cherry-paneled walls of the interior dining room of The Midnight Maiden, the bulbs flickering like flames as the maitre d’ led them through a maze of little cherry wood tables on mauve carpeting, over to the stairs. Todd flourished his hand for her to precede him, so up she went, the wind kicking up as she exited the stairwell.

Purple and orange rays of the waning sun bounced off skyscrapers onto the glittering water like a laser light show. A prop plane skimmed the riverbank, large yellow banner proclaiming the name of the sightseeing company that had recently started air tours of the city.

“Wow. The view is gorgeous.” She tried to keep her hair from blowing around, but gave up when a handful ended up clipping her in the eye. “I’ve never been on a boat before. I like this gentle rocking. Is it always like this? I guess I can see how this upsets some people’s tummies. But not mine.” At least not tonight. Please.

Not that she was nervous or anything.

“Uh hmmm,” said the Man of Suddenly Few Words behind her.

What happened to Mr. Chatty from the car?

The maitre d’ unhooked a velvet rope at the bow of the boat and ushered them to the lone table there. Todd’s celebrity status came in handy.

Or maybe he just paid a lot for the privacy.

Guilt slithered down her spine, but she squashed it. No one would ever know he was the basis for her romance hero. No one. Why should they?

The d’ held out her chair—darn. With Todd doing all the door holding, she’d kind of hoped he would’ve done it here, too. But beggars couldn’t be choosers—not that she was a beggar. Nor would she be. In no aspect of her life, job, housing, affection… nothing.

Bringing home (again) the fact that Todd was a respected guest, a couple of elegant menus appeared as if by magic in front of them as the d’ himself started rattling off the spécialités. But Jolie wasn’t in any frame of mind to memorize stuff. The wind was ruffling Todd’s hair and the sun reflected off the water into those incredible eyes of his, highlighting the laugh lines at the corners.

Why were they called laugh lines on guys and crow’s feet on women? Talk about inequality of the sexes.

“Jolie?”

Could she—just once—stay on topic with the man around? “Yes?”

“Would you like an appetizer?”

Oh. Food. She should be all over that, but found herself thinking about sparkling green eyes instead. Husky laughs and inside jokes. Broad shoulders and nicely-shaped pecs straining against cotton...

And the inside of her mouth getting as dry as that cotton. And incapable of speech, too. Oh, for Pete’s sake!

Luckily, there was a goblet of water on the table and she took a quick swallow, stopping just before a gulp. That would so not be attractive. ‘Course she had to make a quick grab for the napkin to blot the corner of her mouth where the water wanted to make a reappearance. Honest to God, where was her composure?

Finding it somewhere down near her knees, she pulled herself together and gave Todd a dazzling smile. At least, she hoped it was dazzling and not desperate. Or ditzy.

“You know, Todd, food’s my livelihood, so I’d rather not have to think about it. Why don’t you go ahead and choose for us.”

Off went Mr. Maitre d’ with their drink orders and appetizer selections, whatever they were, and she was left with a gorgeous man and a glorious sun just as it hit the water line.

“Is it going to hiss, do you think?” Todd asked.

The scent of him registered before she realized he’d scooted his chair closer. Grey Flannel, her favorite cologne. It was subtle, not all cowboy boots and chaps.

There was an image.

What was the question again? Hiss? Right. “I used to think the sun drowned each night when I was a kid,” she answered. “Although that could have something to do with Mr. Gaston falling off the top of the dam where he’d been fishing and never making it out of the river.”

Now why had she dredged that awful memory up? Seriously, she needed to focus on the conversation.

“You saw someone drown?” Todd touched the back of her hand. “How old were you?”

There was a lot to commend this touchy-feely business. Amazing how much heat there was in fingertips. “I was six and he always used to tell us these incredible stories, how big his catches were and how many he could reel in in his younger days. I know now that they were all fish tales and might’ve had something to do with re-living his glory days, not to mention the fifth of whiskey he carted around like a newborn, but he could tell a good story.” And was in some way responsible for her own story-telling dreams, but she didn’t want to clue Todd in on that.

“So, what happened?” He hadn’t pulled his hand back.

“Apparently he finally caught something and wasn’t prepared. It yanked him over the side and that was the last we ever saw.” She shrugged because she should be over a six-year-old’s terror. “We don’t know if it was a fish or an old log or a piece of furniture, but I like to think that Mr. Gaston went down with the biggest fish of his life.”

“Is that your happily-ever-after for Mr. Gaston?”

He remembered. She couldn’t help smiling. “Yes. That’s Mr. Gaston’s.”

Todd tapped her hand one last time, then reached for his water and took a sip. He dipped the goblet toward the horizon. “Ssh. Listen. I think it’s hissing.”

“Do you do this a lot? Sit and listen to the sun?”

He chuckled and set the goblet down, wiping his tanned hands on the beige linen napkin. “No. But I really did try when I was a kid. My grandparents lived on Cape Cod and I’d spend a couple weeks during the summer with them. Every evening, my grandfather and I would set the crab traps and watch the sunset. I think it was that, more than anything, that started my painting.”

Well. He mentioned painting. Hmmm. She had to handle this delicately, not scare him off. Kind of like feeding a wild animal. Or one of those rats with wings. Put her hand out gently, slowly. Offering, as it were. “How did the sunset do that?”

He drummed his fingers against the cream tablecloth, a light thum-thum.

“I kept studying the sun, watching it, listening to hear that hiss, night after night. I remember how beautiful the sky looked just before it hit the water, all the colors, and the water sparkling as if it were lit from beneath. It mesmerized me.”

His laugh was self-conscious and she smiled again. Putting out another figurative hand.

“I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was my calling, my talent rising to the surface. By the end of that summer, I found myself grabbing crayons and colored pencils, anything to capture what I was seeing.”

“And did you?”

He looked back at the sunset. She looked at him, holding her breath. Would he share it with her? Talk about it? When was the last time he’d spoken about it?

“Eventually I did. It took a while, some experimenting with different media until I was satisfied I could do justice to God’s creation.”

Don’t make a big deal out of his revelation. She swallowed, trying to keep the grin off her face. “You’ve certainly done that. I’ve seen your work and it is truly amazing. I feel like the scene is right outside an invisible window I’m looking through. As if I could reach out and touch whatever is in your painting.”

“My wife used to say the same thing.”

And there went the mood.

But she refused to let that happen. She didn’t let “quit” into her life and she wasn’t going to allow it into his. Not on her watch. “The critics do, too. They love your work.”

“Loved. Past tense.”

“No. Still. They love your work, Todd. Your paintings sell every day and the demand hasn’t abated. Just because you’re taking a hiatus doesn’t mean people are going to stop wanting your work.”

He snatched his hands off the table and shoved them beneath it. “Jolie, I’m not on hiatus. I’m finished. Done. No more artwork.”

Right. She’d just watched the guy light up talking about the sunset, for Pete’s sake. He had no idea who he was dealing with. He’d let her in a little and she’d gotten hold. Tenaciousness had seen her through some lean times. This was no different.

“Well,” she said with a just-enough-under-exaggerated sigh, “that’s a shame. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like that.”

“Leave my wife out of this.”

“Sorry.” Not really. It needed to be said. How she knew that, she had no idea. Maybe it had to do with not liking bad karma. “It just seems a shame to let go of her memory like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The last thing I’ll do is let go of her memory.”

Those green eyes, they were a-blazin’.

Well, some emotion was better than none.

“But, Todd, if you stop painting, something your wife admired about you, cared about, inspired in you, you are, in essence, putting her memory away. In a box, locked up tight with a key, never to be seen or felt or experienced or shared again. How do you think she’d feel about that?”

He turned his head, gracing her with the view of his sharp jaw line, the muscles bunching along it. She hoped he wouldn’t crack a tooth, but he needed that food for thought. Because she, as an aspiring writer, someone creative and with—she hoped—talent, she understood how the urge to create overtook everything so that it had to emerge or it’d mess with sleep patterns, consume thoughts, and take over a life. Creative expression needed an outlet. If it were bottled up inside, at some point it’d explode. Or die. And that would be such a tragedy for him.

There was another minute—or five—of silence, then he sighed and brought his hands back to the table, reaching for his glass of water again. He didn’t take a drink, just kind of swirled the liquid around in the glass.

“I never thought about it like that.” His voice was low.

Oh, thank God the words “you’re fired” didn’t come spewing forth. She’d particularly hate a Donald Trump moment right then. Not that there was ever a good time for a DT moment, but now would have been especially awkward.

Luckily, the maitre d’ picked that moment to show up with their appetizers and drinks, and Todd did the wine twirling/sipping thing. She was not a sommelier, nor would she ever aspire to that particular function. She’d done heavy book research about wines for her career instead of actual sampling, due to an instinctual aversion to the stuff. Actually, she wasn’t big on any form of alcohol unless it was cooked into a dish. Saw too much of the not-so-pretty side effects of a drinking binge—this morning included.

Though some parts of this morning hadn’t been so bad.

Mr. Maitre d’ placed the broiled scallops in front of them. Jolie didn’t think she’d ever seen a scallop quite that size, about as big as a four-year-old’s fist. She spun the plate around to study all sides then took a bite. It was like eating a slice of heaven, the texture of flan, with a dark, almost chocolate, roux with a hint of burgundy—au jus for scallops. “I have to get this recipe.”

Todd added a few “uh hmmms,” but the silence wasn’t strained. Always a good thing.

Amid the soft lap-lap of the waves, the little chink of utensils against china, she took another bite and it was all she could do not to moan. The scallops were to die for.

Or it could be because the last ray of sun hit Todd’s profile at just the right angle.

The man was truly beautiful and all five of her senses knew it. Not to mention the seven layers of skin she possessed.

She needed to focus on the food.

“So, where did you get the idea to go to culinary school?” Apparently Todd was on the same wavelength.

“You know Casteleoni’s downtown?”

He nodded.

“I worked there and Bella, the owner, suggested it.”

“So what else do you do with your time?” Todd asked. “I’m sure cooking doesn’t occupy your entire day.”

Words failed her. What was she supposed to say? That she was in the market for a hero and oh, by the way, you’re my inspiration to a best-selling happily-ever-after?

Not if she wanted to stay employed.

A sliver of sumptuous scallop slid down her throat again and she waved the fork around. “I keep myself occupied. I take classes at the community college.”

And she did. Just because it was a random semester here and there, he didn’t need to know the details. “I want to open my own pastry shop someday.”

Or write a best-seller with movie rights.

“Your own pastry shop. That’s ambitious.”

“That’s me, Ambitious Jolie.”

“I thought you were Good Sport Jolie?” he teased.

He remembered…

“Good sport, ambitious. Take your pick.” Jolie cleared her throat and squirmed around in her seat. “So, what do you do during the day? We still need to work out a schedule so I’m not in your way.”

Todd’s eyes narrowed as he stared over her shoulder again.

“Hello? Todd?” She waved her fork tines in his face.

“Hmm. What I do. Well, let’s see. I work out, check in with Mike. Correspondence, bills. That sort of thing. Whatever people do in their lives, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary.” He shrugged, then met her gaze.

There was nothing ordinary about the full force of those green eyes. Focused on her, a glint of determination in there—just to come up with his daily schedule?—that, for a second, she forgot her own name. Well, no, not really, but what had they been talking about? Something about ordinary things—

Flash!

A burst of a light pierced the dusky sky, zinging into her eyes, and Todd grabbed her hand—not in a good way—and pulled her down to the deck as if they were being bombed.

“Mr. Best, can you tell us who she is? Does this mean you’re painting again? Can I get an interview? A quote—Hey! Get off me! Give that back!”

Now what? Todd could claim being ordinary all he wanted, but she knew differently. The man was still a celebrity, and this little brouhaha proved that the Fates agreed with her.

Chapter Nine

Son of a bitch. How’d they find him?

Todd rubbed his thumb and index finger over his eyes, trying to readjust his vision to the gray violet of the night, the same color as Jolie’s widened eyes. He squeezed her hand and stood. “Stay down.” He hated subjecting her to this circus more than he hated going through it.

He patted her shoulder and strode over to the two waiters holding a squirming, cursing man between them. The white lights ringing the edge of the boat and the residual from the flash made it tough to see who the man was. Not that it mattered, because anyone writing about him was the problem.

“We’re sorry about that, Mr. Best,” one of the waiters said at his approached.

Todd raised his hand. “You aren’t the ones who need to apologize.” He glared at the reporter.

“Ken Shaw with In The Spotlight.” The reporter yanked his arms free from the waiters and stuck out his hand. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about—”

“I know what you’d like, Mr. Shaw.” Todd ignored the hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “What I’d like is some privacy. Any idea whose wants I care more about?”

“Yeah, but look, people are curious. You’re a story—”

“No, you look, Mr. Shaw. I’m not a story. I’m a person. And the lady with me is a person. Neither of us cares what your readers are curious about. She has nothing to do with the art world. Nor, frankly, do I any longer. That’s your story. Period.” Todd held out his hand. “I’ll take the photo, if you don’t mind.”

“No way. That’s my meal ticket for the month. Maybe I’ll see you around this place.”

“Mr. Shaw, this area is clearly marked Private.” One of the reasons he and Trista had frequented it. “That includes the taking of unauthorized photographs. I’m sure management would be more than happy to contact the authorities should I care to press the matter.” Todd flared his palm. “The memory card.”

The two waiters, who could pass for bouncers at any of the downtown clubs, cracked their knuckles. Todd had to cough to cover his laugh, but the theatrics worked. Shaw glanced between them, then at the railing.

“It’s not worth it, Shaw. Hand it over. And while you’re at it, you can tell me how you knew where I’d be.”

***

Todd returned to the table, batting 500. Shaw hadn’t leaked his source—Todd hadn’t really expected him to. He’d hoped, but at least he’d gotten the memory card. He ran the slim plastic rectangle between his fingers. Pity it was digital; he’d relish ripping a roll of film from the back of a camera, but this was more civilized.

He didn’t feel civilized.

“What was that about?” Jolie looked at him from her chair.

“I thought I told you to stay there.” He pointed to the deck behind their table.

“As in literally? I thought you meant at the table.” She placed her purse beside her plate. “So what was that?”

Todd reclaimed his seat and stretched the napkin across his lap, then leaned toward her. “Look, I’m sorry. This morning, the reporters, everything.”

“I’m okay. It’s fine. I—”

“No, it’s not fine. It’s a hassle. It’s invasive and callous. I’ll understand if you want to reconsider.”

“Reconsider?”

Todd sat back in his chair and drew a hand through his hair. “Working for me. Trust me, it’s not fun having your life bantered about in the papers. There’s always some photographer looking for a quick buck from some national trashmag. You just met one. It’s only going to get worse. I shouldn’t have brought you out tonight.”

“Well I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t have seen this place if you hadn’t. And that guy was so far away he probably didn’t get anything printable anyway.”

“Good Sport Jolie to the rescue.” Todd tossed the memory card onto the table. “Well, at least I got this, so it doesn’t matter what he saw.”

“The memory card? What are you going to do with it?”

Todd picked it up. “How about I toss it overboard?”

He cocked his wrist but Jolie wrapped her fingers around his arm. “Wait.”

It was the shock of her touch that stopped him. Her fingers were warm, soft. The way she leaned forward, her turquoise dress contrasting with the cream tablecloth, the swell of her breasts being pushed up—

What the hell was he thinking?

He pulled his arm free, an instinctual reaction because he certainly didn’t think about it. Hell, all he could think about was how wrong it was to notice her breasts.

“That’s not environmentally friendly, Todd,” she continued, obviously unaware of the wrong direction of his thoughts since she linked her hands on the table right beneath her breasts, pushing them up even more. “You can’t just toss it in the river. What if everyone else did? The fish would die of poisoning. Then the bigger fish would die, and so on until you’ve disrupted the food chain.”

She sat back and her dress re-situated itself, thank God. The blood rushed back into his brain as she put things in perspective again with her concerns. Where had she been two years ago when his life had gone to shit? He could have used some unbridled optimism then.

Not that he would have listened.

“You’re right. The last thing I need to do is enable that reporter to cause any more damage—to me or the environment.”

“I’ll just put it in my purse until we get home—uh, back. Then you can dispose of it.”

Home. When had he called that place home? It was just a place to sleep, store his clothes, and eat. But yes, she’d been at home in his kitchen. Had moved right in, basically, and made herself a part of the scene.

Wait a minute. Could she be a plant? Shaw’s source maybe?

She raked the card toward her purse with her nails, but he stopped her, hating what he was thinking.

“Wait, Jolie.” The last two years had really done a number on him, but lessons learned… “I’ll hold onto that.”

“Uh, okay.” She slid the plastic to him, a twist on those pink lips.

“Thanks.” He shoved it into his pocket, then picked up his fork, but just as quickly put it down. Was she really here for the chef position or working for someone—something—else?

“Really, Jolie, I won’t hold it against you if you want out. I’ll write you a glowing reference.”

“Why would you think I’d want out? It’s really no biggie.” She speared a forkful of scallop.

If she was a plant, she’d want to stay. Of course, if she wanted the job, she’d want to stay, too. He really hated not being able to trust anyone. He fiddled with his fork, then tapped the tines against his plate. “Jolie, about this morning—”

“You already apologized. It’s forgotten.” She twirled her fork every bit as expressively as she did her hands.

“Not that. You never answered my question. How did you get in my house? And without me hearing you?”

She raised her eyebrow. The fork stopped mid-twirl and she didn’t even seem to notice when the scallop dropped to her plate.

Hell, he was going about this all wrong. But still, she’d started today. Today. Mike wouldn’t have been that callous to send someone out on this day. It was too coincidental and he didn’t like coincidences. No one had tried this angle before, but it made sense and the timing was right. “So how’d you get in? Why today?”

Jolie took her time placing her fork on the plate and dabbing the corner of her mouth with the napkin. She smoothed it across her lap, then looked at him, the usual brightness missing from her eyes. “I used the key the agency gave me for the side door. They said to start first thing this morning so I did. Any other questions?”

Todd studied her. Indignation, the requisite glower… She was either a very good actress or telling the truth.

He was sick of worrying about it. She hadn’t asked a zillion questions like the reporters, his other chef had left, and it was perfectly reasonable for the agency to send someone over since today wasn’t anything special on their calendar.

He exhaled, letting it go. Unless she gave him reason to be suspicious, he’d take her at face value. With those expressive eyes—and those irrepressible hands—he didn’t think she was pulling one over on him. “I guess they got the dates wrong, because I thought I wasn’t supposed to have anyone here this week.”

“Well, that can be easily arranged.” She crumpled her napkin and slid sideways off her chair.

He grabbed for her hand. “Jolie. Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Oh, I think you did.”

He exhaled. Snagged. “Okay, maybe I was testing the waters. I know you didn’t have anything to do with that.” He pointed back to where Mr. Shaw had made his less-than-gracious exit. “It happens more than I’d like. I’m sorry.”

She perched on the edge of the seat, those violet eyes turning as dark as the night behind her. Without the twinkling stars. He’d done that and he felt like a heel for it. The one person who apparently didn’t have an agenda with him today, and he’d insulted her.

He was a real prince. “Please stay.”

“Why don’t you just give them an interview and have it over and done with?” she asked, re-positioning the napkin after a few seconds’ consideration.

“Because I don’t think it’s anyone’s business but mine how I spend my days or what I do with my life. Talking about her isn’t going to bring her back.”

No, but painting might.

He shoved the thought from his head. Painting wouldn’t bring Trista back, it’d bring it back. The shock, the anguish, the desolation.

He couldn’t go through that again. He just wanted to move on with the rest of his life.

***

Jolie jabbed another forkful of scallop. She plopped it into her mouth, then grabbed her napkin to spit it into. Too cold. Great, she couldn’t even enjoy her first—and probably last now that it’d forever be associated with his suspicions —meal at this place. How dare Todd insinuate—

But what about the novel?

That was different. It wasn’t as if anyone would know it was him when it got published. If it got published; there were no guarantees. By then, she’d be long gone anyway, and this would be just one in a string of assignments. No one would ever know Todd was the inspiration.

Uh huh.

She refused to feel guilty about something she hadn’t yet done, so Naughty Girl could just keep quiet.

“Well, hello there!” exclaimed a chipper voice at her side.

Mr. Griff? What was he doing here?

Well, thank goodness for it because the last thing she needed to be doing was wrestling with her conscience about something she might or might not do at some point in the future, cluing Todd in to the fact that she might not be what he thought she was. Or maybe she really was what Todd thought she was, thereby getting herself fired for something she hadn’t even done yet.

“Miss Gardener?”

“Hi,” she said, turning all perky, as if she hadn’t just had one of the heaviest discussions of her life, complete with unwarranted—sort of—guilt complex. “What brings you here, Mr. Griff? Are you meeting someone for dinner?” And how’d he get past the bouncers?

He slapped his leg and laughed as if she’d said the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, no.” He wiped the corner of his eye. “I came to give, er, get something I left behind. And there it is.”

He scurried over to a bench behind her beneath the pretty white Christmas lights, his serviceable black shoes clicking along the deck, retrieving something large, flat, and rectangular. He stuffed it under his arm then scampered back. He always seemed to be moving about with new verbs she’d never really thought of before. At the grocery store he’d clambered off the floor, now it was scurrying and scampering. What would he try next? Scuttling?

“Who’s he?” Todd asked, his eyes narrowed.

Great. Now he was back to wondering if she was involved in some covert spy mission. “Relax. That’s Mr. Griff. The one who gave me the book. Not a reporter.”

Mr. Griff reached them with his large, rectangular something.

“What on earth is that, Mr. Griff?” Jolie asked.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Cat.” He wagged a finger at her.

“Her name is Jolie,” Todd corrected.

The little guy had a cat-ate-the-cream grin. “Her middle name is Catherine.”

Todd looked at Jolie who could only shrug, clueless how Mr. Griff knew.

“So what is that, Mr. Griff?” She nudged the thing.

“Oh.” He swept it from under his arm as if it were a European crown jewel. “It’s a book on Hans Holbein.”

“Holbein the Younger?” Todd asked.

Who the heck was Hans Holbein the Younger and why did Todd suddenly find this conversation interesting?

“Yes,” Mr. Griff answered Todd, turning slightly and flipping the book open. “He’s very talented, don’t you think?”

She craned her neck to look across the table. A book of paintings—but not landscapes like Todd’s. No, these were all portraits. They looked like oils, but since she wasn’t a connoisseur, she couldn’t be certain.

But Todd was. He studied the faces in the pictures, both pages, then slowly turned to the next page. No one said anything, but Mr. Griff had a secret little Mona Lisa grin going.

“Would you like to keep it for a bit? Since you’re finding it so interesting, I mean.” Mr. Griff somehow managed to slide the... encyclopedia, for lack of a better word, onto the table without disturbing any of the place settings.

Todd flipped another page, his eyes roaming the picture in a really intensive study. Was he looking for the talent, the mastery, or whatever it was an artist saw when he looked at a painting, like she did when someone served an amazing menu item, like, for instance, broiled scallops?

“I’d love to take a look at it, if you wouldn’t mind.” Todd finally tore his eyes away from the painted page and arched a brow at Mr. Griff.

Mr. Griff made no effort to hide that enigmatic smile and it made her nervous. What if Todd began thinking along the lines he’d been thinking earlier?

And what was with Mr. Griff showing up here with a book Todd would be interested in? It was eerie how the shopkeeper seemed to read minds.

“You certainly can. Take as much time as you need. Jolie knows where to find me.” He tipped his hat, turned with military precision, and scuttled (no surprise there) away.

Todd followed Mr. Griff’s departure with narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to figure out why a complete stranger would lend him a book. She just hoped he didn’t come to the conclusion she thought he might.

Luckily, the maitre d’ chose that moment to interrupt the visual tracking and Todd returned his focus to the table, handling the dinner order with aplomb.

“So, who’s Hans Holbein the Younger?” she asked after the d’ left.

Todd turned another page. “A portraitist. A courtier to King Henry the Eighth in the sixteenth century who painted many of the royal court.”

“Oh. That’s impressive.” She took a sip from her glass, gazing out over the inky water where a boat whispered by, its deck lights outlining its shape. The Midnight Maiden rocked with the wake.

“It is. Especially when you realize this guy lived to his mid-forties. He started out doing religious paintings, then came to the attention of Sir Thomas More. He painted More’s portrait and King Henry became a fan. After that, he was the official artist for Henry’s wives’ portraits, as well as for the search of subsequent wives. Matter of fact—” Todd flipped another page and pointed to a woman in a big black coat with a funny black cap on her head. “He ran into trouble after Jane Seymour’s death. Henry sent him to paint Christina of Denmark, who then passed on his offer of marriage.”

“Smart girl.” Henry wasn’t the most forgiving of husbands. Nor the most faithful. Given his track record, Jolie would refuse him, too.

“True.” Todd turned the page. “Henry then sent Holbein to paint Anne of Cleves.” He cocked the book toward Jolie. “Her.”

Anne had a tiny waist and was dressed in a copper-colored outfit, complete with jewels and chains all over it. Those people back then certainly knew the meaning of the word ostentatious. She had a funky little cap on her head with dangly things on the sides, kind of like Princess Leia, though Anne dear might have been bald under it, ’cause not a wisp of hair escaped.

“Henry was quite taken with the portrait and offered for her. She, poor thing, accepted.”

“So, what was the problem?”

Todd closed the book with a wry grin. “Holbein was put between a rock and a hard place. Henry had already struck out with Christina, and Anne was not quite the, shall we say, most inspiring of subjects—”

“A bow-wow?”

“That’s one way of putting it. But since Holbein was so famous for his portraits, he must have either wanted to portray her well, or Henry’s advisers wanted the king married no matter what. Whatever the case, Holbein, um, took some liberties with his subject.”

“Aha! I bet Henry was none too thrilled when the beauty in the portrait ended up being more beast-like.”

“Considering their marriage was annulled six months later, I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

“Holbein’s lucky Henry didn’t behead him or something.” Henry’s bad temper being somewhat legendary and all.

“True. But Holbein the Younger was one of the outstanding artists of his time. Henry would have been hard pressed to replace him. The man was a great observer of detail in his paintings, had superb handling of color, a compelling realism.”

So, Todd went off on a tangent, looking more alive in the last fifteen minutes than he’d been all day. Or any time since his wife died, according to the news coverage she’d seen. Mr. Griff’s book could be a good thing for him. Funny how the man knew just which book to give.

Dinner arrived and Todd continued to wax poetic about Hans Junior. It was interesting for about the first ten minutes, but when he went in depth about brush strokes and pigmentation and a whole bunch of other mumbo-jumbo she’d heard before but never really took the time to learn, she got distracted. Not daydreaming, just distracted. Like noticing how his mouth looked really sexy when he said the word “strokes.” Made her want him to do that to her.

Well, okay, that wouldn’t be the smartest idea she’d ever had, but when the guy was lit up like a Christmas tree, going on and on about something near and dear to his heart, it was kinda hard not to go that route, since she’d never been near and dear to anyone’s heart.

So, with some daydreaming on her part, and art lessons on his, they made their way through dinner—lobster thermidor and asparagus with hollandaise being some of her personal faves. The maitre d’ checked in periodically, but not intrusively, thankfully. She’d always found it to be a bummer to be having this great conversation and right when she was ready to make the point, the big comment that made her seem brilliant and witty, there’d be a, “Would you like coffee with that?” What a dénouement, and not in a good way.

Todd went on about Sir Holbein. Or Mr. Holbein. She couldn’t remember if he was knighted or not. It would’ve been nice for the guy to get that reward, but, hey, with Tudor job positions fluctuating according to the king’s whim, it seemed keeping one’s head in that period of English history would be reward enough.

“Would you like dessert?” Todd asked, closing the book.

No, she was not going to ask for whipped cream. “No, thank you. Dinner was more than enough.”

Todd held her chair as she scooted out of it and it was utterly ridiculous how happy his warm body against her back made her. Yes, so maybe she did scoot slower than necessary, what of it?

He touched her elbow to lead her back toward the stairs, Mr. Griff’s book slung under his other arm, and she tried to suppress the shiver his touch evoked.

She gave a little finger wave to the d’ who apologized yet again for the intrusion, and within minutes, they were outside the ship, back on terra firma where the wind blew her hair all over the place—again. It figured. A girl could not have a good hair day around a ship.

“Thanks for this, Jolie. For tonight.” Todd’s voice was husky, which she might not have noticed had she not heard how difficult this would be for him during her little eavesdropping incident at the office earlier.

“No, really,” she said. “Thank you. It’s the best dinner I’ve had in a long time.” Ever, actually, but she did have some self-preservation.

“Look,” he said, leading her to the car, “it’s pretty late and Lord knows I’ve had enough to eat. Why don’t you take it easy tomorrow and come around lunchtime? I think I can skip breakfast.” He opened her car door again and she fought the swoon.

“But it’s my job and high time I started, don’t you think? I’d like to earn my paycheck, if you don’t mind.”

He closed her door with a “If that’s what you want,” then slid his toned thigh, calves, and firm tushy (and she should know) into his seat. He did that twisty-turny move to put Mr. Griff’s book in the space behind the seats, then he glanced at her.

Once again, she fell victim to those eyes. God, they were incredible. His piercing gaze made her feel as if he could see into her very soul.

Here’s hoping he can’t or he’s in for a surprise.

Naughty Girl just had to ruin the moment.

“Ready?” he asked.

Uh oh. Maybe he could.

“Ready?” she squeaked out.

“To head home?”

Duh. “Yep,” she said in an effort to keep the blush and embarrassment off her face. “Anything in particular you want me to make tomorrow? Or should I just wing it?” The engine purred as they headed onto the pseudo-freeway.

“Nah. Surprise me,” answered the walking advertisement for fantasy lovers everywhere.

“Okay.” She sat back and let the wind muss her hair some more. At this point, it was hopeless anyway, so she might as well enjoy the sensation.

The ride back was nice. Quiet, but nice. There was none of the angst from their earlier conversations and, despite the reporter interruption, Todd was doing okay. Mr. Griff’s book helped. Todd had certainly jumped into that with both feet.

All in all, he’d done rather well. He’d talked about painting, had mentioned his wife—albeit briefly—and had remained at the restaurant after the reporter debacle. The night wasn’t a disaster. Maybe he was starting to heal.

As they pulled onto her street, Jolie realized that her life, too, seemed to be on the upswing. It was finally at the point where she could say she was pretty happy with it. Not overly ecstatic, but nowhere near the bad places she’d been, and definitely headed down the road to her goals and personal happiness.

But when they rounded the bend toward her apartment complex, her thoughts of a decent life went down the tubes.

Or, rather, up in flames.

Before them—and about twenty fire, police, ambulance and reporter vans—her apartment building was on fire.

Taking everything she owned with it.

Chapter Ten

Her apartment.

Her home.

Her entire life. Gone.

Up in smoke. Flames. Ohmygod.

Jolie had the car door open even before Todd stopped, and she hit the ground running toward the line of bystanders, praying that whoever was screaming near her would just shut up already because it was really getting on her nerves.

It wasn’t until Todd appeared beside her and yanked her into his arms that she realized the screaming banshee was her.

That shut her up.

“Jolie, Jolie,” he said into her ear as her face was jammed into his shoulder.

Any other time she’d relish this moment, but not now. Everything she’d ever owned, bought, treasured was gone.

She clutched the sides of his shirt, vaguely remembering not to grab the skin beneath. She needed this, him, his support, otherwise she’d collapse. The disbelief, the agony was just, well, crushing.

Someone official talked into a bullhorn. She tried to dry her tears on Todd’s shirt, figuring he’d have to have known what to expect the minute he pulled her into his arms. Hysterical woman equaled tears. Simple arithmetic really.

“Sshh, Jolie.” He rubbed little soothing circles on her back. “It’ll be all right.”

“All right?” She sniffled and pulled back. “All right? How can you possibly say that?” Okay, so maybe that tap on his chest was a little harder than she intended, but, honestly, all right? Was the man mad? Out of his mind? “I’ve lost everything. Everything!”

Said man picked that moment to go all sweet on her, cupping her drenched cheek in his hand and searching her eyes. “No, you haven’t lost everything. You’re still here. Still alive.” He brushed some wild hair off her face and went back to cheek-cupping again. “Remember your happily-ever-after scenario? You need to focus on that now. It could be so much worse. You could be inside that building. Things are replaceable—people aren’t.”

He did have a point.

So there they stood, surrounded by blaring horns, mist from the dozen or so hoses aimed at the burning pile of brick and mortar she used to call home, hundreds of people milling around, and the world shrunk to one tiny plot of concrete where Todd held her.

“You’re right.” She leaned back, trying to muster the bravery she’d carried around like a shield since, well, forever. “I could’ve been in that building. It’s after eleven, so I might have been asleep. It could be worse.”

No, she couldn’t find the bravery. Not yet. She’d never lost everything before. Not in one fell swoop. Not like this.

She sunk back into his arms. Since he was offering, she might as well take him up on it as she took inventory of what was left of her life.

Luckily, she’d been in too much of a hurry to get to her reading sojourn that afternoon to fully unpack her car. Her manuscript was still in the back seat of the little German engine that could, and she had her purse, so all means of access to her money were still hers. Oh, and the clothes on her back. Okay, so everything wasn’t gone.

Todd was right—it could’ve been worse, though it could’ve been oh so much better.

But she’d been through nasty disasters before; she just hadn’t been counting on ever having to start over from nothing. But, Lord knew, she was fully capable of re-establishing residency in the blink of an eye. Now if she could only stop those eyes from blinking back tears and clear her vision.

She had to pull herself together. After all, she was alive. “Let’s make sure everyone got out,” she said to Todd, mustering the courage to pull out of his arms.

They skirted the huddled groups of sobbing people and she was about to head toward the front of the pack, when Todd grabbed her hand. Fool that she was, she felt that tingle.

One would’ve thought losing her entire life’s worth of possessions would have deadened her nerve endings, but apparently not where he was concerned. She probably didn’t want to know what it’d take to do that.

“Jolie, this is a friend of mine. Detective Phillips.”

“A detective? Is it standard procedure for a detective to show up at a fire?” she asked.

Detective Phillips shook his head. “The fire marshal said the origins look suspicious so we’re on hand to check it out.”

Todd took her hand, intertwining their fingers, and thoughts fled her mind.

“Suspicious?” he asked. “Do you think someone set it on purpose?”

Detective Phillips shrugged. “Too early to tell. But the fire alarm was pulled before anything happened, so, luckily, everyone got out. It was either an incredible coincidence or someone wanted everyone out before they tried to gut the place. We’ll go in with the arson team once the fire’s out. What’s your interest in this place, Todd? I thought you were over in the Mirror Lake Development?”

“I am. Jolie lives, er, lived here,” Todd answered.

Detective Phillips flicked his head toward the collapsing pile of rubble. “Sorry about that, miss. You’ll need to make other arrangements. The Red Cross should be setting up around here shortly to help you with shelter until you get back on your feet.”

Detective Phillips nodded then, with a quick clasp to Todd’s arm, headed off.

“It’s going to be okay, Jolie.”

She sighed. “I know. I’m over the initial shock that my entire old life is gone.”

Todd raised his eyebrow and she had to chuckle. “Well, okay, maybe I’m not completely over it, but I’ll make it. I always have before. Now it’s time for me to stand on my own two feet—in the only pair of shoes I have left, apparently.” She couldn’t help herself when she reached out to touch his arm. That darn touchy-feely-ness he’d started…

“Thank you, Todd, for helping me through the worst of it. Not really what you expected this evening, I’m sure.” God, it felt so good to lean—just a little bit—on someone else.

Remember the last time you did that?

Naughty Girl had a point. Mom hadn’t done such a hot job on the support thing and forget about Chucky. He’d been a lost cause even before they’d begun but she hadn’t realized it.

Jolie pulled her hand away. “I’ll let you get on home while I find the Red Cross and discuss my options. Thanks for a really nice evening. Up ’til now, of course, but then, you didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Jolie.” And just like that—again—Todd stopped her rambling. “I’ve got four unused bedrooms in my house. Why don’t you crash there until you can find other accommodations? No need to stand in line behind dozens of other people waiting for the overworked volunteers. Plus—” there was a twinkle in his eye— “just think how easy it’ll make your morning commute.”

Stay in his house? In a bedroom a few dozen feet down the hall from his? He might think nothing of it, but then, he wasn’t aware of the little flamenco dance that’d been going on under her skin all evening. And just from being near him. But sleep under the same roof? Her hormones were going to go into the spin cycle for sure.

As if they weren’t already.

She opened her mouth to say, “Thanks, but no thanks, you really don’t need to rescue me,” (but, sure, why not?) and found herself saying instead, “Really? That would be so nice. Thank you very much.” Okay, Naughty Girl, what are you doing butting in?

Shut up and thank me later.

Naughty Girl and those good points of hers…

So Jolie did a bit of searching among the throng to find her car and caravanned behind Todd’s be-all/end-all of cars to his house, her new home.

Home—oh Lord, her apartment.

I will hold it together. She would. No big deal. It was just a few things. Things. Things shouldn’t mean so much.

But in the confines of her little car, she could admit to herself—only—that they did mean something.

A lot.

All her books, her clothing, her shoes—goodbye kicky yellow flats—meant something. Things she’d bought, worked for. Earned. Owned. All gone in the blink of a planetary eye. All because of someone’s momentary carelessness.

She refused to consider arson. Yeah, it was kind of suspicious that someone emptied the building before it went up in flames, but she was going with coincidence. That someone could have done it on purpose hurt more than she could bear. So she just wouldn’t think about it. What was it Scarlett O’Hara said? She’d think about it tomorrow.

Or never. What good would it do anyway? This was the hand she’d been dealt. Same as any other event in her life. She would, however, like to discuss with the Dealer the extraordinarily bad hands being dealt her.

She pulled into Todd’s driveway and drove into the bay beside his while he unlocked the door to the covered walkway between the garage and the house and held it open for her. Still chivalrous in the face of tragedy. Gotta love this guy.

Whoa. That was just an expression and her subconscious—or Naughty Girl—better ban it from their collective thoughts. Pronto.

“Top of the stairs to the left,” Todd said with a nod up the back staircase once they were in the mudroom. “Take any room you’d like. I’ve got a t-shirt you can borrow to sleep in. I donated my wife’s clothes before the move, so unfortunately I don’t have anything feminine for you.”

She pshaw-ed him with her hand while her brain played catch-up. He mentioned his wife so calmly. She was impressed.

“A t-shirt is fine. Really.” They hit the top landing and she hung a left while he went right.

“I’ll be right back. Any preference on color?” He smiled and she couldn’t help but return it. The guy could be quite charming when he wanted to be.

And even if his charming-ness was just to pick up her spirits after losing all her worldly possessions, she’d take it. Her nerves were a bit frazzled from the whole trying-to-keep-it-together thing. “Whatever color you’ve got, though pink is my favorite.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I’d like to see what he can d—

Enough, Naughty Girl.

Jolie spun around and entered the room. Soft sage walls with crown molding. White-washed furniture. Big ol’ four-poster with mounds of pillows. Comfy chair in the corner, window seat with a cushion that matched the muted slate-and-sage plaid bedspread. Understated elegance. Probably came from a decorator because Todd was known for the vibrant colors in his paintings. She doubted he’d had anything to do with decorating this place since he had yet to hang anything on the walls except a flat screen TV.

But the quality was there. The pillows were down, the intricacies of the trim meant it wasn’t off the rack, and the carpet was the plushest she’d ever felt. She stifled the groan. It was one thing to work in the kitchen then go home to her world. She could appreciate the luxury, but leave it behind. Because she had to. If she weren’t able to leave it behind, she’d end up coveting it, and that was just so not healthy for her—or anyone’s—self-esteem.

But to stay here, living in this luxury—even for one night—was going to make it pretty tough to leave. But she’d do it. She’d manage.

It was what she did.

Todd returned, and, yep, the t-shirt was pink. Okay, it might have once been red and gone through too many washings, but it was pretty darn near pink. Honest to God, the man should come with a suit of armor.

For more reasons than one.

“Here you go. It’s the best I can do.” He offered it to her and she put her pesky little hormones on inactive duty. She was not going to brush his fingertips with hers when she took it. She wasn’t.

Really.

Of course Naughty Girl overrode that directive and “just happened” to slide her fingers over his.

“Well, goodnight,” he said as if a lick of fire didn’t traverse his entire nervous system from their “accidental” touch as it did hers.

“Goodnight. See you tomorrow. We aren’t going to have a repeat of this morning, are we?” She couldn’t resist the dig.

“Nope. Promise. No nudity from here on out.”

She could honestly say that was a bummer.

***

Todd closed his bedroom door, crossed to the bed, and sat. He toed off his shoes, then rested his elbows on his knees.

A woman. In his house. Overnight.

He scrubbed his face. Yeah, she was in a separate room, but it didn’t matter. Her presence filled his house.

It wasn’t her perfume, though he’d caught a whiff of something flowery when he’d held the door for her earlier. It wasn’t her things, because, let’s face it, she had nothing.

God, he knew what that felt like.

Todd pushed his hands off his thighs and headed to the bathroom, stripping his shirt off as he went. He hurled it into the heap in the corner behind the door with the last three days’ worth of laundry, walking out of his pants as he went. He should probably pick up the mess.

In the doorway he turned around. At least the mess made the room look lived in.

Lived in.

His stomach clenched. What did it say when his room wouldn’t look lived in if it weren’t for dirty laundry? There wasn’t a stitch of anything personal in the room—no pictures, no newspaper, no magazines, not a knick-knack anywhere. Just a bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a television. Even the remote was tucked into a drawer. Probably next to a Bible and the Yellow Pages.

He snorted. He didn’t think he’d put anything in the drawers.

For the first time, he really looked at his room, the place where he spent roughly a third of his life. The decorator had gone minimalist here. Pine furniture with hidden hardware. Straight curtains hung beneath a rectangular valance, beige-on-brown pattern. Tan paint on the walls, muted earth tones on the bed.

He recognized the signs: Soothing. Comforting. Cocooning.

Barren.

He grabbed the doorframe above his head. Where was the color? The brilliant blue of an ocean sky that had filled his and Trista’s bedroom with the memories of rolling waves crashing on the beach during their third anniversary trip—the first time they’d been able to afford a real honeymoon. They’d captured those memories with hokey tropical souvenirs and Trista had invaded his supplies to pick paint colors. They’d chosen yacht-white for the crown molding and furniture, hibiscus-red, bird-of-paradise blue, orchid-orange, every color of the tropical flora that had been around their bungalow, reminding them of how much they’d enjoyed the trip and each other—

He gripped the molding. Trista was gone. Had been for two years.

And now there was another woman in his house.

Todd shook his head and turned to the sink. It wasn’t as if Jolie were in his house to stay. He was just helping her out. Over a hard patch.

He grabbed his toothbrush. Jolie had looked so devastated. Her perpetual smile had disappeared and the sparkle in her violet eyes had shriveled up and died in the flames. Then she’d screamed…

It’d been gut-wrenching to hear.

Gut-wrenching to remember what that much pain felt like.

He stopped brushing, meeting his own eyes in the mirror above the sink. Remembered the pain. Not felt it.

He set the brush down and swiped a hand across his mouth, his fingers finding that spot he’d missed shaving. The one Jolie had pointed out.

His eyes widened. He could remember the pain without reliving it.

Did that mean he was forgetting? Forgetting Trista?

He closed his eyes. There she was. The first time he’d seen her. The day she’d said yes to his proposal. The first time they’d made love. The happiness in her smile when he’d shown her that first painting…

His legs buckled for a few wobbly seconds and he sat on the toilet lid. He remembered everything, but it hadn’t speared him in the gut.

The hurt was replaced with…

Acceptance? Comfort? What was it?

Todd pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t put his memories away. Not tonight. He couldn’t deal with this tonight.

Because he now had to forget that there was another woman in his house.

***

Jonathan paced outside the archangel’s office, clutching his tweed beret, wringing the shape out of it, and wishing his eye twitch would slow it down to a snare drum pace. It always flared up when he was nervous and, oh, Boss, was he in for it now.

How did these things happen? One minute he’d been trying to sneak into Jolie’s apartment, and the next, poof! the whole thing went up in flames.

Why’d that man have to set that oil on the window ledge? And over an open flame? Jonathan couldn’t be blamed for not seeing it in the form he’d been in, but his timing couldn’t have been more off.

He wasn’t cut out for this job. He knew it. He just didn’t know why Raphael didn’t know it. The archangel was always giving him another chance, encouraging him. Why, when he’d almost broken that time-travel device in Tudor England, then almost lost those gold coins…

Why couldn’t things go right for him? His Charges were the ones to suffer. Look at Jolie. Now she was homeless.

“Jonathan?” Raphael opened the door to his inner sanctum, gold light blazing through the opening. “What are you doing here?”

Jonathan gulped, smoothed a finger over his eyebrow to calm the twitch, then gave the beret one last twist before shoving it in his pocket. Time to face the celestial music.

“Sir, I’ve…well…I’ve bungled it. Again.”

Raphael smiled. As always. With light and love, and no vestige of sarcasm. Jonathan always felt guilty when he received those unearned smiles.

“Jonathan, it’s not possible for you to bungle an assignment. It’s merely a change in direction. Now, come in, and let’s see if we can steer this project back on course.” Raphael beckoned him inside. “When good intentions are at the basis of an angel’s actions, nothing bad will happen. Remember that, Jonathan.”

Sure, he remembered that. He remembered it from the first time he’d messed up, and the second, and the third…

He just had to get it right this time.

Chapter Eleven

Surprisingly, Jolie slept. She hadn’t really expected to, but apparently her itinerant childhood made her capable of far greater things than she knew.

She threw back the eight-bazillion count sheets and grabbed a quick shower. She would’ve loved to have taken the time to float in the swimming pool he called a bathtub, but she was not one to take advantage and she did have the guy’s breakfast to prepare. Luckily, she’d bought everything yesterday that she’d need to whip up a feast fit for a king. Or a good-Samaritan landlord.

But, surprise, surprise, she entered the kitchen to find Todd smiling away at the stove.

“Hey,” he said, all chipper and perky, his yellow polo matching the sunny disposition.

Wait a minute. That was her role. “What are you doing?”

He smiled. “I’m, how did you put it? ‘Burning the butter for your morning omelet.’”

That was her line. “But why? I’m supposed to be cooking your meals.”

He waved a hand toward the breakfast bar and she followed the silent instruction. It was his house after all and he was paying her salary.

“With what you went through last night, the last thing you need is to wait on me. Figured you could use some TLC.”

Good thing he turned away or he might’ve caught the tears that sprang to her eyes. No one had ever thought of her before.

And she needed to ignore the warm fuzzies his concern garnered. She could take care of herself, remember?

“I’m perfectly fine. Really. You were right, they were just things. I’ll get more.” She sat down. “Has there been any news on the cause?”

He slid a decently fluffy omelet onto a plate and added a piece of toast, then placed the whole thing before her where he’d already poured the o.j. and set out utensils. Had to love a guy who planned ahead.

“The reports say the cause is still under investigation, but nothing conclusive has been found. Luckily, no one was hurt.”

Thank goodness for that. As he’d said, things were replaceable.

Todd pulled a plate from the warming drawer and sat next to her. “So, is that the best omelet you’ve ever had or what?” he mimicked her once more.

She gave him a well-earned smile for the jest. “Second best,” she said, mouth full of something that truly was comparable to her own excellent omelet-making skills.

He laughed, getting her again. A bit of silence followed the shared joke, then Todd cleared his throat, glancing away and fiddling with his fork. “I’ve got to run downtown. Do you want me to drop you anywhere?”

The offer was tempting, but he hadn’t hired a new best friend and she had tons of errands to do, re-building her life and all. “That’s okay. I’ve got a zillion things to take care of. Melanie will get me there.”

“Melanie?”

Jolie felt her cheeks flame. “Um, yeah. My car.”

“You named your car Melanie?”

She nodded. Melanie was the first big purchase she’d made on her own and the car was like a best friend. They’d been through quite a lot together.

Mel was a VW bug—but not the new kind unfortunately. No, she was a classic—though not in quite the shape a classic classic should be in. She was classic in the very essence of the word. The first coat of paint was still on her (well, most of it anyway), and the dent on the driver’s side door was from the year she was bolted together. The spare tire still had its original air. Hopefully. But Mel was cheap, though she preferred “affordable,” and got Jolie where she needed to go.

“I would’ve figured you for a Scarlett,” Todd returned.

And there he went, getting her again. Almost.

“No. She can’t be Scarlett. Scarlett’s headstrong, unpredictable, gets things done in her own way. When I buy a used car, I need predictable, steadfast, and loyal.”

“Melanie Wilkes.”

Jolie nodded. “You got it.”

“So you and Melanie have plans then today?”

“We sure do. But don’t worry. I’ll run a few errands, come back for your lunch, then head out again. I’ll be out of your hair all day.”

Speaking of hair, he did that hand-raking thing through his again which was so utterly masculine and très sexy. Which she shouldn’t be noticing.

“Actually,” he said, oblivious, “take all the time you want. I probably won’t make it back for lunch and I’ve got dinner at Mike’s house tonight. My sister-in-law likes to have me over every so often. Just to make sure I still know how to interact with the human race and keep my manners up to par.” He put his fork down and grinned at her. It was nice to see the smile, given that yesterday he’d been just a teensy bit grumpy. And a big bit hung-over. What a difference a day made. “So, take your time. Don’t rush back on my account. You’ve got a key. Come and go as you please.”

She loved this job. Two days and she’d only cooked one meal, gotten really nice digs to stay in, and eye candy as a boss. She should probably be paying him.

She insisted on doing the dishes, and after a bit of exasperating reasoning (she was good at that) he gave in and went off to his day.

First order of business once the kitchen was back to its pristine-ness was to get some clothes. The turquoise dress was nice, but not for everyday wear. And she did mean every day unless she hightailed it to a store.

Jolie drove Mel to the outlet shops where she put her fashion sense in touch with her thrifty side, and they all ended up happy with their purchases. A few shorts and shirts, some capris, jeans, pjs, and a few unmentionables, plus go-with-everything shoes. No more every-color-kicky flats. Until the insurance money showed up, she was no longer Imelda Marcos. A quick trip to the drug store for those essentials a woman couldn’t live without, and she was ready to call it a day.

Except she could use a few more notebooks and number two pencils. That was how she wrote, longhand, in spiral-bound, three subject notebooks. She got the feel of the story more, and liked the connection of a sharp point as it rasped across the paper. Not to mention, before her current assignment, she simply couldn’t afford a laptop, so any research was done at the internet café on Main Street. With what Todd was paying her, however, she might be able to reconsider her technology options.

But, for now, notebooks in hand, she was set. Well, except for her little library of “keepers,” those books she loved to read over and over again. She had almost the entire Bridgerton collection in that apartment. It’d taken a while to amass and there was no way she could afford to re-do it overnight, but she was going to make a start.

A girl needed some avenue of escape when reality got too harsh. Plus, she did need the newspaper to check out the apartment listings, so she decided to head over to Mr. Griff’s new store.

A church bell chimed as she entered. He must like the sound to have it in two of his stores. The little man himself balanced atop a step ladder, stacking books.

“Hello, my dear,” he said as he climbed down, his black shoes clinking against the metal rungs. “I’m so sorry to hear about your home. Such a shame. I’m sure it was an accident, though. Perhaps someone knocked something over they didn’t see that wasn’t supposed to be there?” He coughed. “What can I get for you?”

“Thank you, Mr. Griff.” She tried to keep her eyes on him rather than straying around the room. He’d sure filled the place in a hurry. “I, um, lost my books in the fire. So, I need to re-stock. But only one or two until the insurance money comes in.”

“Absolutely not. You’ll take what you want and pay me when you can.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t—”

“Of course you can. You want to, you know you do. Not another word. Select a few of your favorites.”

The temptation was just too strong. And, really, it wasn’t as if it was charity. She was good for the money. He knew where she lived. Well, used to live. Heck, even she didn’t know where she lived anymore. Which brought her to the next order of business. “Do you have today’s newspaper, Mr. Griff?”

He handed one to her.

“Just add it to my tab,” she said as she piled a few books—okay slightly more than a few—in front of him.

“Nonsense. What kind of a soul do you think I am if I took advantage of your misfortune to earn an extra fifty cents?” He rang up the books, but the total seemed suspiciously low. How did this guy expect to stay in business? “Take the paper and find yourself a safe place to live, you hear?”

She heard, and she thanked him. And left him to his delusions. ’Cause what she was willing to pay and what constituted “safe” were worlds apart. Besides, it was just a place to put her head and her stuff until she finished her degree and opened her shop. She’d worry about the hominess of her home after that.

But she decided to keep that to herself as she made her way home.

Todd’s home.

She really should find another place to stay in the interim. Todd had that big ol’ house empty for a reason and it just wasn’t right to impose.

She started to call her friend, Bella, then stopped mid-number punching. Who was she kidding? Bella was a newlywed. She was not going to want someone barging in on her at this stage of her marriage.

That option was out.

Option number two was Chloe. Chloe had a boarding house for girls like she and Jolie used to be—wrung through the system and coming out on the other side with no one to care. Chloe was the one who cared. For as many as she could get her hands on.

A quick phone call and Jolie realized Chloe had enough drama going on with some developer trying to take her house, so Jolie didn’t even mention her problem.

It looked like she’d be stuck at Todd’s. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad place to be stuck—as long as she made up for the imposition.

So, after hanging her new clothes in the closet and selecting a pretty pastel, handkerchief-hem camisole and white capris to go with her silver sandals, she headed out to his pool. Seemed a shame not to make use of it. She could read the newspaper poolside as easily as on a park bench. Easier probably.

“I should have bought a bathing suit” crossed her mind before she took a seat at the wrought-iron table amid a beautifully landscaped garden. She opened the paper to scan the classifieds.

Apartments, here we go. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be a glut of efficiencies or one-bedrooms, which posed a bit of a problem. She ran her finger down the column as she ticked off those that just wouldn’t do. Which left very few that would. Factoring in her budget, it left even fewer options. Then she took a look at the locations and she was even more discouraged. She sighed and put the paper aside, channeling Scarlett again.

She would’ve liked to read the book Mr. Griff had given her, but in all the drama of last night she’d left it in Todd’s car, so she decided to take this time to work on her own. It was a safe option. Todd wasn’t around, and she had new supplies and a few hours to plot and plan.

The late afternoon passed in a flurry of characterization. Her hero, Tom, was fleshing out very well. And if there was more than a little of Todd Best in him, well, no one would know. Not unless they spent some serious time with him. The man, not her hero.

Aren’t they one and the same?

Not daring to venture down that avenue, Jolie stopped periodically to dip her tootsies in the pool. Sheer bliss. Heavenly. Paradise. Whatever the adjective, it was just too wonderful to have the opportunity to cool off at will.

She grabbed a quick salad for a late lunch or early dinner—Todd did say meals were included—and lit a few of the tiki torches ringing the pool deck. All she needed was a virgin daiquiri, some Jimmy Buffet, and a sexy native island guy.

The French door from the kitchen opened and out walked Todd.

She glanced heavenward with a quick “thank you.”

“Having a party and forget to invite me?” He chuckled.

“Sorry, it’s just too nice of a night to be indoors. And the pool was calling me.” She scrambled to close her notebook. “What are you doing here? I thought you had dinner plans.”

Those laugh lines deepened near his eyes. “I do, but I started thinking you might be lonely and let yourself get down about the fire. I didn’t like the idea of you here alone. So, would you like to come to dinner with me?”

Where was this guy’s white horse?

Chapter Twelve

Todd didn’t lie. Mike was definitely earning a six-figure salary. His house was as big and gorgeous as Todd’s, with the perfectly manicured front lawn with down-lights along the brick walkway and up-lights on the trees. Double etched-glass front doors opened into an impressive marble foyer. Basil and cream wainscoting wound up the curved front staircase where a crystal chandelier glimmered overhead.

Mike’s wife was the requisite thin blonde, but any comparisons to the living embodiment of Barbie ended there. Except, darned if she wasn’t named Barbie. Well, Barbara, but close enough.

Todd made the intros and Barbara welcomed Jolie graciously into Versailles, er, her home even though she looked a little unsure of who Jolie was supposed to be. Was Todd springing her on them?

Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe Todd was just being nice and she should have declined, like last night at The Midni—

“Jolie, huh?” Mike entered from a room on the right, drink in one hand, the other outstretched, a big smile across his face. Too late to back out now.

Not that she ever did. No quitting for her. No siree. “That’s me.”

Mike’s hand engulfed hers. As in, absorbed. He was big. Bigger than Todd, who was plenty big. They looked alike too, only Mike had some gray at the temples (another “distinguished” feature on a man that didn’t translate to women) and his eyes didn’t have Todd’s haunted sadness in them. But definitely good-looking. Their parents must have gone swimming in the gene pool at Lourdes to create these two.

“You’re the new chef?” Barbara ran a manicured hand over the buttons on her peach blouse and fingered the pearls at her neck.

“Yep. Omelets to bedtime snacks, I do ’em all.” Cute little slogan. Or so Jolie thought until Mike almost spit out his drink.

Oh. Probably not a good idea to mention bedtime snacks in conjunction with Todd.

Not that it meant anything. The man was safely ensconced in his memories. Nothing for anyone to worry about.

“Well, my cooking experience isn’t in the same realm as yours so I hope dinner is somewhat—” Barbara’s fingers creased her crisp linen pants as they slid down the sides then linked in front of her, her shoulders so rigid she looked like there was a curtain rod holding up her dress.

“Please.” Jolie put a hand on Barbara’s arm. More touchy-feely-ness. What was with that? “Don’t worry. I’m sure dinner will be marvelous. Really.” She smiled and got an answering one in return. “I don’t do critiques or restaurant reviews. And I usually do a pretty good job of clearing my plate.”

It was the one thing she didn’t like about her job. Everyone thought they needed to hire a five-star chef when inviting her to dinner. No way. She was just happy someone else had planned and cooked the meal. She wasn’t fussy. Not after some of what she’d eaten before going into the foster system and, sadly, during.

Barbara let go of the tight rein on her shoulder blades and they dropped back into place.

“Would you like a drink?” Mike asked Jolie, his eyes taking her in. Of course, he’d had that little “is she cute” conversation with Todd, so she shouldn’t be surprised. It didn’t, however, necessarily make her comfortable.

“Soda or iced tea if you’ve got it would be nice.”

“Iced tea’s in the kitchen and I have to check on dinner,” said Barbara. “I’ll be right back.”

“Would you like some help?” Jolie asked. The least she could do for her sudden appearance was help out.

“Oh, but you’re Todd’s—our—guest. You needn’t concern yourself with the meal.” Barbara still looked flustered.

“I don’t mind. Really. It’s about time I started earning my pay.” And it was the perfect excuse to remove herself from Mike’s inquisitorial looks. She’d let Todd deal with those.

***

“Earning her pay? What does that mean?” Mike asked after the women left. He took a sip of his drink then headed toward his study.

Todd shoved his hands into the front pockets of his khakis and followed. Not where he wanted to go, but he knew his brother. Mike never let up when he got his hooks into something. It made him a great negotiator for a businessman, a pain in the ass for a brother, and sometimes, now for instance, too damned nosy.

But he followed Mike anyway. He wasn’t going to get out of this conversation so he might as well get it over with.

The study’s cherry paneling reminded him of a principal’s office, more so when Mike chose the seat behind the desk, drew his elbows onto the leather blotter, and linked his fingers with feigned nonchalance.

Todd knew the posture. Had used it himself when bargaining with hotels and whatnot to display his works.

How long ago those days seemed.

But he hadn’t forgotten, which was why he only glanced at the padded leather wing chair across from Mike, opting, instead, to rest his hip on the edge of the deep windowsill. “Got another one of those?” He indicated Mike’s drink.

“Really? Two nights ago wasn’t enough?”

“Are you my keeper or my brother, Mike?”

“I can’t be both?”

“Not anymore.”

Mike sat back with a wry grin on his face. “Well, well, well. What’s gotten into you?”

Todd exhaled. “Nothing’s gotten into me, but the other night was an ending of sorts. Maybe a beginning, I don’t know. But I’m back. In my head and in my life. You’re off duty.”

Mike chewed the inside of his lip, fighting the smile—not that he did a good job of it.

“The drink?” Todd reminded him, pointedly.

“Right.” Mike slid to his feet and poured a Dewars.

Todd took the tumbler and saluted. “Thanks for everything, Mike.”

“Aw, come on, Todd. It’s what brothers do. I’m just sad I had to step in. You know Barb and I miss Trista, too.”

“I do, and I appreciate everything you’ve done. Even if it didn’t seem that way at the time.”

“So does this mean I can go back to my old job?”

Todd swirled the amber liquid in the glass. Did it? “Give me some time. It’s been two days and I’m still coming to grips with things.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Whatever you want.” Mike sat behind the desk again, putting his boots on the gleaming polished surface. “So what’s with bringing your chef to dinner?”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I don’t. It just seems a little unusual. I mean, I haven’t exactly met any of the other hires before.”

The Dewars burned going down, just what Todd needed. “It’s a long story.”

“Does she have anything to do with my being off duty?”

Did she? Todd shook his head and took another swallow. “Mike, I just met her.”

“And Trista sideswiped you with one look. There’s precedence, Todd.”

“You’re out of your mind.” He was, right?

Todd studied the liquid in the tumbler. Jolie didn’t have anything to do with his decision to wake up. Well, okay, she’d had something to do with it. He hadn’t considered the correlation between giving up his art and locking Trista’s memory away before it had come from Jolie’s lips.

It made sense. But, damn, he couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t look at an apple tree or a rolling hill with the same eyes because he’d seen them through Trista’s. She was his muse. And now she was gone.

But her legacy, that he could address. That he could carry on. He and Trista weren’t just about paintings. Weren’t just about themselves. They’d given to the community, shared his talent and her inspiration in other ways, and he’d let that stagnate.

She wouldn’t want that. He didn’t want that.

He had Jolie to thank for that. Maybe that was why he’d asked her tonight. The thought of her sitting alone in his house, a new place for her, all of her things gone, she didn’t deserve that.

Oh, hell. She also didn’t deserve the third degree she was probably getting from Barb as he sat here contemplating the meaning of life.

Todd set the glass on the windowsill. For all Barb’s blonde sweetness, she was a barracuda when it came to family. Especially about him since Trista’s death. She’d been the one on the porch fending reporters off with the flick of a wrist. He couldn’t imagine what she was doing to Jolie in the kitchen.

“I’ll be back, Mike.”

***

“So how do you like working for Todd?” Barbara asked as they traversed the marble-lined corridor from the living room to the kitchen. “I’m sure it’s quiet compared to what you’re used to.”

“Uh huh.” Jolie was pretty non-committal. Talking about a client definitely wasn’t a good policy. Not to mention, she’d hardly worked for the guy. One omelet did not a career make.

Barbara opened the door to the fridge and poured the iced tea, then fluttered around the kitchen with its bazillion—okay, maybe forty, but still—cabinets. Pristine white, with brushed nickel knobs, nothing pretentious, but classy and functional and elegant—just like Barbara and the world she inhabited.

“Can I help with anything?” Despite Todd’s efforts, Jolie wasn’t used to being waited on. That, and silence, made her edgy.

Barbara glanced over from the double convection ovens set into a fieldstone wall with a cute smile on her face and nodded toward a large bowl and veggie-stuffs on the island. “If you’d like, I was just about to start the salad.”

Back in her element, Jolie was feeling comfortable, chopping and dicing away. And of course, garnishing. A little swirl with the carrot peel here, a decorative tomato there, la la la la la.

“Do you work at many homes, or just stay at one for a while?” Barbara asked, setting out the preparations for garlic bread.

“This is my third. I worked for an older couple until they finally had to go into a home. That was sad. They really didn’t want to leave their house, but they just couldn’t get around anymore.” In went some fresh basil and parsley. Adding the basil as part of the salad rather than in the dressing gave it more of a zing.

“My last job was with a family. When their youngest went off to college they didn’t really need me anymore. I guess take-out and TV dinners work for the two of them because I know for a fact Mrs.—I mean, the wife—doesn’t cook.” Jolie shrugged. She’d bet it had more to do with having the house all to themselves. That was probably the real attraction—and who could blame them?—but of course no one would give that as a reason to let go of the hired help.

“And now you’re with Todd. It must be lonely after having people around.”

“Lonely?” Jolie shook her head. “Not really. He’s chatty enough. Plus I’ve only been there two days.”

“Todd? Chatty?” Barbara pointed a knife at her. “Todd Bartholomew Best?”

“Is there another?” Bartholomew?

“No.” Barbara shook her head. “But Todd hasn’t really—” The knife paused mid-twirl. “He hasn’t really been himself since… well, I’m sure you know about Trista. His wife.”

Jolie nodded. Oh, yeah. She knew.

“They were such a great couple. Perfect for each other. Her death hit him hard. He rarely goes out and we only see him when I force him to come to dinner.” Barbara started slathering butter on the bread. A little thicker than necessary, but with the tears welling in her blinking eyes, she probably couldn’t tell.

Jolie wasn’t about to correct her. “Well, I didn’t know him before, but he seems to be doing okay.” She tossed the salad now that all the ingredients were in the bowl. It looked rather festive, if she said so herself. “I mean, he was out yesterday and today. I barely saw him.” No way was she going to mention that she had actually seen him bare-ly.

Barbara put down the knife with a sharp little slam. “Todd? Out? All day? Where did he go?”

“Um.” Okay, now she was in a spot. Her loyalties were with Todd since he was technically her boss. But also technically, Mike paid her salary since he ran the company, and Barbie here was his wife, so did she owe that loyalty to them or Todd?

Gosh, this reminded her so much of those years in the system. Where to place her allegiance? Without it coming back to bite her in the butt.

So, she pulled on old experience and went for middle of the road, praying she’d get out of the inquisition with her job and integrity intact.

“He took me to the grocery store yesterday and then he went to Mike’s office.” So far so good. “Then we went to The Midnight Maiden—”

“You’re kidding!”

The reaction wasn’t unexpected given her eavesdropping incident. See? Came in handy at times. Prepared her for this moment. “Uh, no. Then today, he was out all afternoon. Can’t tell you where.”

“Can’t?” Barbara slanted her eyes. “Is it a secret?”

“Oh, no.” Jolie tossed the salad a little higher to show it was finished. She was ready to end the conversation. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me and, last I looked, it’s not in my job description to keep tabs on the guy.” She said it with a smile to take the sting out of the words, but really, this little tattle session needed to be over.

“Of course not.” Barbara got the hint.

Couldn’t blame her for trying. Barbara loved the guy. Mike, too. And, nope, couldn’t blame them for that either.

It would be so nice to have even one person have such feelings for her.

Someday.

“How did you end up at The Midnight Maiden?” Barbara asked.

“I asked where she’d like to have dinner, that’s how.” Todd strolled into the kitchen, minus the white horse he’d definitely earned with that perfectly timed entry. He picked out a sliver of carrot from the salad bowl and Jolie restrained herself from slapping his fingers.

He waved said carrot Barbara’s way. “Barb, do not drill my chef. I don’t need her quitting because of nosy in-laws. I’d miss her omelets.”

He smiled at Jolie, and, silly her, tingles danced all over her body and a ridiculous grin spread across her face. But she wiped that sucker off pretty quickly. No need for eagle-eyed, suspicious Babs catching it.

“And,” he continued, “I invited her to have dinner, not make it.” He took the salad bowl from her hands and winked at her. “Go on into the dining room and have a seat. I’ll take care of this.”

Just as she cleared the majestically arched doorway, Barbara asked, “Really, Todd. What on earth has gotten into you? The Midnight Maiden?”

Hmmm, Jolie would have liked to revive her eavesdropping experience again, but, sadly, Mike was fast approaching so she’d have to forego the clandestine listening-in. Who knew what she would have found out about Todd’s impressions from last night? After the reporter fiasco and his subsequent suspicions, she would’ve liked to hear the outcome of his mental musings.

“So, Jolie,” Mike said, leading her away from the interesting doorway to the table. He pulled out her chair. Chivalry was alive and well and living in the Best family. “How was dinner last night?”

“Good. Great.” Did he think it wouldn’t be?

“I was surprised to hear you went there.”

Nice try, but he knew where they were going beforehand, so all his past tense-ing didn’t fool her. But then, she wasn’t supposed to know all that, so she’d have to go along with the program. “Oh. Well it was very nice.”

Footsteps echoed in the marble corridor, followed by a stern, “Mike.” Todd entered the room. “Leave her alone. You’ve got questions about my dining habits, ask me.” Her rescuer parked himself across the table from her and she could honestly say she was thrilled. And not because her hormones were up and dancing.

Todd started dishing out the salad, looking more calm and composed than she would’ve expected with the cross-examination they were getting. “So, dinner was very nice. The weather was perfect, we ate up on deck, and the chef outdid himself. Any other questions?”

Mike clammed up with a smile and poured the wine while Barbara entered and took her seat. “Not a one.” Mike raised his glass. “Here’s to new friends and dinners together.”

Jolie took a sip, just a mite to be polite, and studied Mike over the rim of her glass. Did he mean dinners together as in, the four of them having tonight’s dinner together, or dinners together as in, Todd and his new friend dining together? Was that what he wanted for Todd? She’d gotten the impression from Barb that they weren’t quite ready for him to move on.

Or she could just be reading something into a perfectly innocuous statement because she wanted to.

***

“So, Todd, what’s going on these days?” Barbara asked. “We barely see you, yet you seem to be out and about all over the place.”

“Look here, Miss Nosy-Pants.” Todd’s smile brought a blush to Barbara’s face. “I have a life and I’m living it. I’m here at least twice a month. Not too shabby. Plus I’ve decided to start a project that will keep me busy.”

“Project?” Mike and Barb asked in stereo from opposite ends of the table.

“Yes, project.” There. He’d said the words. Now he was committed. “I’ve decided it’s time to open the attic above the garage.” He held out his hand for Jolie’s plate. She was quick to catch on. Part of the “getting” thing they had between them?

He filled her salad plate. “I’m hiring a crew to come out this week.”

He hadn’t quite expected the dead silence.

“Open the attic?” Again in stereo.

Nor the disbelief. Okay, so two years was a long time, but wasn’t this what they wanted? For him to move on?

“Uh, yeah.” He took a bite of the salad. Ambrosia. “You made the salad, didn’t you?” he asked Jolie. Barb was a good cook, but nothing like Jolie.

“With Barbara’s ingredients. How’d you know?”

There she was, Good Sport Jolie, again. “I recognize the little twirl to the vegetables.”

Thank God Jolie could carry on a conversation. And since Mike and Barb were looking at him slack-jawed, as if he’d grown a second head, he was really glad he’d brought Jolie along.

For conversation?

Yes for conversation. Great. Now he had to argue with his conscience. He stabbed the arugula.

Barb was the first to recover. “Oh, Todd, that’s terrific news! So exciting. How wonderful!”

“Does this mean you’ll be showing them?” Mike finally reattached his bottom jaw. “Where do you want to have it? Private or open to the public? Are there enough for an entire show or will you be doing more? When are you planning?”

Hadn’t Mike heard a word he’d said? He wasn’t going to paint landscapes any more. He was done. That phase was over. He knew it as sure as he was sitting here.

“Mike, I am not showing again. Nor will I add to that collection. You can have them. Hang them in the office, throw them out, donate them to a hospital, I don’t care. But no show. I’ll never do another one again.”

“Oh, but Todd, you can’t mean that.” Barbara reached over for his hand and he pulled it out of the way.

“I do mean it, Barb. It’s time to put the past behind me. And that includes my landscapes.” He didn’t care if it hurt her feelings. For Christ’s sake, he’d just made a huge decision. What more did they want from him?

“Oh, but, but… “ Barbara wiped the corner of her eye. “But, Todd, Trista wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Todd set his knife and fork down carefully beside his plate. He had to do it very slowly, almost jerkily, because he might just break the damned dish. “This has nothing to do with Trista. It’s about me and living the rest of my life.”

He glanced at Jolie. He’d survived her saying it, but once was all he could manage. Although, it didn’t slice him in two as it had last night.

He cleared his throat. Maybe he was making progress.

Then he got a good look at Jolie’s face and had to wonder if she’d survive the rest of this meal.

“Jolie, I’m sorry you have to be a part of this. I hadn’t expected to go down this road tonight. I shouldn’t have mentioned clearing out the attic.” He turned toward Barbara. “Let’s not go into it any more. I’d like to have a nice dinner and then head home.”

“Todd—” Mike began but Todd cut him off.

“Let’s leave it at that, Mike. I can always change my mind, you know.”

That stopped Mike. Barb grabbed her wine and Jolie stared into her salad.

Great. Good job, Best. Way to set the mood.

Well, it couldn’t be helped. Yes, they’d been managing his life for the past two years and he appreciated it, he really did, but it was over. As for showing again, Mike could plead all he wanted, but Todd was not going to go through that circus.

He was emptying the attic to start over. To start fresh.

***

Jolie picked at her salad, wanting to fade into the woodwork, hoping someone would shatter the tension in the room before Mouth said something inappropriate; silence making her edgy and all.

“My apartment burned down so Todd let me move in.” Oops. Too late. Open Mouth, insert kicky yellow flat. If she still had kicky yellow flat. Unfortunately, she’d lost that in the fire—along with, apparently, her common sense.

“Well, there’s a subject change.” Todd had his smile back, so apparently inappropriate comments had their purpose.

Why it had to be her inappropriate comment, though, God only knew.

“You’re living with Todd?” Mike’s fork stopped mid-air and he drilled Todd with his stare.

“I think I’ll get the rest of the meal.” Barbara’s mouth scrunched to the side as she went back into the kitchen.

“Wipe the Puritanical look off your face, Mike.” Todd resumed eating his salad. “Her apartment burned down last night after dinner. I wasn’t about to leave her stranded. I may have been out of touch with people over the past two years, but simple courtesy isn’t a social grace you forget.”

So now she was a social grace? First cute, now that.

“Burned down? That’s awful.” Barbara reappeared, all composed, smiling and Barbie once more. “It’s lucky you were with Todd.”

“It’s very nice of him to let me stay until I can find another place. I’ve started looking but there aren’t many places available this week.” In her price range and with something other than a pitbull with a choke collar for security.

“There’s a lovely apartment complex over on Windy Ayre,” Barbara said, placing a tray of lasagna on the table.

Jolie knew the complex she was talking about. Talk about the picket fence/red geranium window box image. And with image came hefty rental fees.

“I’d probably have to talk to my agency about adjusting my rates for that place.” Darn, she had the most annoying habit of spouting information that really needn’t be spouted at all. And the agency—and Todd, or Mike, or whoever—paid her just fine, but those college courses weren’t cheap and she refused to hand over more of her hard-earned cash than necessary for someone else’s tax deduction. She was going to get her own house sooner rather than later if she could help it. After the pastry shop, of course.

“Which agency is that?” Mike asked. He must have had a few on-call to help with the help if he couldn’t remember the one he’d just hired her from.

“Domestic Gods & Goddesses? The office is on First Avenue by the river,” Jolie answered.

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with that one,” Barbara said, dishing out some awesome-looking lasagna.

“It’s the home of omelet makers extraordinaire. Right, Jolie?” Todd smiled at her, which, of course, garnered him a smile in return.

“Domestic Gods & Goddesses?” Barbara turned to Mike. “We should give them a call, honey. We could use someone to make extraordinary omelets, too.”

“Sure, Barb, go ahead. But no one’s ever going to be able to make a better breakfast for me than you.”

Barbara turned pink and lowered her eyes, but her smile was as wide as the arch on the doorway.

Okay, welcome to a whole new realm of innuendo. Or was it just flat out flirting? And was it still called flirting when it was one’s spouse?

Jolie tried not to stare at the two of them, but the air in the room was suddenly super-charged with an energy she’d become all-too familiar with over the last thirty-six hours.

And she was feeling rather envious.

Todd shifted in his seat and suddenly decided to dig for buried treasure in his lasagna.

Which was a pretty good trick. She did the same while Barbara turned an even pinker shade of pink.

“Or maybe I won’t call them,” she said in a breathy little rush.

Well, duh, the guy was all but shouting he wanted to devour her and they were going to need privacy for that. The last thing these two should want was a third party around the house.

“So,” Barbara continued, dabbing at her mouth. “Your apartment, Jolie. I have a friend in real estate I can call if you’d like. I’m sure she’ll be able to find you something.”

“That’s—”

“Unnecessary,” Todd cut in and they all spun their heads to him as if it were his serve at Wimbledon.

“Oh?” Mike quirked an eyebrow.

“Jolie can stay as long as she likes. Why should she have to pay rent when I’ve got four perfectly good empty bedrooms in my house?”

He smiled her way and her insides melted. Just simply melted and turned to mush and got all warm and fuzzy, completely laying waste to her composure. Good Lord, the man had a killer smile.

And she wasn’t the only one struck dumb by his offer. Mike and Barbie’s mouths were hanging open which was pretty hilarious.

Or would have been if she hadn’t suddenly realized they were stunned because he’d invited her to stay. Her. One homeless, family-less, degree-less domestic goddess.

A charity case on two legs with a battered Bug in tow.

Oh no. Even though she had a plan and her life was on the upswing, recent fire disaster notwithstanding, she was not a charity case. Tough if she didn’t fit with their pre-conceived notions of who should share Todd’s home.

But he’d asked and it was his home and why shouldn’t she stay? As long as it wasn’t charity, everything was fine.

But for something not to be charity, payment would have to be involved.

Payment…

They didn’t think—

She wasn’t—

They weren’t—

Oh.

Somehow she’d make it through the rest of the dinner. And find some way to pay Todd for her room.

But not in the way Barbara’s mind had obviously gone.

***

Oh, dear. Jonathan Griff jumped from his chair and paced the worn floorboards, still keeping an eye on his television screen. One eye. The other one was twitching so much he had to close it or he’d have tears streaming down his cheek. That hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped.

It’d been a great idea of Todd’s to take Jolie to dinner to meet his family. Jonathan was so proud of him. Compassionate, that’s what the man was. Exactly why he deserved some happiness.

But Michael and Barbara’s disbelief could not be tolerated. There were to be no doubts in either Todd’s or Jolie’s mind. This relationship had to be easy for them, no impediments whatsoever. No family meddling, no more fires, no other people… nothing.

That was his job.

And with that hurt look on Jolie’s face, he’d better get to work on Raphael’s suggestion of steering the course of true love straight again.

Chapter Thirteen

Morning had broken and Cat Stevens was running rampant in Jolie’s head to the accompaniment of a bluebird’s warbling outside her window. Or what was soon-to-be her window once she and Todd had a little discussion.

Apron at the ready, she traipsed down to the kitchen to earn her keep. Well, earn her paycheck. For her keep, she had other ideas.

And not the ones Barbara had had. She was not that kind of girl. And even if she’d misconstrued Barbara’s reaction, there were proprieties to be met, after all.

From the pocket of her yellow-and-blue striped Bermuda shorts, she un-tucked the check for a month’s rent. Just like she would for Mr. Murphy, her previous landlord, she was going to pay Todd, no matter what he’d offered.

She placed the check front and center at his place at the table, then set to work whipping up some crêpes with fresh fruit from Arena’s. Strawberry crêpes drizzled with orange juice were the perfect summery breakfast when one wished to discuss matters of a financial nature.

The French door to the patio opened, admitting a wet-haired, muscle-glistening man in swim trunks that were plastered to his hips.

“Hey,” said the water god, “you’re up. Sleep well?”

She had to pull the tongue off the roof of her mouth. Chipper and gorgeous. And half-dressed. What a difference a day made.

“Um, yes, slept very well, thank you. You?” She turned back to the stove ’cause the crêpes were going to start burning.

They could get in line behind her hormones.

The chair scraped along the tiled floor. Whoa daddy. They were having breakfast in the near-buff. She was going to have to clarify exactly what constituted proper morning attire or he’d have to settle for burned meals if he kept showing up half-dressed. Or undressed. Whatever.

“What’s this?” asked Semi-Naked Guy.

“Rent.” She didn’t have to turn around to know what he was holding.

Or, rather, what he was shredding.

“Jolie, I told you, you’re welcome to stay here. You don’t have to pay me.”

“But I’d pay my landlord and, for now, that’s you.”

“I don’t need the money.”

She spun around, her backside resting against the edge of the countertop. “I, however, do need to keep my self-respect. I can’t just take from you without giving something back.”

Oh, I know what you could give—

Shut up, Naughty Girl.

Todd’s green-eyed gaze searched her face like pirates searched a treasure map. “Okay. You want to give back?”

She nodded, all the while shoving Naughty Girl out of her head.

“Fine. But instead of money, I want something else.”

Here we go. Naughty Girl wrung her hands in glee.

“Cookies.”

Jolie did a double-take. “Um, what?”

Say what?

“Cookies. Chocolate chip, to be precise.”

Jolie did the finger-in-the-ear thing. “I’m sorry. I thought you said ‘cookies.’”

“I did. Chocolate chips.” The corners of his mouth headed northward and the sun chose that moment to dip into the room and find his eyes.

“May I, um, ask why?”

“The Best Enterprises Foundation sponsors events for kids in crisis and I know those kids would love to have homemade chocolate chip cookies.”

It was all she could do not to throw herself all over him and rain kisses on every inch of his tanned skin. Well, for more reasons than one, but—oh! Where had he been when she’d been in the system?

“So… is that okay with you?”

She nodded. Like a crazy woman. If she even thought about trying to open her mouth to thank him, he’d think she was a crazy woman because she was trying really hard not to burst into Hoover Dam-like tears.

Even Naughty Girl shut up, and Jolie thought she caught a sniffle or two from her.

“Okay then. That’s settled.” He dumped the shredded check into the trashcan, then sidled close enough to peer over her shoulder. “Are those crêpes?”

Chlorine and essence du Todd tickled her nose and the little fine hairs on the back of her neck started doing the “Todd Lambada” dance, which had the added benefit of heating her from the inside out so her tears sizzled out of existence.

“Yep. One of my specialties.” She turned around and, smart boy, he scooted out of her way. Trying to regain whatever composure she had left, she spooned some of the fruit into the center, rolled the crêpe and drizzled more of the strawberry/orange juice over it. She handed him the plate and he took a seat.

“How about whipped cream with this?” he asked.

Whipped cream. She stifled a groan as she opened the fridge and grabbed one oh-so-innocent-looking white container. Somehow she was going to have to spoon the little pre-fabbed temptation over his crêpe, but, by God, her imagination went steaming into overdrive and Naughty Girl came back to life with a vengeance.

Images of spooning it over him flashed in her brain, followed shortly thereafter by images of licking it off.

She grabbed a theoretical stranglehold on Naughty Girl’s throat and told her to knock it off. That is not a good idea.

Though, that tanned shoulder would look supremely scrumptious slathered in white, fluffy—

“Jolie?”

Face flaming, she tossed him the container. She was not going near the guy.

Chicken.

“Nice catch,” she mumbled in an effort to appear somewhat normal and not like an incredibly grateful, overly-horny, under-sexed, sorry excuse for an employee.

“Are you joining me?” asked Mr. I-have-no-idea-my-chef-is-a-quivering-mass-of-hormones.

“Uh, okay. Let me flip this and I’ll be right over.” And she’d sit at the far end of the table.

“So what do you have planned today?” asked Mr. Chipper. “I’m going to be pretty occupied in the attic, so, if you don’t mind, you can just leave me a sandwich. I’ll grab it when I take a break.”

Dab, dab with the fruit, roll, roll with the crêpe, and she was ready to brave breakfast with Brawny. Darn if the guy didn’t pull out the chair next to him.

So much for avoidance tactics.

“If you’re sure… I do have some pages to write—I mean, some notes to organize.” Oops.

“Pages? What are you writing? A cookbook?” His tongue gathered the whipped cream from the corner of his mouth.

Mind back on the task at hand, Jols. Which would be pulling her sandaled foot out of her mouth. Pages to write. Sheesh.

“Yes. I’m working on a book. For the pastry shop I want to open.” Sure, she could throw some recipes in her manuscript. She’d seen people do that, where they began a chapter with a family recipe. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d work it into the story, but if she did, she wouldn’t be lying.

“Be sure to include these crêpes. They’re great.”

“Thanks.”

“Are there any more?”

“In the warming drawer.”

He walked to the drawer, bent over to open it, and, man! What a view. His back was muscle-slick, a slight rise on either side of his spine, flaring in at his waist. His butt tightened, his thighs tightened, his calves tightened, and a few body parts of her own did some tightening—which sent one riotous bundle of flames from her heart, through several key points nearby—literally—down through her belly to dance along one very tingly area between her legs.

She really needed to stop noticing those things.

“These are very good,” he said as he sat at the table again.

Could she not get a break? Heck, her nipples were welcoming him back, for Pete’s sake. Could she have some time for them to calm down before he had ’em up and dancing?

“Thanks,” she mumbled, shoveling the rest of her crêpe in. She was out of there as soon as she finished one last bit of juice. Pseudo-cookbook, here I come.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

***

Todd closed the French door behind him, the slate patio warm beneath his bare feet. He breathed in the first scent of gardenias in the garden outside the study. The landscapers had been busy the other day. Freshly planted rose bushes filled the hollow beneath the study’s bow window. He wondered what color they’d be when they bloomed. Probably white. For some reason the homeowners’ association had a thing for white flowers, but he didn’t know why. Maybe he’d call the contractors and get them to substitute some of the more colorful varieties.

If he cared enough. It was, after all, just a house.

He caught a glimpse of Jolie through the study window as she rounded the corner to head upstairs, her long dark hair flowing after her like a horse’s tail streaming down the homestretch. Great; her exuberance was back.

He couldn’t figure out what had happened during breakfast. One minute she’d been all smiles, her eyes sparkling like amethysts at the thought of baking cookies for the kids; the next, the light-heartedness had vanished and she’d become withdrawn. Almost unsure.

He replayed the scene as he climbed the outside stairs to the garage attic.

The whipped cream. That was when she’d gotten that funny look on her face.

Oh, hell. Did she think he was making fun of her?

He paused on the landing to pull the key from his swimsuit. He’d been surprised at himself when he’d taunted her with the “whatever” in the lobby of his offices, but then she’d shot back the whipped cream comment and it’d taken on joke status between them. At least, he’d thought so.

Hell, he was so out of this male/female thing. With Trista, it’d been as natural as breathing. There’d never been the coyness, the doubts, the should-he/shouldn’t-he questions.

Not that he was going down that route with Jolie, no matter how pretty she was, but he’d felt that same repartee with her.

Obviously, she hadn’t.

As the moving company van pulled into the driveway, Todd unlocked the door and slid it open. Dust particles danced in the sunlight as he took in the stacks of white-sheeted canvases lining the walls of the stark white room.

He was sick of the blandness. His house was full of non-colors, his garden was a tribute to white, now this place.

Trista’s death had leached the color from his life.

He wanted it back.

Chapter Fourteen

At lunchtime, a still-shirtless Todd in a pair of low-hanging, faded-almost-white denim shorts joined Jolie poolside where she was working on her book.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

She slammed the notebook shut. Darn. Her hero, Tom, had finally started flowing from her pencil—some angst, a character flaw, and just a hint of the stubbornness that was going to keep him from realizing true love when he saw it.

She’d been having trouble getting Tom and the heroine together, so she’d decided to use what had brought her and Todd together—not that she was in any way comparing the two. One, of course, was fiction and the other, quite out of her league. But now, halfway through that scene, Todd stepped into view and—

“Jolie?”

“Huh? Oh, um, sure. Go ahead.” She swept her hand over the chair.

He took the seat, parking his platter and iced tea glass on the white wrought-iron with a soft clink.

“Cookbook?” he asked as he swallowed a bite of the roast beef and Swiss sandwich she’d left for him, the muscles in his strong, corded neck flexing.

She nodded, sliding the notebook off to the side.

“Secret cookbook?”

Funny boy. “No.”

“Secret recipes then? Or don’t you want me to see how much butter you used for the crêpes?” The killer smile was back and her thighs quivered.

Her thighs quivered? Really? She never would have thought thighs could quiver. She’d read those words in a romance novel—probably a Regency since heroines were notably shy and virginal—and found quivering thighs to be a bit overdone. But apparently it really was possible.

“No secrets,” she said. That he need know about anyhow. “I just don’t like anyone looking at my stuff until it’s done.” She rested the pencil on top of the notebook. “Is your sandwich okay?”

With another bite in there, he nodded.

“Good. How’s the clean-out coming?”

He and the three workmen had been ensconced in the attic since right after breakfast. From her bathroom window, she’d seen Todd pause before entering the place where he stored his paintings. It must have been really hard to go in there.

“It’s… coming.” He cleared his throat. “It had to be done, I guess.”

“So what are you going to do with all the space up there?”

Darn if he didn’t get a little sprightly. “The light’s good. I was thinking—”

“Of painting again?”

“I’m not sure. I might put a chair or two there, maybe an easel and see if I can—”

He looked away, beyond the pool toward the canopy of green at the back of the property with its wooden bench and some bird feeders. The fountain in the pond on the path from the driveway gurgled as a dragonfly buzzed past.

“If you can what?”

“If I can get any of the magic to come out of my fingers again.”

Having been on the receiving end of Mr. Touch-Feeley’s fingers, she could assure him there was, indeed, magic there.

Probably something else that wasn’t a good idea to notice.

“Well, you won’t know ’til you try.” She swiped the manuscript off the table while his attention was focused on the dark green lawn. Mr. Gray did a good job with the yard. “Just get all your supplies out, make yourself comfy, and I bet in no time you’ll be whipping out those canvases so fast you’ll wonder if you’ll ever be able to stop.”

He laughed and she was thankful for the sound. He wouldn’t be able to pick up a brush if his heart was in his shoes.

She glanced down. No shoes. Of course.

“I hope you’re right, Jolie, but we’ll see. First thing, though, I’m going to paint the walls. White is too sterile.” He gathered his plate and glass. “And, God knows, I’ve had enough sterile to last a lifetime.” He stood and pushed in his chair. “Thanks for lunch. It’s nice having you here.”

And away he went. With her thighs quivering after him. She was such a sucker for the tragic hero.

But she had to remember he wasn’t a character in a book. That, no matter how inspirational he was for her writing, he was still carrying around a boatload of love for Trista which left about as much room in his heart for someone else as a fortune cookie wrapped around Confucius had for more words of wisdom.

***

Hours later, Jolie was trying her hand at a good ol’ Americana dinner, when Todd poked his sweaty self into the kitchen.

“Something smells good in here.”

I’ll tell him what smells good—

“It’s the herbed stuffing I add to the burgers,” she said, flipping said burgers on the indoor grill. “Or maybe the buttery corn-on-the-cob.”

“They both sound good. Do I have time for a shower?”

Only if I can watch.

Oh, please God, don’t let Naughty Girl have said that out loud.

“Uh, sure. Yes, there’s time.” Her hands were shaking and it had nothing to do with the ice water she plunged the boiled potatoes and eggs into. Matter of fact, she should probably dunk her entire head in that glacial pool to shock her libido into proper behavior.

“Do you have enough for the guys?” he hollered from the steps. “I should have said something earlier, but I was occupied.”

With sweeping the last remnants of his previous life out of his attic. As if she’d expect him to remember something as mundane as eating. “Yes, I’ve made enough. I figured you guys would be hungry.”

“You’re a godsend, Jolie,” came wafting through the vast emptiness of the foyer as he crossed the hallway above her head, marching into that sanctuary he called a master suite, and she wanted to tell him he was the heavenly apparition she needed in her life.

But that would be so overly dramatic.

Though true.

She managed to get through the rest of the meal’s preparation by focusing on the workmen carting some furniture and plants up the attic stairs and loads of paintings back down. All that work Todd had done and no one to enjoy it. Gosh, she really hoped he would start painting again. It didn’t have to be those beautiful pictures. Maybe he could try abstracts. Charcoal. Stick figures. The what didn’t matter, it was the doing it that did. She just wanted him to find his passion again.

And then he entered the kitchen and she found hers.

The khaki shorts, royal blue button-down, and canvas deck shoes were such a good look on him. Very Suburban-Man-Chic which normally would make her heart speed up, but it stopped. Possibly literally. There was a little pain right in the center of her chest when she breathed.

Then he smiled and the pain dissipated. And her heart rate went back to normal. And then ratcheted up a notch.

“Here, let me get that,” he said and she could only nod. If he said her name she was going to melt.

She held the plate out, his fingers brushed hers, and she sucked in a breath, skin sizzling.

He stopped.

Beneath the plate, his hands halted on hers.

He sucked in a breath every big as the one she did.

Whoa boy.

His gaze shot to hers, his brows reaching for the heavens, and darned if she didn’t feel the flickering tendrils of want curling in her belly.

“Jolie.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m… hungry.”

“Me, too.”

“Um, perhaps we better, um… “ Todd tugged on her hand and she snapped out of that whirling vortex of chemical hormonal combustion.

“Right,” She shifted her weight between the re-quivering thighs. “The food. Outside. Let’s.”

“Yes. Outside.”

So eloquent, both of them.

She relinquished the burger plate, scooped up the fixings and trotted after him into the purple twilight as well as quivering thighs permitted.

The workmen were on their way back up the stairs, their banter breaking the mood. Whatever the mood was. Was it her imagination or had she and Todd been on the same hunger plane back there? She sure as heck hadn’t been talking burgers.

“Come and get it, guys,” Todd called out as he left the burgers on the table and set to lighting the tiki torches.

Come and get it. Now there was a command her traitorous heart leapt for.

***

Hands on his hips, Todd stared at the flame on the tiki torch and tried to draw more oxygen into his lungs. What had happened back in the kitchen? If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d felt attraction. To Jolie.

Oh, shit. He did know better and that was attraction.

Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

The guys were helping themselves to the meal and he couldn’t seem to muster enough effort to turn around. How could he face her?

How could he not?

Had she felt it?

He swallowed his laugh and ran a hand through his hair and around the back of his neck, kneading it. Of course she’d felt it. He’d known the moment she had. Which had been about two seconds after he had.

Attraction.

Desire.

For a woman other than Trista.

One who worked for him.

Oh, yeah. That was brilliant.

Todd sucked in another breath and willed himself to turn around. He shouldn’t be surprised; Jolie was gorgeous. And funny. And fun. And bright and sunny—everything that had been missing from his life these last two years.

“Todd? You said you were hungry?”

Hungry? Was he?

He shook the double meaning from his mind and turned around, rolling his shoulders as he walked back to the table. It was too much too soon to make any decisions. He needed to digest this sudden shift.

“Yeah, I am.” His gaze skimmed her face, then, after the briefest of pauses, he helped himself to the hamburgers. “These smell good,” he said.

At least his voice sounded normal.

That’d be one thing that was.

***

Jolie’s face felt as if it was on fire, her breathing was shallow, and her hands were trembling. Not exactly her normal state of being. Before meeting Todd Best, that was. Now? Who knew? It seemed trembling appendages were to be a daily occurrence chez Best.

Somehow she managed to direct the tremblages (her just-coined term) to a chair and plunked herself in it across from Todd. Let the feasting begin. Of the palate… and the eyes.

“Where are we taking the paintings?” one of the workmen asked, thankfully yanking her musings from the place they had no business going.

“To the office. Mike will let you know what he wants where.” Todd helped himself to the fixings for his burger, cocking an eyebrow her way at the scored rind on the pickle. “More garnishing? Cute.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“Now there’s a damn shame,” one of the other guys mocked with a suggestive waggle of eyebrows. “Garnishing ain’t high on the list of priorities for my women.”

“Jolie works for me,” Todd snapped back.

“Oooo-kay.” Scumm-o snickered.

“Look here—” Todd leaned forward in his chair.

“Luigi.” The foreman smacked the table. “Knock it off, will ya? Keep yer trap shut or you’re fired. Don’t go insulting the boss, ya moron.” He looked at Jolie and tipped a non-existent hat. “My apologies, ma’am.”

“That’s okay.” It actually wasn’t, but with Todd defending her honor, she didn’t really need to make a big deal out of it.

Him defending her on the other hand… Naughty Girl was all over that.

Scumbucket scowled and the foreman jumped to his feet. “Guys, let’s take these with us and finish up. We’ll be out of your hair then, Mr. Best. Ma’am.”

The other guy also whipped to his feet, while Luigi Scumbucket took his sweet time schlepping to his, then the three of them headed back to the Land of Attic.

“They didn’t need to leave,” Jolie said to Todd. “I guess Luigi just thought he was being funny. In a chauvinistic, condescending sort of way.”

“There’s no excuse for that sort of innuendo.” Todd balled up his napkin and tossed it onto the table.

“True. But you didn’t have to say anything. I was okay.” Jolie unrolled an ear of corn, the sweet smell of melted butter rising in the air.

“Why? Why is it reasonable to assume a woman who cooks dinner is fair game for snide comments and insinuations? Maybe where you come from, but I’ve always been taught to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when someone does something nice for me. That jerk—” Todd thumbed back in the direction of the garage—”doesn’t have a clue.”

It was the “where you come from” line that snagged her. Actually, yeah, where she came from she couldn’t expect much better than a Luigi Scumbucket. But Todd didn’t need to know that. And she really didn’t want to think about the differences in their worlds at the moment.

“So, good hamburger?” she asked, trying to keep it business-like and not notice that they were all alone with the twilight wrapping around them, soft, flickering lights playing over the planes of his face and those broad shoulders while nature’s cricket orchestra serenaded them.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He took a bite and she tried not to stare at his mouth.

But, man, was it hard not to. She’d never particularly noticed men’s mouths before, but his had a nice shape to it, the bottom lip fuller than the top, slight up-curve to the ends. His teeth were straight and white and then there was his tongue—

“Good!” She cleared her throat and refolded her napkin, then swept it back over her lap. “I, uh, made a ton of them.” She set her knife and fork square to the plate. “More than we’ll ever need.” She readjusted her glass of iced tea. “Lots. We can freeze some for another day and I thought I might give some to—”

“Go ahead, Jolie. Feel free to donate them to the foundation. You don’t need my permission. The kids will love them.” A long swallow of iced tea went down his throat and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the column of muscle.

Until he lowered the glass; then self-preservation kicked in.

“I’ve got a question for you.” He placed the glass on the table, his fingers mere inches from hers.

She reined in her digits. No meandering pinkies for her. “Shoot.”

“You mentioned something the other day about sixteen-year-old unwed mothers? Kids like you? What did you mean?”

“Oh, you don’t really want to hear that.” She flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder and turned her head.

“Actually, I do. I can’t reconcile the image of you homeless and you now.”

“Now?” She slid a glance back at him.

“Yes, now. You’ve got a career, you’re smart, funny, adaptable.”

“Adaptable?” That had her turning back to face him full-on.

“You handled that uncomfortable scene at Barb and Mike’s last night. What else would you call it?”

She shrugged. “Desperate?”

He laughed and she loved that sound, deep and joyous and masculine, and it touched every cell in her body. She could listen to him laugh forever.

Uh oh. She did not just say the “F” word.

She couldn’t have. There was no such thing as forever. She knew. Firsthand. Nothing lasted “F,” except in the pages of a book.

“Funny,” Todd interjected—thank goodness—into her path down Misery Lane. “But seriously, Jolie, were you homeless?”

Mr. Dog-With-A-Bone was obviously not going to let it go. She’d go for the short and not-so-pitiful version—the one that answered the questions and moved the conversation on. She’d developed it early in her house-hopping career.

“Depends on what you mean by homeless.” She shrugged to show it wasn’t such a big deal. Eighteen years ago, yeah, big deal. Now? Not so much. “I had a home, just not my own. Actually, I had a lot of homes.”

“Foster care?”

She nodded and wrapped her hands around her iced tea, the sweat on the glass sliding under her palms. “It wasn’t so bad.” If you liked loneliness, being an outsider, and not having a family to call your own. But she was over it. Really.

“What about your parents?”

God, it was like pulling teeth. “Dad’s a question mark and Mom made some ill-advised choices. Gone, both of them. Probably for the best if those first ten years were anything to go by.”

“How did you make it out of the system?” He touched her, just one fingertip to the fine hairs on the back of her hand, but she felt it. All the way to her toes.

He had to stop. She could get through this without crying as long as she said it flat out. Have him show compassion and she’d be a mush puddle.

So she took a drink of the iced tea and sat back in the chair, far from fine hairs and tempting fingers. “I decided I was not going to repeat the mistake of my genetics. I studied, worked hard and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“That’s an admirable story.”

“That’s me, Admirable Jolie.” She tipped her glass to him in salute.

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve certainly got a lot of attributes, Good-sport Jolie, Ambitious Jolie, Admirable Jolie. What about Happy Jolie?”

Okay, enough psychoanalysis there, Dr. Phil. “Well, sure. I mean, where I am now sure as heck beats where I started. There was nowhere to go but up anyhow. Life is good.”

“So that’s why you took me up on my offer to bake for the kids. You’ve been there.”

She nodded. “But even if I hadn’t, I’d still want to help. It’s a great cause. Those kids need more people like you.”

Those kids? You were one of them, at one time.

Out of my head, Naughty Girl.

“That’s good to hear because your chocolate chip cookies are going to be in demand.”

Oh, he was smooth. She slid a sideways glance his way. “Care to define ‘in demand’? Just how many cookies am I going to be making?”

“A couple hundred—”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad—”

“—dozen.”

“A couple hundred dozen?” Mr. Jolly was getting his jollies on this one. Okay, smart guy, two could play that game. “Boy, I’m going to be able to stay here until the next millennium for that amount of work.”

“Hey, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. You know that.”

“But what happens if my life expectancy doesn’t match my cookie-credit ratio?” She bit her lip, enjoying the teasing. It reminded her of Mike and Barbara.

Todd’s sigh was oh-so-dramatic and he rubbed his hand across his chin. She couldn’t look away as his palm rasped against the five o’clock shadow just below the surface and she could only imagine what that would feel like against her cheek.

That’s right, Jolie. Only imagine it, ’cause that’s as close to his skin as your cheek’s going to get.

“You’re right.” He tapped that full bottom lip. “It’s not possible to balance the scale of work versus cookie credits. You’re going to need help.”

“Help?”

“Of course. I can’t expect you to spend all your waking time baking, so why not? I’ve made cookies before.”

Hmm, had she been angling for that? She wasn’t supposed to make up ways to spend time with him, but apparently Heart had stopped listening to Brain and decided to work on autopilot.

Of course, Brain, not one to be left out, then directed Mouth to say, “Okay then. I’ll go out tomorrow and get enough ingredients to make the puffiest, most chocolate-y chips you’ve ever tasted.”

“Somehow I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Hey, the guy really did get her after all.

And, yeah, Naughty Girl chimed in, he could get her anytime.

Chapter Fifteen

Raphael clicked off the state-of-the-art monitor in his office and tapped the intercom. “Please send Jonathan in, Angela. Thank you.”

He rose from the throne and stretched his wings behind him. So busy these days. So many people to help. He needed help. If Jonathan could gain the confidence he needed, he’d be the perfect assistant.

Raphael’s feathers, softer than any bird’s down, whispered along his hands. Such magnificent appendages. Great for convincing non-believers he was who he said he was, but more importantly, inspiring awe in those who had duties to fulfill.

The door to his inner sanctum opened and Jonathan, all four-feet-ten-inches of him, entered. Poor guy had never had any self-confidence from the moment of his birth. Born among a family of six-footers, Jonathan had been the brunt of many jokes. Good-natured or not, they’d taken their toll on him. But Jonathan had never lost the goodness in his soul because of it.

Raphael had had his eye on him ever since Jonathan had rescued one of his childhood tormenters from a rabid dog by finding the small opening that was the only other way into the room and distracting the animal so the bully could escape.

What neither Jonathan nor the bully had appreciated was that he’d been the only one who could have fit through that opening. His sized had served the Purpose for which it’d been bestowed.

“Sir?” Jonathan crumpled his hat between his fingers.

“Jonathan, please, take a seat.” Raphael levitated one of the sky blue chairs. He’d decided to employ his powers during this interview because Jonathan needed to feel valued.

“Thank you, sir.” Jonathan hopped onto the chair and rubbed at the telltale twitch by his eye before settling the mangled hat in his lap, the fingers of one hand tapping the brim while Raphael floated the chair over to the desk.

“Would you like something to drink?” Raphael materialized a glass of the lemonade he knew Jonathan was fond of. That should ease some of Jonathan’s worries.

“Thank you, sir.”

Raphael pretended not to notice the shaking in the initiate’s hand as he took the glass. “So, Jonathan, how are Todd and Jolie doing? Any movement toward the final goal?”

Jonathan told him about Todd clearing out the attic—at last!—of Michael and Barbara’s reception of Jolie—not quite what Raphael would have hoped for from those two, but, still, understandable given their love for Todd and everything they’d done for him—and the upcoming picnic.

“So, Todd is moving on. I’m glad to hear that. What about Jolie?” Raphael leaned against the edge of his marble desk rather than take the seat behind it. The throne was intimidating, though it did have its purposes.

“Jolie, sir?” Jonathan stopped sipping his drink, his eyes wide above the rim of the glass. The twitch, which had slowed during the recitation of events, now kicked back into gear.

“Yes. Has she made any strides in overcoming her feelings of inadequacy?”

“Strides, sir?”

“Yes, strides. You’ve seen Todd grow and emerge from his despair. Jolie needs to do the same.” Raphael waved his hand and Jolie’s chart floated from the file drawer. “Her mother never appreciated her. Of course, the poor woman had her own demons to deal with, but still, she did damage all the same. Jolie needs to heal.”

“Yes, sir.” Jonathan set the glass on the edge of the desk.

“I’d rather there not be any bumps in this road, Jonathan. Todd seems open to the idea of exploring what he’s feeling for her, which is where we want him headed. But Jolie’s so used to things not working out for her that she needs to feel worthy of his love. We need this to go smoothly for them. They’ve been hurt enough.”

“Yes, sir.” Jonathan nodded solemnly.

Raphael tapped the file. “I think you might want to appear among them, Jonathan, in a manner where you can affect events as they happen. Your merchant character nudged them onto this journey, but I’m thinking something more drastic. Something on a more daily basis. Without them knowing, of course.”

“Um… okay. I’ll think of something, sir.”

Raphael held out his hand. “I’m sure you will, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened and he clutched the felt hat so tightly his knuckles turned white as he considered Raphael’s outstretched hand. Gulping, he slid to stand before the chair and placed the hat on the cushion.

Raising his eyes—the twitch now completely gone—Jonathan took Raphael’s hand. “I won’t let you down.”

“Of course you won’t, Jonathan. That’s why you were chosen to help Todd and Jolie. I have every faith in you.”

Chapter Sixteen

Jolie drove the chugging Melanie into Todd’s driveway the next afternoon. Todd hadn’t been kidding yesterday when he’d said the picnic was next week. It was now Sunday, i.e. “next week,” the picnic was in three days, and Arena’s was officially out of baking supplies. Poor Signore Arena, she’d thought he was going to have apoplexy when she asked him for the last batch of the butter, but he’d calmed down when she’d told him it was for the foundation.

Jolie pulled into the garage, hoping Todd was around. For no reason other than to help her unload the groceries, so Naughty Girl could stick that in her innuendos. Chances were, though, that he was in the west wing, as she’d taken to calling the garage attic where he’d holed himself up in last night after dinner and all this morning. Just as well. With Heart still not firmly under control of Brain, she could end up doing the libido tango again if he was around.

Once she’d gotten the necessary ingredients into the kitchen, she set all the measuring cups, bowls, and baking sheets she’d need, thanking God, the builder, and the decorator that Todd had a dining room table big enough for the cookies to cool on. She’d bought enough plastic storage bags to make a landfill shriek, and a whole lot of chickens were probably walking around in pain, but it was all about the kids, so she’d set her tree-hugger-ness aside and focus on that.

Since chocolate chip cookies baked better if the dough spent the night in the fridge, the day’s agenda consisted of making enough dough for twenty-four hundred cookies. Thankfully, there was an industrial-sized mixer that some previous chef must have finagled, so she might make it through this with her mixing arm intact, which was always a plus.

She turned on the Bose stereo and be-bopped along to old Madonna. Not her all-time favorite, but old Madonna was better than new Madonna. Yeah, it was bubble-gum music, but good to be-bop to. Then came Shania and she was dancing some more. It was all good.

She was into some heavy-duty belting out of “That Don’t Impress Me Much,” when she heard, “Hey, Shania!”

She spun, spatula/microphone in hand, and plunked down her foot to stop the twirl. The image in the doorway, now that impressed her much.

“Uh, hey?” she said oh-so-eloquently into the spatula.

“I was coming in to help.” Todd surveyed the room, whistling. “Wow. I didn’t realize this much went into making cookies.”

She nodded and put the spatula down. “These are easy to bake. It just takes organization.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” He cocked that expressive eyebrow of his again. “Organizational Jolie?”

Now that was funny. And they laughed, a shared moment sort of thing.

“That’d be me. So, you really want to help?”

“Point me to an apron.”

“Wow. You get points just for saying that.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin these.” He flourished his hand over his dusty old shorts, Bermuda-long and faded army green, a rip here, a tear there. Comfy shorts… that just so happened to hug his hips at just the right spot to cause her salivary glands to rev into action. The mustard yellow t-shirt clinging to some flexing pecs as he tied the apron behind him didn’t hurt either.

She better make sure to keep the drool out of the cookie dough.

He washed his hands, drying them on that inch-thick cotton, loin-cloth-wannabe towel, and saluted her. “Ready for orders, ma’am.”

He was cute like that and she couldn’t help chuckling, all the while shoving Naughty Girl out of the picture who was squealing as she went, Give him some orders already!

“Okay.” Jolie turned off lusting mode and went into baking mode. “I’m making a quadruple batch at a time. You can go ahead of me and measure out the ingredients. I’ll sift the dry ones together then add the rest in the mixer. Once we’ve got everything done, we’ll move it to a bowl and stick it in the fridge. Then on to the next batch. Sound good to you?”

He nodded. “Anything to do with chocolate chips sounds good to me.”

Was that like whipped cream?

Not going there.

The radio station segued to some really bad stuff from the eighties, so “Hungry Like the Wolf” was grating across her nerves (though she could relate) as she and Todd stepped around each other. For such a big kitchen, it’d gotten extremely small. She was by his shoulder when he reached for the box of brown sugar and she got a whiff of fresh paint and sweat—not normally scents to get her hormones up and dancing, but on him, they worked.

Which she, again, shouldn’t be noticing.

“So, how’re the walls coming?” Jolie picked up the closest thing, which turned out to be a sifter. She started to—what else?—sift while Todd moved on to the liquid ingredients. The guy could crack a mean egg.

“Decent. I almost have the first coat of paint finished. I’ll get to the second tomorrow and let it dry until after the picnic.”

“So.” Did she dare broach the subject? “Have you decided if you’re going to paint again?”

He kept his eyes on the measuring cup while answering. He was either a very conscientious cook or didn’t want to have the discussion. She’d bet the latter, but she was going to continue as if it were the former. That no-quitting thing of hers and all.

“You don’t decide to paint, Jolie. It just happens. You have to. I’ll see. I’ve got a few ideas in mind.” He glanced over and smiled. “Who knows if they’ll pan out?”

“And if they do?”

He shrugged. “We’ll see. I’m not planning anything further than just trying out a few things.”

“Okay. I guess that’s good. Kind of trying to let your muse do its own thing.”

“My muse. Yeah.” His voice drifted away.

Okay, kick her for being an idiot, but that was about to change. Right now. “So, how many people do you think will come to the picnic?”

He mustered a smile and it was bigger than she’d hoped for. “I don’t know. There’s usually a good turnout. With all this you’re making, people should have at least a couple of cookies.”

“Good. Because I want the kids to be able to take as many as they want. Cookies are such a nice treat.”

“And these kids need them.”

“Don’t I know it.” Oh, crud. Had she said that out loud?

“That’s right. I keep forgetting you do know. I have to say, Jolie, I’m having trouble seeing you that way. You haven’t let life get you down.”

Yeah, well, he hadn’t seen her at her first foster home, curled into a ball on that lumpy old mattress. “The best way I’ve found to deal with my past is to put it away. It’s over, I’m here and let’s move on. Who was it that said ‘the best revenge is living well’? That’s my outlook.”

“That takes a lot of inner strength.”

Ha. She could tell him it was more self-preservation and abject terror of being sucked back into that swirling morass of self-pity and loathing, but why go there? “Do or die, I always say. Now, you can start on the next batch while I mix this one up.”

He nodded and she turned on the mixer. Something to break up their conversation—and regain her composure.

Not to mention, aside from the occasional stir to get the batter off the side of the bowl, there wasn’t too much to do while the mixer did its thing. So she had the chance to watch him.

There was just something about a man in an apron in the kitchen. Especially if the man was only in an apron in the kitchen, which, okay, he wasn’t, but she had seen him in only the kitchen and nothing else and, boy, was that a sight to remember. So she tripped down sensory lane while he reached and stretched and bent as he measured out the ingredients. Who’d have thought baking was so much exercise?

“You know,” he said when the mixer went silent, “the last time I did this was with my mom. I was twelve, I think.” His eyes twinkled. “It’s fun.”

He had no idea.

“Let’s see if you’re still saying that three hours from now.” Jolie maneuvered the mixing bowl to the table and scooped batch number one into another bowl, ready to start again. The mouthwatering aroma of brown sugar and vanilla surrounded her and she couldn’t resist a dip into the dough with a spoon.

“I saw that.” Todd’s mock self-righteousness was hysterical.

“Want some?” She grabbed another spoon and another spoonful, and offered it to him.

With him holding a measuring cup in one hand and a five pound bag of sugar in the other, she had no other option when he said, “Sure,” than to hold the spoon to his mouth.

Really. No other option.

His lips closed around the spoon, just a hint of his tongue before it closed, and she could almost feel the heat travel up the stainless steel into her fingers.

There was a little tug as he sucked the dough off and she felt a little tug of her own. Right in her nether regions.

She slid the spoon out and he licked his upper lip. “You’re good,” he said and there went her mind right to a bed with a roaring fire at the foot of it, a bottle of champagne, maybe some rose petals, and, of course, whipped cream.

“I am?” She pulled her gaze from his mouth, now drawn to his eyes. Warm and intense—just like her.

“Yes.”

He put the flour and measuring cup down in one fluid motion and took a step toward her, his gaze holding hers. Her heart started hammering as he reached out, and she stifled a moan as she waited for his embrace.

She closed her eyes as he neared. There was just too much rioting through her body as his chest brushed her arm. She waited for the feel of his lips on hers, completely willing to overlook what surely was complete insanity since they worked—and lived—together, yet it was his hair she felt brushing her shoulder.

Not exactly the image she had going.

She opened her eyes—

And wanted to die.

He had his finger in the batter bowl behind her, scooping out the remains of batch number one.

Thank God no one else was around to witness her humiliation. What was she thinking? As if someone like him would be interested in kissing someone like her; someone without a real name or family to call her own. Just because she came with no baggage whatsoever—no relatives, no nasty in-laws, no history, just her—didn’t mean his “you’re good” had anything to do with something other than cookies.

“Want some?” said Cookie Monster, now back in her line of sight and holding out a finger full of cookie dough.

She did want some. She really, really did. And she wanted it right off that finger he was waving in her face. Wanted it so badly she had to say no because if she gave in to the impulse of licking his finger, she’d rip apart at the seams.

“Ah, come on. It’s good.” Wag, wag went the tempting digit.

She was amazed at her inner strength, as he’d called it. Truly.

She shook her head again and stepped back. “If we do this for every batch we are going to be some sick puppies.” She prayed the bravado hid the quaking of her knees. He didn’t need to know his chef was reading all sorts of innuendos into his words.

Cookie dough. Imagine that.

***

An hour and a half later, they were only halfway done. But Jolie? She was done. Over-cooked, over-heated, and way over-aroused. Todd was not only hot on the outside, he was completely sexy on the inside. Their little baking party had brought out all his childhood memories and he’d wanted to share.

Normally, she’d love to hear those things. Birthday parties, camping trips, whatever. But seeing as how her nerves were still rattled by the near-miss of a kiss, not to mention the mortification of said near-miss, she tuned out the narrative and tuned in to him. Todd Best, the man.

After all, it was in this very spot where she beheld the splendor that was Todd only yesterday. And traitorous Heart wanted to behold it again.

But Brain put her foot down. (Could a brain do that?) They, her collective self, were finished with wandering thoughts and a roaring libido. All Naughty Girl desires were hereby shoved into the closet with Naughty Girl herself and Jolie was going to enjoy the rest of her time in the kitchen.

As they finally finished cleaning up after the last batch, Todd removed his apron, treating her once again to the glorious sight of flexing pecs. “Thanks for doing this for the kids, Jolie.” He folded the apron and set it on the counter beside the sink.

“Really, you don’t need to thank me.” She turned on the faucet.

He turned it off. “I know. You’re a special person to do all of this, Jolie. The kids and I really appreciate it.”

And then, joy of joys, wonder of wonders, whatever Hallmark expression of happiness she could conjure, he leaned over and pecked her cheek. Now, it was so small it could barely be called a peck. But she could call it that so she would. A peck. There. On her cheek. His lips on her skin and she was so not going to wash that cheek ever again.

Somehow she managed to breathe out “You’re welcome” from her suddenly tight throat while he walked around her to the foyer. He could have walked over her and she wouldn’t have minded.

The man just made her week.

His thundering up the stairs to the second floor pulled her mind back to reality—

No it didn’t. Who was she kidding? Her mind went right to the fantasy: an image of Todd’s long legs flexing as he took those stairs—maybe two at a time? Striding across the carpeting to his room, pulling his t-shirt over his head from the back the way guys could. Sloughing his shorts and boxers—nah, it was her fantasy and he was going commando—his shorts off as he hit the bathroom, kicking them perfectly into his hamper (again, it was her fantasy so no clothes on the bathroom floor), and stepping under a steaming shower.

Okay, it was eighty-eight degrees out, he’d been sweating, and the last thing he was likely to do was take a hot shower, but, again, it was her fantasy and if she wanted lots of smoky steam surrounding his cut muscles and angled planes, she’d opt for the steaming shower.

And suddenly it was more than a little hot in the kitchen. She ran her wrists under a cool stream of water, then leaned back against the counter.

She really had to get her hormones under control. She should start dating more.

More. Ha. More like, start over. Chucky had been years ago and it’d been so long since her last date she could barely remember it. Steve Somebody. Steve with the slobber lips and cow tongue and ewww, it was just not a good memory.

So she ran through the pitiful short list of guys who’d be date-worthy and every one of them came up short next to Todd. And not necessarily literally, though, yeah, a few of them were on the small side.

No, she meant on the masculine side. The I-really-want-to-get-to-know-them scale. Heck, Todd had proven himself capable of fidelity and deep love, he helped out little kids, was kind to older people, baked cookies with his mom, and teased his sister-in-law. Add to that the packaging, the chivalry, and the way he made her feel, and she was pretty sure no one else of her acquaintance could measure up.

Which was so not a good thing.

Because this guy, this symbol of manly almost-perfection, had one huge, glaring, fatal flaw.

He was still in love with his wife.

And what, even if he didn’t have that huge, glaring, fatal flaw, made her think he’d ever be interested in looking her way?

And why did she care?

Because—

...

She did.

Whoa.

Jolie’s knees gave way so she braced her hands on the counter. She couldn’t care. She couldn’t. Not any more than she’d care about, say, a lost puppy or child. It had to be all about helping him find his way, getting him to live again. It couldn’t be anything more.

She wouldn’t let it be.

She’d cared about someone once—her mom—and where did that get her? Alone, destitute, hungry, more than a little scared and, oh yeah, alone. Lonely, by herself. Left.

And that from a woman who was supposed to love her. Therefore, she could not allow herself to care about someone who had no genetic predisposition to care about her, no burning reason to want to care about her. That’d be just plain emotional suicide. And she was so much smarter than that.

Keep saying that, mocked Naughty Girl, and you might start to believe it.

Chapter Seventeen

Todd showed up half-naked the next morning.

Again.

At least it was the upper half, as his swim trunks were dripping a good portion of the pool on the kitchen floor and he had a towel wrapped around his waist. Not that that did much, seeing as how his gloriously tanned expanse of chest and stomach were on display, but the towel did cover his knees.

When had she ever noticed knees before?

“Good morning,” said the man.

“Hi.” One-Word Jolie this morning, obviously.

“Since we’re going to be slaving over hot ovens today why don’t we do cereal for breakfast?”

“I’ve already made scones.” Wow. Four words. Mouth must have decided to cooperate today.

“Oh. Okay. But Wheaties would have sufficed.”

Of course, breakfast of champions. He’d been hers with Luigi Scumbucket.

“Well, it is my job.” Not to mention a way to justify the room upstairs. And, yeah, maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with yesterday’s revelation that she wasn’t going to give any importance to. “Um, do you want to shower first?”

“Nah. Might as well keep the cool from the pool since the temperature’s going to be up in the kitchen. Maybe I’ll hop outside for a dip whenever it’s too hot in here.”

Back to hearing double-entendres where surely none existed, Jolie nodded, grabbed the scones and poached pears in a raspberry sauce, and plunked them, and her butt, down at the island, o.j. between them.

“So, how is this going to work, Organizational Jolie?”

He had the best smile. All white teeth and twinkling green eyes and those laugh lines that crinkled in such an enticing way. She had to work really hard to keep the sigh from her voice as she laid out her baking battle plan.

And then they were off, dropping fifteen dollops of dough on each of four baking sheets in twelve and a half minutes, then switching them out with the new ones and cooling the finished product. No time for worrisome hormone dances whatsoever.

By lunchtime, they were more than halfway through the dough but had run out of cooling rack space.

“Let’s do something simple for lunch,” Todd suggested.

“I prepped ingredients for a honey mustard chicken salad while you were swimming this morning. I just need to throw that together.”

“Okay, but no little curlicue things.”

“You don’t like my curlicues?” And, here, she’d worked so hard to try to impress him.

“I like them very much. But you don’t need any extra work. Matter of fact—” He grabbed the bags of pre-cut veggies from the fridge. “I’ll do the salad, you do that thing you do with the iced tea, and I’ll meet you at the pool.”

“Yes sir, boss.” She mock-saluted him, then she took ice from the freezer and gathered up the iced tea and other lunch paraphernalia. He awarded her cheekiness with a smile.

If she forgot how gorgeous and funny and sweet he was, she could have a good time without all those “what if” thoughts intruding.

Too late.

Jolie sighed. Maybe she should just take the iced tea out by the pool and fling herself into the deep end. If she hadn’t done so already.

God, she needed to get her emotions under control. She had to stop—

Wait. Emotions?

She couldn’t have emotions for him. Couldn’t really be feeling something like this. Something real. Something emotional. No, this feeling had to be hormones. Okay, so, sure, she had a crush on him, but rational people did not go from celebrity crushes to emotions in such a short amount of time.

She was reading way too much into this… whatever. This attraction. This constant thinking about him. It had to be the temperature, both in the kitchen and out here, frying her brain.

Yes, that was it. Just overactive imagination combined with proximity and the fact that, hello? He was gorgeous and sexy, and liked to play knight chivalric, and she hadn’t been on the receiving end of that hat trick in like… well… never.

A shiver ran down her back that had nothing to do with the breeze that was trying its hardest to cool her heated skin, but she refused to acknowledge it. This whole thing was just hormones. Lack of dating. Compassion because she really did feel for him, what he’d been going through. It could have nothing whatsoever to do with emotions or she’d have a whole lot more at risk than just this job and the down payment on her pastry shop.

“Hey there, bathing beauty,” said the man of her thoughts, sliding through the sliders at a most inopportune moment. “Lunch is served.”

“Tell me why you need me here again?” she asked, choosing the seat across the table from him, hoping, this time, it’d be only their knees that would touch—those knees she’d noticed earlier below the towel he’d left somewhere in the house. “You seem to do perfectly fine on your own when it comes to food.”

Todd sat down with a slash of pain across his face, and studiously turned his attention to serving the salad so much that she was almost sorry she’d asked. She was intimately acquainted with that avoidance tactic.

He took a deep breath and set the tongs down. “There was a time when food was the least of my problems. I’d just lost Trista, my wife—” as if she didn’t know who Trista was—”and I felt absolutely nothing. Not hunger, not worry, not even pain. I felt… nothing.”

He looked at her then, the pain in his eyes softening when she nodded. She’d been there. Been where it was so bad you had to be numb to survive.

He lifted a forkful of salad, staring at the endive and cranberry covered in sweet honey mustard dressing. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t get out of bed, I didn’t shower, didn’t eat. Mike let me go for about three days and then barged in and took over.” He shrugged, taking that first brave bite. “I needed it, though I hated him at the time. I hated that he made me face life. Face the fact that Trista was gone and my life wasn’t ever going to be the same.”

She wanted to cry from the sadness in his eyes.

“I hated him for a while. Him and Barbara. They moved me out of my home, got me up and around, and then the guy moved into my office. I didn’t really care that the place was going to go under and my thought was, if I didn’t care, why should he? Just let it go. Let it all go.” He was back to staring at the endive again.

“But now you’re doing better.”

With a soft smile on his face and an even softer look in his eyes, he faced her. “Yeah. I’m doing much better now. I don’t need someone in to cook for me. I’m perfectly capable of doing so. I just hadn’t realized it until we had dinner the other night.”

Way to go, Jols. Questioned yourself out of a job. Brilliant.

“But I still want you to stay,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I do. It’s nice having you around and I figure you can use the job. Not to mention the place to stay.”

“Hey, I do just fine on my own. I can find another place to stay. I don’t need your charity.” She stood up, not sure if she was too proud or angry or humiliated.

Or hurt beyond words.

She’d thought… Oh what did it matter what she’d thought? This was just like every other time. Every other place.

God, how could she have let herself think—hope—

“Jolie, wait.” Todd touched her arm. “Please. Sit. That didn’t come out right.”

Her wobbly knees weren’t giving her much choice. Nor was the fact that she could barely breathe with the pain in her chest, so she sank into the chair, her back ramrod. “What?”

“I like being around you and that’s not something I’ve felt in a very long time. Two years to be exact. I haven’t liked being around anyone, including my brother, yet here you are, and I find myself glad to have a chance to chat, glad to have you here to share my meals. I like having someone else in the house with me.” His hand flexed on her arm and she stared at it. Her skin knew it was there, but Brain was just now processing that information. “Plus, you’re an amazing cook. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay. Keep me company. And make all the curlicues you want. Please?”

She was such a sucker for please. Not to mention, being needed. By him.

“Well, put like that, I guess I have to.”

“Thank you.”

There went that smile again, melting her composure like candle wax that had had a flame on it for too long. She was even more of a sucker for thank you.

“And the kids thank you,” he said.

She shook her head. “No way. You don’t get to bring the kids into this. I’d finish the cookies and do your picnic even without the begging.”

“I know you would. And that’s why I like you so much, Jolie Gardener.” Then he gave her a little arm rub, à la “Way to go, Sport.”

That’d be her, Good Sport Jolie.

***

“So,” Todd said when they were once more dropping cookie dough dollops onto trays, “how’d you learn to cook if you moved around a lot?”

Now there was a nice way of putting it. Moved around a lot. Made her sound like an Army brat instead of a homeless one.

“I lived with the Carlesons for an entire school year and Mrs. Carleson was a stay-at-home mom.” Jolie pulled up another baking sheet. “I think she just really liked trying to make things nice for those of us who didn’t have such a great lot in life. There were three of us staying with them in addition to her four kids. Her husband traveled on business a lot. I think he was some big-wig in a computer company. Anyway, she’d always have freshly-baked cookies or brownies for us when we got home from school.”

Todd started on his second tray. “That must have been nice. I loved when my mom made brownies.”

Okay, she’d add brownies to her list of To-Dos.

“It was.” She opened the top oven for her two trays then the bottom one for Todd’s. “One rainy weekend, her husband was away, her kids were off on some church outing, and the three of us were there with her. One of the kids asked if she could teach her to bake and we all jumped on the bandwagon.”

Actually, the “her” had been her. So desperate for something—anything—normal in her life. Toll House cookies had fit the bill.

“She sounds like a nice woman.” Todd handed her the second tray and she set the oven timer.

“She was. Still is, I guess.”

“So what happened? Why couldn’t you stay there longer?”

The very same question she’d asked herself all those years ago. “Her husband got transferred so we did, too.” She shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal, but yeah, it’d been a big deal. Big. Huge. She’d cried herself into dehydration the day she’d found out.

“Do you ever keep in touch with the people you met?”

“No.” She brushed some cookie dough crumbs from the edge of the counter into her palm. “What’s the point? We never knew how long we had at a house, how long we wanted to stay or were wanted to stay, so what was the point of getting attached?”

“Well, Mrs. Carleson sure knew how to make a great cookie.”

“Yeah, she did. And it actually helped me because if I could convince my other foster moms to buy the ingredients, I’d make cookies for the family. Once that happened, I was usually a big hit.”

Todd stopped dolloping and pointed his scoop at her. “Is that why you became a chef?”

“No. I became a chef because I have a knack for it. Because it’s a job and it pays decently and—”

...

Oh crud. Was he— Could he be onto something?

…

Oh man. She’d picked her career to make people like her.

Obviously that was why she baked for her foster families. If she could make the world’s best cookies, they’d want her to stay.

And now her adult life was mimicking her childhood, going from house to house, cooking for people and staying with them until their lives changed, while hers just kept repeating itself.

She never saw this?

Apparently not and now she felt like she’d just been clobbered by the tallest redwood tree in the Pacific Northwest.

And if a giant redwood tree hypothetically fell on you and you didn’t see it coming, could you still make a sound?

Again, apparently not, because there was nothing—not even air—able to get past the lump in her throat.

Todd dropped his cookie scoop and rushed around the island, taking her by the shoulders. “Jolie? Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

She nodded, though words were beyond her.

He backed her up to a chair and guided her into it.

She knew what was going on, but for some reason it didn’t feel like it was happening to her. It was as if she were watching herself over her own shoulder, detached from her very own sucker-punch of realization.

Todd thrust a glass of water into her hands. She knew she was supposed to do something with it, but for the life of her, she didn’t have a clue.

He guided the glass and her hands to her mouth. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

If he said so.

The cool water passed her lips and suddenly she was back in her body and she gasped at the sharp stab in her stomach that she recognized immediately.

Pure, unadulterated pain.

But gasping in a mouthful of water had the immediate effect of dousing the pain in hacking coughs. Todd smacked her on the back and even though it wasn’t the touch she’d like from him, his body contacting with hers was enough to stem the pain and focus her on the here and now.

Here and now. Not done and gone. Get over it and yourself, Jols. Move on.

Right. That was all in her past and if she chose a career because of her needs as a child then it was up to her to make certain she became a success at it.

Jolie waved him away and stopped coughing. Her throat was a little raw from the water going down the wrong pipe, but she was okay. Back in control. Knowing where she was going, and what she was doing in her life.

She was.

Really.

“Thanks.” She took another sip of water to ease the soreness in her throat.

Todd’s eyes scanned her face. “Jolie—”

She shook her head and did the “talk to the hand” thing.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Thank goodness the man could take a hint.

The timer chose that moment to ding and it was a good choice.

“We better get back to our schedule,” Todd said.

Honestly, she could kiss the man for the normalcy.

Among other reasons.

***

From the shadows of his patio, the night sounds whispering around the soft ripples of the pond fountain, Todd watched through the kitchen window as Jolie puttered around his kitchen once the baking was completed. She hadn’t wanted his help for the cleanup and, while he felt like a heel for leaving her the mess, he also understood her need for space.

That’d been a tough revelation for her. He hadn’t realized at the time what he was saying, what effect it would have on her, that her career choice might be a subconscious fulfillment of a basic principal of life, until he’d seen that look on her face.

He couldn’t imagine what her childhood had been like for her. Years of her life. Formative years.

He rubbed the side of his jaw, catching remnants of cookie dough in the stubble there. Brown sugar, cinnamon, apples… The little comforts of home. Things he’d always had growing up and had missed since Trista’s death.

But Jolie, she’d been through it her entire life. He’d had a great childhood, a wonderful marriage and, though he missed Trista like hell, he’d never doubted she’d loved him.

He’d also never anticipated that their happiness would suddenly be torn away.

Unlike Jolie, he hadn’t expected the worst. Maybe that was why it had hit so hard and blindsided him.

But look at her. Dancing again to some song he couldn’t hear—albeit less exuberantly than the Shania he’d encountered earlier—her lips mouthing the words, expressions flitting across her face, she was back to her normal self.

But where did that “normal self” hold the pain so no one could see? And how had she, as a child, found the wherewithal to construct such walls? How had she maintained the will to live, to go on, with no one? To make something of herself and fulfill her dreams?

He didn’t have no one. He had Mike and Barbara. The people he employed. Friends who still called even after two years of silence from him.

Who did she have?

She snuck a cookie off the cooling rack, her shoulders hunched as if waiting to be condemned for that action. The fact that she felt she had to sneak it broke his heart. What was it like to not feel comfortable helping yourself to a cookie? One she’d slaved over for two days?

Hers was a strength he’d never seen before. Piercing eyes, a determined set to her mouth, a sharp jaw that rounded in softness when she smiled, Jolie was a hell of a lot stronger than she gave herself credit for.

And that strength inspired him.

She inspired him.

***

Whoever said introspection was good for the soul never had a past they wanted to run away from.

And, apparently, she wasn’t the only one. Todd had made darned sure to stay in that west wing until way past a reasonable dinnertime. Which made the roast chicken go cold, so Jolie chopped it up, tossed it with some honey-mustard-flavored mayo, red grapes, and almonds, put it on a bed of endive on a batard, added a tomato rose and parsley garnish to the side, and left him a note on the counter. Past nine o’clock, she called it a night and headed up to bed, Mr. Griff’s book in hand.

Witnessing Miss Rebecca Featherington’s parasol dilemma (her parasol, his body part, their collision) was much more appealing than delving into the dark closets of her own mind.

Just as she was about to turn off the light, Todd ascended the staircase. And sure enough, her nerves got all jumpy and she barely moved in her bed so she could listen.

Why? God only knew. Maybe Miss Rebecca Featherington’s Victorian ideals had rubbed off on her. Maybe she should be clutching her very lacy, very starched white nightrail to her neck so the wicked lord wouldn’t take advantage of her innocence.

And maybe she should abandon Miss Rebecca Featherington and her parasol to over-acting purgatory.

When Todd’s footsteps reached the top of the stairs, a quandary struck. Should she call out “goodnight”? Go to her door to say it? Ignore him and pretend she was asleep? With the light on? Uh oh. What if he came in to turn it off?

Yeah, right. He probably wanted to avoid her as much as she wanted to—

“Jolie? Are you awake?” he asked outside her door.

“Um, yes?”

The doorknob clicked but didn’t open.

“Thanks. For the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It was good.”

“Um… okay?”

With a heavy breath, a little plunk thudded on the other side of the door like his head was resting there. “About this afternoon… “

Oh, God. She couldn’t re-do this. She simply couldn’t.

His knuckles rapped the door. He, apparently, could. “Do we have to talk through this?”

That low, husky question was not good for her equilibrium. “I’m… um… not really dressed.” She couldn’t stifle the groan once the words were out. Good Lord. She used to be able to think straight. Used to be able keep her wits about her, but that capability had flown the coop ever since she set eyes on one unbelievably sexy naked man in his kitchen.

Who now stood outside her bedroom door chuckling at her supposed state of undress. “Well, I guess turnabout is fair play. I just wanted to say thanks for staying.”

“You’re welcome.” He was thanking her?

Todd cleared his throat and the doorknob clicked again, but still didn’t open. “Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She flipped off the light, scrunched down beneath the eight-bazillion count sheets, and smiled herself into Slumber Land.

So this was what it was like to feel wanted.

Chapter Eighteen

Picnic day arrived after a pretty decent, non-emotion-laden second baking day full of snappy tunes, good vibes, and totally surface-level conversation. Todd still did his disappearing act up to the west wing in the evening, but that was okay. All the cookies had been baked, the mess cleaned up, and her gut hadn’t taken any more rapier jabs. Things were looking up.

“You ready?” Todd was looking rather sporty in his navy shorts and red-with-a-gray stripe rugby. White running shoes and sharp sunglasses completed the ensemble.

Jolie elected to go with a yellow sundress (darn, no matching kicky flats), tan sandals, and her own sun-reflective gear. “I’m ready and so is breakfast.”

“Thanks. Mike will be here any minute to help with the cookies.”

They threw back banana chocolate chip pancakes—he did say anything to do with chocolate chips was fine with him—rinsed the dishes and loaded the cookies.

Once Melanie’s passenger seat had the last bag it could hold, Jolie flipped her hair over her shoulder as she stood, a few stragglers adhering to her neck from the slight sheen (she did not sweat) the exertion left on her skin. “We are definitely going to need Mike’s car. It’s going to be pure torture driving with eau de chocolate chip wafting around me.”

“I know what you mean.” Todd closed Mel’s door. “I feel like I should bring a glass of milk, but there probably wouldn’t be any cookies left by the time I got there. Here. Let me.”

She was swiping at those darn wayward hairs when Todd’s finger whispered over her cheek, capturing the strands and tucking them behind her ear.

Such an innocent gesture, really. Nothing to it, right?

Then why did a line of fire shoot straight from her cheek back to the ear he touched—and was still touching?

His finger was just barely grazing, hovering there, but she could feel his warmth like a flambé torch. And it was suddenly very quiet around them, as if the birds took an intermission break. No one drove down his street, there was absolutely no wind to rustle, not a single leaf or errant newspaper, and she was hopeless to do anything but stare up into his mesmerizing green eyes and hold her breath.

He seemed to be into not breathing, too.

Then, softly, almost like a feather, his fingertips glided behind her ear and down her nape, chills and goose bumps following along, and her breathing jump-started into shallow little half-breaths doing the salsa.

Todd broke eye contact and his gaze followed the path of his hand. His golden lashes flickered as his thumb brushed her cheek and lightly stroked her bottom lip.

She was helpless to do anything but watch him and try to keep air going into her lungs.

He didn’t have laughing eyes anymore or a smiling tilt to his mouth. It was as if he were trying to figure out exactly who she was and what she was doing so close to him.

She’d like to know that herself.

His hand slid beneath her hair, his palm scorching the back of her neck, and she was suddenly very hot. Dry-mouthed.

She moistened her lips and he sucked in a breath.

His piercing gaze were back and she couldn’t look away.

His eyes got closer.

Todd got closer.

And suddenly it was his lips that had gotten closer, and a tide of hot burning need swept over her as his mouth covered hers. Someone groaned and she wasn’t sure who.

Todd slid his other hand beneath her hair, cupping her face, and leaned her back against the sun-warmed metal of the car, no room for even air between them. Her arms found their way around that rock-solid abdomen and she was hanging on for dear life, plastered up against that chest she’d seen glistening in sweat, dripping from the pool, and covered in body-hugging clothing, and her knees were threatening a walk-out.

She clasped his back to keep from going boneless and he growled. That was definitely him and she was definitely doing something right to get that reaction. Her heart jumped and she couldn’t help herself, she had to trace the sinewy muscles of his back with the tips of her fingers.

Todd pulled her tighter to him, though how that was even possible she didn’t know, but, honest-to-God there was nothing so thrilling as a lean, muscled man using his power for good.

And this was so good.

But wrong.

So wrong.

How could he do this?

How could she do this?

As his tongue did a sexy, bone-melting, swirly dance on her lips—and traitors that they were, they opened to let him in—Brain picked that moment to get a conscience.

What are you doing, Jolie? asked Brain.

Well, duh. Kissing the hunky guy?

Why?

Because he’s kissing me? Was Brain even in her body? How could it not know this?

And what are you expecting to come from this? You work here, remember? What do you honestly expect to come from this? This isn’t a fairy tale, you know. No guaranteed happily-ever-after. Think you can handle that?

...

And there would be the words of wisdom.

Brain was right. Heart needed protection. Heart had taken some pretty nasty knocks in their collective life and couldn’t bear many more.

She needed the job; he was still in love with his wife. Whatever this was, it wasn’t what she wanted it to be.

So somehow—she wasn’t quite sure how—she managed to pull back from the Todd/Jolie sandwich. Yes, there were a lot of shaky, heavy breaths and connecting body parts, but at least Lips unlocked and Tongues receded to the correct mouths. It was possible Heart could come away from this unscathed.

She nibbled on her lip. Swollen. She shouldn’t do that again.

Although, Todd’s harsh, indrawn breath could entice her to do it one more time.

Just once.

Yep, same harsh breath.

“Jolie.” His fingers feathered her neck again and her feet began to melt onto the driveway at the way he said her name, his voice warm and smooth, wrapping around every letter like caramel on a Halloween apple.

And when he leaned in to go for round two of the knee-trembling, thigh-quivering, stomach-twisting kiss, with yet another warm-as-melted-butter, “Jolie,” she swayed just the slightest bit his way with an answering, “hmmmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Mmmm.” That was nice—

Sorry?

He said he was sorry? For kissing her? As in apologizing, never-should-have-done-it-won’t-happen-again-because-it-shouldn’t-have-happened-in-the-first-place sorry?

Alrighty then.

She stepped back to find herself battling Melanie’s door for space, so she put both hands on Todd’s chest—and not in a good way—and shoved. Enough to show him she meant business.

“Whatever.” She turned around and fumbled with the car door.

“Jolie—”

“Forget it. Let’s just go.”

Why wouldn’t the darn thing open? She jiggled the handle again.

“What about the rest of the cookies?” Todd’s voice was tight, restrained. A bit hoarse.

Oh yeah. Cookies. She leaned her forehead on Mel’s roof. Now she was stuck here waiting for Mike to show.

With someone she wasn’t about to turn around and face.

“Jolie—”

Mike roared up in his black, shiny Navigator as if it were a racecar, ending the moment.

“Mike’s here.” Thank God. “I’ll get the rest of the cookies and you help him make room.” Jolie stepped sideways from her car, leaving Todd to explain the sudden chill in the air to his brother because she just couldn’t.

***

Todd raked a hand through his hair. Smooth move, Best. God, he was an idiot. What the hell had he been thinking?

“Did I interrupt something?” Mike’s car door slammed.

Obviously, he hadn’t been thinking.

He’d been feeling.

Feeling.

He hadn’t felt in… so long. And… God. It’d felt so good. She’d felt so good.

She’d made him feel so good. So alive.

“Todd?”

“Huh? What?” Todd turned around to find Mike too close for comfort. The bond between them that had served him when he was at his lowest was not what he needed now. Mike could read him like a book. “Uh, no. We were, uh, just deciding if we needed your help.”

“And?” Damn Mike for that smile hovering around his mouth.

“And?”

“Do you need my help? Or do you have things under control?” The smartass didn’t even bother to hide the grin now.

“Everything’s fine, Mike. But, yeah, we need your help. Let’s put the seat down so we can get the rest of the cookies in your car.” He bypassed his brother’s smirk and headed to the back of the SUV.

“Todd, seriously. What did I interrupt?”

“Nothing, Mike. You interrupted nothing.”

“A lot of words for nothing.”

“You want to open this trunk? Jolie’s going to be back with the cookies any minute now.”

“For what it’s worth, Barb and I really liked her.”

“For what it’s worth, that’s nice. Now how do you work this thing?”

“You know, Todd, you couldn’t run from the truth two years ago and you can’t do it now.”

“Just shut up, Mike, and open the damn door.” He didn’t need any great revelations from Mike. He was having enough of his own.

One being that Jolie had run from his kiss.

Another, that it bothered him she’d run. More than he had a right to be bothered.

Oh hell. He didn’t have any rights. Not for kissing Jolie; not even for wanting to kiss her.

He was sorry he’d done it. Well, not for the actual kiss, because, honestly, he couldn’t regret it. He should, knowing how he’d felt about Trista, but kissing Jolie had been the first burst of real sunshine in his drab existence of the past two years.

No, he wasn’t sorry for the kiss itself. He was sorry for using her: her zest for life, her exuberance, her generous spirit. Of taking some of that for himself. To absorb some of her positive, sunny energy inside him and allow life and, perhaps, hope, to sprout.

Jolie was life personified, every breath she took filled with such expectation. She was the first person to make him feel alive in two years. The first one to bring him back to himself; the sexual energy was just something extra. Something all her own.

But for her smiles, her laughter, even her singing, he owed it to her to make this right.

And he owed it to himself to not run away from it.

***

Jonathan Griff could barely contain himself. They’d kissed! Oh, he was so happy. It would only be a little while longer; he could feel it.

And soon he’d feel those wings on his back.

But he had to make sure. He didn’t want things going wrong now. Raphael had specifically said no bumps in the road and the emotions were so raw at this point. So new.

He rubbed his chin. No bumps…

He didn’t want to leave this up to chance. No, he’d have to get more involved as the archangel had suggested. Of course, with what had happened the last time he’d gotten physically involved—

But no matter. The fire had worked out for the best for Todd and Jolie. And this time he’d be more careful. No more accidental slippages causing any more damage to their growing relationship.

Chapter Nineteen

“Can I have another cookie?” A cute little girl with braids all over her head batted her big brown eyes at Todd by the dessert table. So young and already so wily. Jolie remembered it well.

“Sure you can, honey.” Todd handed her not one, but two.

“Thankth, mithter,” the girl lisped as she skipped away with her treasure. “You’re the betht!”

Jolie couldn’t stop her chuckle. That girl had no idea who she was talking to, just some nice man with cookies, but yeah, he was the best. Literally and figuratively.

And Jolie really shouldn’t be thinking like that.

Todd looked over, catching her eye, and his smile faded just a bit. He was probably wondering if she was going to get angry over some perceived sexual harassment—with the nudity and the lip-lock, maybe she had grounds.

But, no. He hadn’t made anything a condition of her employment and until that happened, she was going with normal hormonal combustion. And Luck. Whether it was good or bad remained to be seen, but Luck had a lot to answer for in her life anyway—what was one more thing?

Or, maybe he was wondering if she’d get all mushy about the kiss. No worries there. That’d be the last thing she’d do. Matter of fact, she’d ordered Brain and Heart to throw it out of memory. A one-time event; that was it. Not worth the agony of remembering.

But Skin and Mouth remembered and they were shivering.

Traitors.

“Jolie!” Her friend, Chloe White, approached the table. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I work for Todd, er, Mr. Best.” She nodded in Todd’s direction without taking advantage of the opportunity to steal another look at him. Score one for her.

“Hey, Todd.” Chloe waved and took a cookie. “You made these, Jols?”

“Yep.”

“Hi, Chloe.” Todd stood next to Jolie. “Are the girls having a good time?”

“Always.” Chloe, another system survivor, took in foster kids herself. “You know how they look forward to this picnic. It’s been a count-down on our calendar for months.”

“I’m glad. You should bring them by the house to swim sometime. The pool barely gets used.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You know, Todd, you’re pretty lucky to have Jolie working for you.” Chloe munched away with a curious gleam in her eye.

“I know.” Todd’s soft voice did awful/wonderful things to Jolie’s insides.

“She’s an awesome cook.”

“I know.”

“Hello? I’m standing right here?” Chloe’s method was so transparent and Jolie really wished she wouldn’t do what she was obviously trying to do.

“Not to mention, very helpful with my girls.” Chloe blathered on as if she hadn’t heard the censure in Jolie’s voice.

“Really?” Todd asked.

“Yes. She takes them shopping or, if I need to run a few errands, she’ll stop by.” If Jolie still had her kicky yellow flat it’d be protruding from Chloe’s mouth at that moment. “She always has the girls in the kitchen helping her. Some of their best memories are going to be decorating cookies on rainy afternoons.”

“Rainy afternoons. You don’t say.”

Jolie chose to ignore Todd’s gaze as it rested on her—or rather, she let him think she was ignoring it—by adding more cookies to the doily-covered trays in a vain attempt at blending into the background. How did one ask one’s friend to shut her trap in public? Perhaps a well-aimed glare?

“Yep. And every Christmas we have enough gingerbread men to form an army.” The glare hadn’t worked, but luckily for Chloe, a whistle sounded from the field.

“Time for the kickball tournament,” she announced, grabbing another cookie. “I’ve got to get my team set up. Catch up with you two later. Jolie, if you can come by a week from Monday, I’d appreciate it. I’ve got another appointment about the house.”

Jolie nodded and Chloe ran off, and, oh, the awkward silence she left behind.

“So,” Todd said, “gingerbread men?”

“Yep. With chocolate chip buttons, licorice scarves—”

“Whipped cream fur on their hats?”

Okay, that earned a smile from her. She shook her head and finally looked up. Those crinkles around his eyes she liked so much were back. “I refuse to introduce impressionable children to the hazards of whipped cream. We use icing.”

“Ah, icing. Definitely much less hazardous.” For a moment they smiled, and then… it just happened. One little chuckle, then another, and they were back to the easy camaraderie of before. Before The Kiss.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot in common with Mrs. Carleson.” Todd pulled out another aluminum tray and covered it with doilies. Only a real man could handle doilies and maintain his masculinity. “Chloe’s girls are going to remember you later on in life with good memories.”

“I hope so. The good memories, I mean. They are so lucky to be living with Chloe.” Jolie retrieved another bag of cookies and loaded the tray, trying to ignore Todd’s shoulder mere inches from hers. “She’s trying to adopt them, but it’s pretty hard for a single woman, and she’s got a problem with some builder so all her money’s tied up in that legal battle. It’s a bit of a strain on all of them since nothing’s permanent in the girls’ lives. I try to help out where I can.” She folded the empty plastic bags. “If, God forbid, any of the girls gets moved, at least she’ll have our time together to remember.”

“And maybe she’ll become a baker or chef someday, too.”

Boy, did the guy get her or what? “At least she’ll have a direction in her life, a career goal. I know it helped me stay focused. I knew what I wanted in life, where I was going. It kept me on the straight and narrow.”

Todd took the folded bags from her and their fingers brushed. Not much, and not deliberately, just enough to remind her there’d been a reason for The Kiss.

“I guess there are opportunities aplenty for them to stray from that path,” he said as if his skin wasn’t scorched.

“Yeah, desperation and despair are the Pied Pipers of scared and lonely kids.”

“I admire you, Jolie.” His voice went all soft and her legs started with that wobbly-knee syndrome again.

“You… you do?”

“Yes. You’re not about to let life get you down.”

“I’ve only got one life. Might as well make the best of it.”

“When life hands you lemons—”

“I make some pretty awesome lemonade.”

“I’d like to try it sometime.”

They were talking about a drink, right?

“Hey, Todd!” Mike jogged up to the table. “The games are about to start and we need a few words from our CEO.”

Todd’s eyes flickered once more over her face. “Can we talk about… lemonade later?”

She gulped. “Sure.”

He wrapped his un-scorched fingers around her upper arm and gave it a little squeeze. “Thanks. I’ll look forward to it.” He jogged after Mike to the podium on the field.

What a view. Gluteus Toddius all the way.

***

Jonathan Griff popped up at the cookie table, heavy satchel in hand, intent on putting his latest plan into action. This Guardian stuff was not for the faint of heart or the lazy. So many variables, it was like conducting an orchestra. And he was determined to get it right. “How are you doing, my dear?”

“Hi, Mr. Griff. I’m doing well. Yourself?” Jolie looked like a beautiful spring day in her sunny dress and even sunnier smile.

“Good, thanks. I’m doing just fine. It’s good to see you so cheerful. Not like the first time when you were having a bit of a bad day with your shoe.”

“I know. And then both my shoe and I went on to have an even worse night.”

Guilt wicked its way down his back. “Ah, yes, the fire. Have you found a safe place to live yet?” Of course, he already knew how well it’d worked out, but she couldn’t know he knew. It’d be so much easier if Guardians could share their job description with their Charges, but with so many non-believers these days, not to mention dissection-happy scientists and government agencies, that wasn’t a good idea.

“Actually, Mr. Best has let me use one of his rooms until I can find a place in my price range.”

“He’s a good man, that Todd Best. You should stick with that one because you could do a lot worse than him.” But certainly not any better; he was one of the best, no pun intended. There was a reason his family had that last name. Generations before him had earned it.

Jolie’s face reddened and she shuffled the cookies around on the platter before her. “What brings you here today, Mr. Griff?”

“Oh, er, I’ve had my eye on this picnic for a while.” He leaned against the table, crossing one ankle in front of the other and settling in for those Heavenly words of wisdom it was his duty to impart. She was a smart girl; she’d take the message to heart.

“I was thinking that the children would like a few books of their own, and since books are my business, I’d like to donate some. Nothing like losing yourself in a good story, I always say.” He nodded, waiting for her to agree, as he knew she would—and did. “And how are you doing with the one I gave you? The Dashing Rogue, I believe?”

“I love it, thank you. Regencies are my favorite.”

Of course he’d known that. That’d be why he’d chosen it. Full of hope and dreams and, of course, happy endings. All wrapped in a package she’d like.

“They were simpler times then, weren’t they? Nowadays there are all sorts of rules to follow, approvals to be gotten… It’s much harder. But back then, a girl’s Guardian only needed to tell her who she was to marry and she’d go along with it.” Ah, for the good ol’ days.

“That’s simpler? I’d call it indentured servitude of the worst kind.”

That wasn’t supposed to be her conclusion. Indentured servitude? How did people come up with these things?

Jonathan uncrossed his legs and raised himself to his full height, which The Boss had assured him was considerable when righteousness backed it. “As long as the Guardian had the girl’s best interests at heart, it’d be a good thing, right? Most young people can’t tell who’d be perfect for them, so who better to see things clearly than the one who cares for them?”

She… snorted? “Yeah, but if we let the older generations decide everything we’d never have technology or rock music or the right to vote.”

“Ah, but with age comes wisdom, don’t you think?” Goodness, she was a tough sell. He wouldn’t have thought it. Of course, there was her upbringing.

“In some cases, sure,” she argued. “But for a spouse? I don’t think so. How well did all those arranged marriages work out? Were the people happy?”

“And the divorce rate nowadays is such a good indication of the choices your generation has made?”

“But at least they have the choice.”

“So, if someone, say a Guard, er, good friend, drops the perfect man in your lap, you’d walk away from him simply because you weren’t the one doing the choosing?”

“Are you trying to fix me up, Mr. Griff?”

Fiddlesticks. He hadn’t meant to be so transparent.

“Oh no, my dear. I don’ play matchmaker. That’s best left up to those who know better.” Though how much better, he was beginning to wonder.

He glanced skyward. Hopefully The Boss hadn’t heard that. It couldn’t be good to doubt Him or an archangel, but with Jolie’s reticence on the subject, Jonathan had to wonder if Todd truly was the correct choice for her. “I, er, just like giving out some food for thought, that’s all.”

Well, regardless of what he thought, The Boss knew what was best. It was not Jonathan’s place to question—unlike Jolie’s. And he’d better not stay any longer; she’d already guessed too close to the truth. Besides, he had his plan to put into action. “Speaking of giving out food for thought, I’d better get this brain food out to the kids.” He reached into his satchel for a few books and put them on the table, careful not to crush any of the cookies. “I’ll see you again, my dear. Have a blessed day.”

“You too, Mr. Griff. Here, would you like a cookie?”

“Thank you. Why, I knew the sweetest woman once, who could make the best cookies. The woman had a heart of gold.”

Yes, Marybeth Carleson had a heart of gold. One, it seemed, she’d passed on to Jolie, along with the recipe.

***

The picnic was pretty spectacular in Jolie’s opinion. Todd, er, his company went all out for the kids. The picnic was more a fair than an ordinary picnic. Dunking booth, carnival games, the kickball tournament, a watermelon seed- spitting contest, pie-eating contest, and more food than teenagers and their younger counterparts could possibly consume. But Jolie knew these kids; they were hungry in more ways than one. Food was simply the physical manifestation of that hunger, so there wasn’t much left to clean up when the day ended.

And, yes, she was both gratified and proud that every child got at least three cookies and not a single crumb remained.

“My work here is done,” she muttered, rounding up the trays.

“Spoken like a true superhero.”

She spun around to find Todd right behind her and her face took on the temperature of liquid chocolate, warm and melting. “Uh… Hi?”

“Hi.” He laughed and helped toss doilies into the trashcan. “Have fun?”

“It was wonderful. This is a great event.”

“It’s one of my favorites. We’ve been doing it for about six years now.”

He leaned over to wipe the table and she struggled not to watch—that whole “sorry” episode earlier rearing her self-preservation instincts. “The kids seemed to get a lot out of it.”

“They used to get more out of it.” He was still wiping away.

“What do you mean?”

“We used to have an auction in the evening for the community. A lot of corporate sponsors, Best Enterprises, included.” He’d wiped that spot on the table at least six times. “But I haven’t organized it in the last few years.”

Few—or two?

Jolie found her own spot to wipe. “Well, the picnic’s a wonderful thing to do for them. I’m sure they appreciated it.”

“Just like they appreciated your cookies.” The tone in his voice made her look at him. Sure enough, a soft smile graced his lips.

And she had to stop remembering what those lips had felt like.

She turned back to her wiping. “Glad to help.”

“Really?”

That got her attention. No one should ever doubt her sincerity about helping kids in crisis. “You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that, no. But I’m thinking of doing something else and could use your help.”

Oh, well that was different. She abandoned her cleaning frenzy and stood, resting her hand and the dishtowel against her hip. “That sounds mysterious.”

His eyes twinkled. “No James Bond, I promise.” Pity. “Did you see your friend Mr. Griff here today?”

Of course. Covered in a suit so that she’d worried about heatstroke in the midst of their chattel discussion. “Yes. He was giving out books to the kids.”

“I know. What a great idea, and the kids loved it.” Todd reached past her to lift the stacked aluminum trays and she was treated to those flexing pecs and biceps again.

“Anyway, seeing him solidified an idea I’ve had.”

Hmmm, Doily Man was shuffling his feet. “And that is… ?”

Todd took a deep breath as if her were about to plunge from a platform dive. “That book he gave me about Holbein?”

“The Younger.”

A smile. “Yes, the Younger. The portraitist.”

She waited.

“He painted portraits.”

“Got that.”

“Oh, right. Anyway, I, um, thought, that is, I’m thinking about giving it a shot. Painting. Portraits.”

Glory hallelujah! She knew he could do it, she just knew it! “That’s great, Todd! You’ll be painting again. How wonderful! I’m sure Mike will be thrilled.”

And he was back to shuffling, which was quite endearing—not that she needed any help in finding him endearing.

“The thing is… “ He did that hand-raking thing through his hair.

“Go on.”

“I haven’t concentrated on portraits in the past and I’d like you to… “ He shoved both hands into the front pockets of his shorts.

“To… ?”

He cleared his throat and stopped the shuffling, throwing back his shoulders and looking her in the eye. “To pose for me.”

Okay, where’d her tongue go?

She swallowed (twice) and it reappeared. “Pose? Me? For you?” Though it seemed to have lost its capacity for more than the most basic elements of speech.

“Yes. I need a subject and you’re around, and, well, I can pay you.”

Whoa. Wait. She got to spend hours on end in his company and got paid for it while he studied every angle of her face? Was there a downside to this?

It was perfect. A chance to help him and lord knew, she wouldn’t find it a hardshi—

Hold on. Didn’t most artists’ models pose in the—

“How exactly would you want me to, um, pose for you, Todd?” And where did that “sorry” issue come into play?

He got her meaning in an instant. Well, goody, she could make him blush every bit as much as he could her.

“I just want to paint your face, Jolie. I told you that your name fits you, and I’d like to capture it on canvas. You’ve got beautifully expressive eyes, gorgeous high cheekbones, a classically sculpted nose, perfect angles and hollows to practice portraiture. Nothing more.” The blush was gone as he met her eyes, hand over his heart. “I promise.”

“Okay.” She wasn’t giving him any chance to back out. She could do this. For him. For his art. “But on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Well, first of all, you don’t need to pay me. I’m staying in your house on your charity, so now we can call it even.”

“It’s not charity, but fine. Done.”

“And second—”

“You said one condition.”

She gave him her best version of his eyebrow-quirking maneuver. “And secondly, while I’d love for you to start showing again, I don’t want my face plastered all over some art gallery.”

She’d been on a local agency’s flyer for the foster program one year and the ribbing from it made her shy from that type of publicity ever since. Plus, there’d been something about the whole world seeing her at her most vulnerable, and she just didn’t want to ever feel like that again.

And no, there was absolutely no correlation whatsoever between her wanting her privacy and invading his by using him for inspiration for her story. If it ever did see the light of day, no one—including the man himself—would know who’d inspired it. But a painting, especially a portrait… people would have to be blind not to see it was her in that frame.

“Don’t worry about it, Jolie. I’m not planning to show again. This will be for me. I’d like to give it a go for the sheer pleasure of painting. Nothing more.”

“Okay. So, that’s what all the painting and whatnot was with the attic?”

Just remember, Jols, you’re basically a science experiment. Don’t forget it.

Thanks, Naughty Girl, for putting it all in perspective. As if the “sorry” incident wasn’t enough.

“Yes, though the idea actually started when we were talking about the sunset on The Midnight Maiden. As I was reliving how I got started painting, the urge kind of nudged me. Mr. Griff’s book did more nudging.”

“You were pretty interested in it. And I got a whole lesson on Junior.”

“Sorry if I droned on about him.”

“Not a problem.” She shrugged. “I’m glad I could help. And it was kind of interesting, in a medieval sort of way.”

“Tudor, but that’s not important. Anyway, the attic seems like the perfect place to set up a studio, hence—”

“The project.”

“The project.”

“But you told Mike you weren’t going to paint anymore.”

He put both hands on his hips and the movement stretched his shirt across his own set of well-defined angles and hollows. “Of course I did. If he hears I’m even thinking about picking up a brush, he’ll be all over me. You saw what happened when I gave him the last of my landscapes.” He shook his head. “I don’t want him bugging me. This is for me. To see if I can re-discover the joy of the process.”

“And I’m part of the process?”

“You’re part of the process. An essential part.”

“A convenient part. You could have a bevy of fans banging down your door to sit for you for free.”

His fingers reached out to stroke her arm. Mr. Touchy-Feely didn’t seem to be aware he was doing it. “But I feel comfortable around you, Jolie. You won’t ask a dozen questions about my work or my life, or go blabbing to the media. You treat me like a real person, not a celebrity, or worse, someone to be pitied. I don’t have to rehash every painful moment of the past two years. You’re my friend, Jolie, and I can really use one.”

And there went another sucker-punch to the gut. Or somewhere suspiciously close to her heart. The guy had an incredible way with words. He really should try writing.

“Put that way, you’ve got a deal.” Jolie held out her hand.

Todd took a deep breath and looked at her outstretched hand.

He was really going to do this. He was going to paint again.

He could do this with Jolie.

He took another breath and shook her hand and the contact seared up his arm, infusing his body with her vitality. No one was like Jolie.

What about your wife?

Oh hell. He hadn’t thought that. Trista, with her light auburn hair, those amber eyes, her laugh, her smile… She was one of a kind.

Just like Jolie. In her own, different, special way.

Trista was gone. She’d loved him and wouldn’t want him to mourn her forever.

She’d actually want him to move on. Go forward in his life. Maybe even—

Maybe even care for someone else.

He’d never thought he could care for another woman, but the woman in front of him, so bright and optimistic and generous and full of hope, so vibrant and alive…

So damaged from her past yet brave and strong and determined to go on.

No, Trista wouldn’t have a problem with him being attracted to Jolie.

The question was, would Jolie?

Chapter Twenty

“Want to take a dip to cool off?” Todd asked her as they returned home—er, to the house.

His house. Not her house, not their house. Big difference.

“No thanks.” She closed Mel’s door with a crunch that could only mean the seatbelt had made another ding in the doorframe. Just one more dent in Mel’s exterior. Comparisons to herself not allowed.

“That’s a pretty definite no.”

“What I mean is, I want to grab a shower and then I’ve got some more work to do on my, um, you know, book. I haven’t had a chance to add in the crêpes and I might as well do a chocolate chip cookie recipe notation on exactly how much of each ingredient goes into making twenty-four hundred cookies while it’s still fresh in my mind. Plus, I had some other ideas that I’d like to write down and then maybe give them a whirl in the kitchen. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Your brain on warp speed.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “And before you get all uppity about it, I meant it as a compliment. Your mom should have named you Joie de Vivre.”

Joy of living? Happy, carefree? That’s how he saw her?

Wow. She could definitely live with that. “No offense taken.” Especially since he was tucking yet another wayward strand behind her ear. Oh, for a windblown “do” again.

“How about eight o’clock tomorrow?”

“Eight o’clock?” She was still stuck on his fingers in her hair. Maybe his “sorry” earlier wasn’t for kissing her. Just maybe.

“Tomorrow morning? Attic? Remember?” He dropped his hand and thought rushed in.

“Oh. Sure. Eight’s fine. What would you like for breakfast?”

He waved his hand. “Really, I’m fine with cereal.”

“And, really, I’m fine with cooking. It’s what I was hired for, after all. I’ve got a great recipe for a ham and Swiss puff pastry quiche.”

“That’s fine. Whatever works.” Todd did the hands in his pockets thing and the crickets chirped around them. A soft breeze from the river rustled the tree near the driveway while a frog dove into the ornamental pond with a plop. The scent of Todd’s warm skin and that Grey Flannel she liked so much added to the ambiance in a way that could only be described as wonderful.

And then Todd took a step inside her personal space and things went from wonderful to spectacular, what with the moon electing to train its beams on Todd’s golden hair while his gorgeous eyes held hers captive, and memories of The Kiss filling her mind.

Would he or wouldn’t he?

Did she want him to?

Uh, duh…

“Jolie… “

“Todd… “

Nervous laughter broke the spell.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” His voice was husky and this time she knew for sure that nothing was stuck in his throat.

“Yes. In the morning.” Her articulateness was astounding.

“Well, goodnight then.” He didn’t step back.

“Goodnight.” Neither did she.

“Meow.”

Meow?

It took another “meow” before she realized Todd wasn’t imitating a cat, but, rather, a white kitten with four black paws wound around and between their ankles like a Celtic knot.

“Oh, look how cute.” She picked the little guy up. He purred, butting her cheek with his head. “Is he yours?”

“Never saw it before.”

“Do you think he belongs to someone?”

“Probably one of the neighbor kids.”

“It’s a little late to go door-to-door, don’t you think?” And, yep, she did have an inkling what a girl with big violet eyes and a cute little kitten nestled against her cheek could do to a big tough guy’s resolve.

Todd sighed but with a little smile going on beneath that tough exterior as he crossed his arms on his chest. “Okay, you can keep him until someone claims him. I guess we can print up some Found posters.”

“Thanks, Todd.” She gave the kitten a little kiss and he purred even louder. The kitten, not Todd. But she wouldn’t mind Todd doing some purring—”I’ll keep him in my room.”

“Lucky for the both of you I use kitty litter on my driveway in the winter instead of salt, so there’s a bag of it in the garage.” Todd petted their new friend.

Yep. If guys could get a girl’s attention with a puppy, why couldn’t girls do the same with a kitty? The question then begged to be asked about why was she vying for Todd’s attention, but she’d ignore it for a while.

“I bet he’s hungry. I’ll make him some eggs. Unless you’ve got cat food around for some other winter predicament?” Jolie rubbed Mr. Kitty’s cheek with hers, that soft rumble of his tickling.

“Funny.” Todd tapped her nose. The kitten’s, too, before heading for the litter.

Jolie watched him go with a sigh. Could there be something happening between them? Or was she just imagining it? Mom had thought so countless times and those guys had never worked out. What if she had the same tendencies?

That put a damper on the residual goodness of the day, and since the kitten couldn’t answer that question and standing here in the moonlight mooning over Todd definitely wouldn’t, Jolie headed inside to take care of the newest addition to the fami—

To the household. Not the family. There was no family.

“So what are you going to name him?” Todd asked carrying a plastic box filled with kitty litter through the kitchen door.

“Mr. Kitty?” She shrugged, cracking an egg for the kitten who’d decided to take up residence on top of her new sandal.

“Jolie, I can’t go around calling him Mr. Kitty. And how do you know it’s a boy?”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you about the birds and the bees, Todd?” She almost choked on the words, as the image of The Kiss loomed large on her mental horizon.

Todd got a wicked, wicked grin on his face. “Trust me, Jolie, I know all about the birds and the bees.”

“I believe you.” Oh, yeah. No doubt there. Her face was like a thousand degrees, and she spun around to hide that fact, dislodging the kitten who meowed as his bed turned into a carnival ride.

She whisked the eggs a bit harder than necessary. “As to your question, male cats look like a colon under their tail and females look like upside down exclamation marks.”

“Punctuation? That’s how you tell? Thank God humans are different.”

You got that right, buddy. Way different.

“So, is there another choice for a name? I’ll lose all sense of masculinity if I have to call him Mr. Kitty.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Into the pan went the overly-scrambled eggs.

“Killer.”

She snorted. “Puhleaze. Does he look like he’s dangerous?”

They looked down where the kitten had curled up between her feet again. His little pink tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and he snored softly.

“Sleepy.”

The kitten’s tail twitched.

“I don’t think he likes that one, Todd.”

Todd’s eyebrows arched. “How about Socks then?”

“Or Boots. As in Puss-in.” As a writer, she was familiar with this process, kind of stream-of-consciousness rambling to get what she needed.

“Fine. It’s late, I’m sweaty, and you’re naming the newest punctuation mark to join the household Boots. Shoes, Sandals, Sneakers… any kind of footwear is better than Mr. Kitty. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

And there he went, taking all thoughts of what if with him—which was probably for the best anyway. He was just coming out of his self-imposed emotional hibernation; it probably wasn’t the best idea to read anything more into anything other than he was rejoining the world of the living and she just happened to be handy.

Right. That was what she needed to remember.

Jolie hunkered down to pet Boots while he slurped up his eggs—her own little “just so happened to be handy” friend. Nothing wrong with being the “handy” friend, as long as you weren’t looking for professions of undying love and everlasting commitment, though if no one claimed Boots, he could expect just that from her.

What could she expect from Todd?

Jolie couldn’t go there. So she chose to go to her room instead. She settled Boots on the pillow next to her, and he, sweet thing, licked her knee with his sandpaper tongue, then wrapped his tail around his body, flicking it softly against her thigh, his black paws such a contrast against his snow-white fur. He purred himself to sleep while she struggled away on her manuscript. With Todd pulling at her heartstrings, she wanted to imbue Tom with all that emotion. At least it’d be good for something.

An hour or so later, her pencil was a nub and her brain numb, so she put the notebook aside. Tom was working very well now. Perfectly ready to let a woman into his life.

And she wasn’t even going to touch that thought.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Jolie, you need to put the damn cat outside.”

“I can’t. He might run away.”

“Stop moving. He’s distracting me, damn it. Every time I move he’s swatting my shoe laces.”

“So take off your shoes.” Did she just suggest Todd remove an article of clothing?

“Fine.” Todd exhaled and removed them. “Why didn’t you leave him in your room? He’s going to start in on the paintbrushes soon.”

“So give him one. What’s it going to hurt? You have yet to pick up a brush.”

“That’s because I’m sketching you first. Turn your head to the right. There, that’s it. Now tilt your eyes up toward the top of the window. Just like that. Good. Hold it. Don’t move.”

There she sat, staring at a piece of window trim in the west wing the Morning After. Not that this was a Morning After worthy of being called a Morning After, given that the time she was spending with him was relegated to discussions about light, positioning, and, of course, the diatribe against the kitten. An artist’s model’s life was definitely not glamorous. Quite odious, actually. They’d been there for a good two-and-a-half hours so far and Todd had said all of six words which weren’t cat-related: “Good morning,” “Sit here,” and the ever-present “Don’t move.”

Yep, that was about it. She was hoping it was simply that he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that morning and that this wasn’t his normal artistic temperament. Because, if it was, she might push for an end to his re-instituted career before he’d even had a chance to get started. Or at least suggest he find a new model because she didn’t care how cute and sweet and caring and sexy and funny and friendly and nerve-shivering he was, this was not worth it.

“You know, Jolie, you really are a beautiful woman.”

Well, okay, maybe it was. “Um, thanks?”

“Don’t move.”

And there went that moment.

“I just hope I can do your bone structure justice. The way your lashes brush beneath your eyebrows—they’re incredibly long, but natural-looking. Not come-hither. More… inviting. Yes, that’s the word. A window dressing for your soul. I’ve got to get the curve of them right.”

Wow. He could say that without dissolving into a puddle of mush on the floor? She, on the other hand, was getting quite boneless. “Todd—”

“Ssh. Don’t move your mouth. I’ve got to get the tip of your lip right where it vees into the middle.”

Yeah, well, he’d better get the droplets of moisture (not sweat because she didn’t) beading above said lip before they cascaded all over the place.

“I’ve got an itch.”

His sigh was loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Fine. Take a break.”

She scratched the itch on her hand, rolled her head, worked the kinks out of her shoulders, did a few arm swings. At least she had a pillow on the stool so Tush was in decent shape, but her right calf felt as if it’d fallen asleep. She did some toe-pulls to stave off a charley horse and a minute or two of run-in-place.

“What are you doing?”

“Stretching?” Novel concept.

“You need to stop. You’re shaking the floor and your lip line is going to bleed charcoal as if you don’t know how to use lipstick.” He rubbed the canvas with his little finger and his brows scrunched down until his eyes were almost invisible. And there he went with that hand through the hair again.

“Are you always this chatty when you paint?” She couldn’t help the nudge. It was like some little imp got inside of her and wanted to push Todd’s buttons.

I know some buttons I’d like to—

Be quiet, Naughty Girl.

Spoilsport.

“Huh? What?” Todd took the stick of charcoal from his teeth, leaving a gray smear beside his mouth.

“I said, don’t you think you should take a break? Your hair is sticking up from where you’ve run your fingers through it too many times, you’ve got a streak of charcoal across your cheek, and your personality is as sparkling as a flat bottle of old cider.”

“What?” He sighed. “Sorry. I guess I got involved.”

“A bit.”

“I just want to get this right. It’s much different trying to convey the intelligence and beauty of a face than depicting nature. Portraits are so, well, personal. I’ve got to capture the essence of my subject in a way I’ve never done before.”

Forget those quivering thighs. Face, portrait, subject—she was just a facial subject on a piece of canvas and she really had to concentrate on remembering that.

And not let Heart slip into Stomach at the realization.

“Can I see it?” She did a little hop-step over to the easel.

“No.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, actually I’m not.”

“But it’s a picture of me.”

“And I’m the one painting it, therefore, I call the shots. No one sees my work until it’s ready for presentation.”

The half-grin on his face told her he knew it was bugging her not to see it, and that he was enjoying bugging her, but no way was he going to let her see it.

“Fine.” Two could play that game. “Then you can’t see my book until it’s finished.” Oh lord oh lord oh lord. Open mouth, insert kicky yellow flat-less foot.

“Fair enough. Now are you finished stretching?”

Shoot. He won that round. She glared at him as she re-took her perch on the boring stool, readjusting her purple t-shirt. “What time’s lunch? As the chef, I need to get started.”

“Have you really worked up an appetite sitting there?”

Truly, he had no idea. “Actually, I thought you might have, seeing as how you’re working so hard.”

“Why, Jolie, is that sarcasm I hear?” He raised his eyebrow, which raised her body temperature, and she had to look somewhere else. “Let me finish your cheek while the sun is at this angle and then we can call it quits for the day. Okay?”

Smooth, warm-as-honey, conciliatory words did wonders in an argument. “Okay.”

***

Just how long did the sun remain in one angle? Didn’t it travel across the sky in something like sixty minute intervals until high noon, at which point the sun was, well, high? As in, straight up in the sky? As in, it couldn’t possibly be casting any shadows because it wasn’t on an angle?

Apparently such knowledge was beyond her hero over there, who was still sketching away. She must have an awfully big cheek if he was working on it for over an hour. Talk about unflattering.

The charley horse was coming; she could feel it. It was about the only thing she could feel. Her feet were asleep, her legs were cramping, and her tush had high-tailed it to China about twenty minutes ago.

“I’m sorry to be a nudge about this, Todd,” she said in the sweetest voice petrified lips and a dry throat could muster, “but is there any chance we can stop? If nothing else, Mother Nature needs a visit.”

He was really into the sketch, arm extended, swishing across the canvas in quick little strokes. His lips were a thin line and he was biting the top one a bit. Too cute. A lock of that gorgeous hair was flung sideways across his forehead, just begging to be smoothed back. Well, in her imagination anyway.

“Yoo-hoo. Todd?”

“Give me a minute,” he gritted out between his teeth.

She was so tempted to do the Jeopardy theme, but that might really bug him. And, even though he bugged her with not letting her see the piece, she didn’t want to put any onuses on his painting. Instead, she elected to pass the time quietly—a rarity for her since silence made her edgy, which only underscored her determination to help him out.

Besides, she’d been staring at that darn window trim for so long she hadn’t really noticed the rest of the place. He’d painted three walls a bright yellow and the other a sky blue, as if he wanted to bring sunny days inside. And he must have actually done that, opening every window in the joint (of which there were many) for the last two days because there was only the faintest trace of new paint smell. But it was closed up today, so it was a good thing he’d installed a wall A/C unit because any more heat in this place could melt a glacier or two.

A plump white sofa sat in the corner, a comfy chair also in white near it, a couple of orange throws flung over the arm rests, and a geometric-design rug under the grouping on the hardwood floor. One lone chrome floor lamp rose up and over the seating area and colorful tropical plants in beautiful clay pots dotted the set-up. The guy definitely had an eye for color.

Finally, he sighed and gave one last two-handed rake through his hair, hiking his faded royal blue t-shirt up a bit over his waist. Between the glimpse of naked abs and him working out his own kinks, her traitorous fingers were itching to do some walking, and she didn’t mean through the Yellow Pages.

“Thanks.” He stretched his palms outward, fingers interlaced. “That—” he indicated the canvas, the brushes, and his whole studio in general—”felt good.”

“I’m glad.” There was a moment of silence, expectant, eager, while their eyes did some heavy-duty communicating. She wasn’t quite sure what they were saying to each other, but if the smiles were anything to go by, it was all good.

“Ready to grab a bite?”

The man did have a way with words.

Chapter Twenty-Two

After four hours of sketching, Todd had a new appreciation for the human form, but that appreciation took on new meaning as he followed Jolie back to the kitchen along the flagstone path. Long, toned legs, rounded butt, the silky fall of her hair…

Staring at her for so long today, tracing the curves of her face with his eyes, then doing it on paper—he was only human. And there was that kiss between them that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

“So is it almost done?” Sunshine bubbled over Jolie’s shoulder with her smile when she looked back.

“Done? No, not yet. There are so many nuances. Take the nose, for example. It has so many contours, the shadows, the bridge. It can take a while to capture it perfectly. And a cheek—just a curve, right? Not really. The tightness of the skin, the imperfections, the texture… What a challenge to—”

“Imperfections? My cheek?” Jolie stopped in front of one of the French doors and ran her fingertips over her cheek. “Where?”

Todd stood behind her and their eyes connected in the glass pane.

Time stopped.

Which it shouldn’t. Not if he wanted to be able to finish the painting. Not if he didn’t want her to quit because of inappropriate advances. She was his employee and that kiss should never have happened—not that he could have stopped it. Just like he couldn’t stop staring at her. Couldn’t stop wanting to touch her.

Todd swallowed. “Not your cheek, Jolie. Yours is flawless. You… your skin is flawless.”

“It is?”

“Jolie, I told you. You’re a—” His voice deepened and he couldn’t stop that either. Hell, he was having a hard time breathing. “A beautiful woman.”

She turned around. To face him. Up close.

“I am?” she whispered.

“You are.”

He should take a step back. Turn around. Something. It was too intimate. They were too intimate. He had to stop noticing the warmth in her violet eyes, that slight curve of her mouth—hope or happiness? Maybe both. She hadn’t taken this job to have him maul her. He had to put out of his mind how she was the perfect height for him. How her head would fit beneath his chin if he were to embrace her, how the fall of her hair would brush his stomach, how her breasts would press against his chest—

His fingers strayed to that flawless cheek, a breath away from her skin and—

“Boots!” Jolie yelled, jostling the suddenly squirming little bugger in her arms, who was, if Todd read it right, digging his claws into her skin.

Foiled by a cat.

He should probably thank the little furball. He needed distance from Jolie. Professional distance.

And emotional.

***

Phew! That was close. Jonathan wrapped all four of his paws around Jolie’s arm and hung on, not daring to take one off to smooth out the twitch by his eye. He hadn’t meant to dig his claws in so hard, but being squished between the two of them in the approaching kiss hadn’t been part of his plan.

Not that he didn’t want them to kiss again; he just didn’t want to be such an intimate part of it. Besides which—

“We’re back.” The sing-songy voice was just what Jonathan had been expecting.

Thank goodness Jasmine Gray had finally shown up. It was about time. She had a part in this whole thing, and her gallivanting around someplace else was not going to help these two. Still, one couldn’t stop Mother Nature when the will to procreate was upon Her, and Jasmine did deserve to see her grandbaby. It was just unfortunate timing that the baby had arrived when Jolie was set to meet Todd.

“Jasmine.” Todd’s greeting was about as short as one could get. Probably because he realized how close he’d come to embarrassing all of them if he’d acted on that kiss. But Jonathan had plans for that.

Raphael had been right; this being-part-of-the-action was a good thing. Todd and Jolie needed to come together and do so seamlessly. Each had been too hurt, through too much. It was their time now. With no bumps, no dings, not even a swerve.

A kitten was the perfect, inconspicuous cover and he was going to make sure everything that needed to happen, happened. With Jasmine’s help. After all, it’d been her idea in the first place to lead Todd back to the land of the living.

“Oh, Todd, it’s so good to be back. I, of course, loved seeing our grandson, but there’s no place like home.” Jasmine stepped from the kitchen and Jonathan raised his head, thankful for once for the twitch. Jasmine would recognize it. And him.

He hid a smile when her eyes narrowed. She’d figured out exactly what his presence meant, even though he hadn’t warned her Jolie was The One. Every other chef the agency had sent over had been in preparation, but Jasmine, a mortal, was not permitted to know the Ultimate Plan before it unfurled.

Jasmine smiled one of her biggest smiles. “You must be the new chef.”

“Yes, I am.” Jolie stuck out her hand. “Jolie Gardener.”

Jonathan waited. Jasmine was nothing if not predictable.

He was proven right again as Jasmine shook Jolie’s hand for a mere second before pulling her into an embrace. Plump and round, with gardenia perfume and a gray topknot on her head, Jasmine was everyone’s idea of motherly, something and someone Jolie sorely needed in her life, and the only reason Todd hadn’t been able to give in completely to his despair.

It was because of this woman’s unselfish love that her prayers for a new wife for Todd were about to be answered. If Jonathan could ensure their path was smooth.

“Welcome, Jolie!” Jasmine tucked Jolie’s arm under hers and pulled her close—just as Jonathan knew she would. “We’re going to have such a lovely time. I’ll go over Todd’s schedule with you and tell you what he likes to eat and—”

“Jasmine,” Todd interrupted, “Jolie’s been here almost a week.”

“A week? But you weren’t supposed to have anyone—”

“I know, but somewhere the lines got crossed.”

Jonathan wondered if those crossed lines were part of The Plan. Apparently Guardians didn’t get to know the entire Plan either. The Boss did like to work in mysterious ways.

“She started a little early,” Todd continued. “Good thing, too. She made cookies for the annual picnic. The kids gobbled them up.”

“How wonderful. Those kids need some treats in their lives.” Jasmine released Jolie and, going along with Jonathan’s charade, plucked him from Jolie’s arms and held him beneath his “armpits.” Dangling was not fun. “And what have we here?”

“Oh, well, he found us, and Todd said—”

“How precious! Does he have a name?”

“Boots,” Todd and Jolie answered together, one with a smile, the other with a snort.

He wasn’t too thrilled with the name either, but since “Boots” was the first “pet” Jolie had ever named, he’d deal. And they had come up with the name together, so there was that.

“Boots?” Jasmine’s tone went along with Todd’s derision. “What kind of name is that for a kitty?”

Todd cleared his throat. He was definitely a kind man, not wanting to hurt Jolie’s feelings about the stupid name. “Trust me, Jasmine, it’s better than what he started out with. I hope he won’t bother you, but he sort of adopted Jolie, so until someone claims him, he’s ours.”

Definitely a kind man, letting Jolie care for a stray. The man was compassion personified. These two would make wonderful parents.

“Of course he won’t bother me, Todd.” Jasmine positioned him in the crook of her arm. “Well then, Boots, let’s see about getting all of you some lunch.”

“I was just about to—” Jolie said.

“Oh p-shaw.” Jasmine frittered her fingers. “It’s already started. Grilled chicken and asiago cheese on focaccia. Piece of cake.”

Jonathan could relate to the surprised look on Jolie’s face. Jasmine certainly wasn’t one to let moss grow under her feet.

Which was why she’d called on her own Guardian after Trista died. Jasmine had been Jonathan’s first solo venture at caring for a Charge and a relatively easy one at that since she’d been born with a charm on her shoulder. She’d made all the right choices in life, loved and was loved; nothing for him to do, really, though he’d had to save her from a terrible scooter spill when she was ten. He’d inadvertently revealed himself, which was the basis for both the delay in earning his wings and these interim challenges. But it had forged a bond between them so when she’d implored him to help Todd, well, he’d taken the request to The Boss and the rest, as they say, was history.

Now on to the future. Their future.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jolie followed Mrs. Gray into the kitchen. She’d never met anyone like her. Commandeering but endearing. Bossy but empathetic. Sweet, loving, and an awesome hugger. Everything a mother should be.

“Earl, this is Jolie, the new girl,” Mrs. Gray said to a man seated at the table. “So you see, Todd wasn’t alone and starving while we were gone.” She directed Jolie and Todd to the table while Boots got the laundry basket treatment and a slice of cheese.

Earl stood and shook Jolie’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”

This was Todd’s gardener? The guy looked ninety years old and as frail as a puff of air. Why was she thinking there was a top-secret landscape company involved somewhere?

“You must tell me all about yourself, Jolie.” Mrs. Gray placed their sandwiches on the table. “The last girl? Michelle? She was a dear, though she had the worst luck with her alarm clocks. Never could get here early enough.”

“Now, Jasmine, you know I told her not to come in so early,” Todd broke in, which was pretty impressive with the way Mrs. Gray never took a breath. And he thought she talked a lot?

“Pish. I was the one who ended up making your breakfast. Not that I minded, but still, it was one of her duties. She just wasn’t right for you, Todd.”

Who was she trying to kid with that mock severity? The love she felt for Todd was just beaming through every pore.

“Well, you won’t have to worry with me,” Jolie added. “If I oversleep, Todd can just knock on my door.”

Or any time he wants—

“Beg pardon?”

And again with the inappropriate comments, but Todd came to the rescue. “Jolie’s apartment burned down her first day here, so I offered her one of the empty rooms. You know, one of the ones I offered you and Earl, but you refused to take?”

Mrs. Gray’s skin pinkened but her indefatigable-ness re-surfaced as she bustled more about the kitchen, tossing some chicken scraps to Boots. That was going to be one very happy kitten. “How very sad for you, my dear. And so gallant of you, Todd.” She sent an approving smile his way.

Mrs. Gray’s sandwiches were very good and if Jolie were actually writing a cookbook she’d include them. Mrs. Gray was chatty in a curious sort of way, but not intrusive. Jolie liked her—especially since the love the housekeeper had for Todd was so obvious. It was a good thing he’d had her in his life to help him through those tough years.

Earl, seemingly content for his wife to monopolize the conversation, was a shadow next to her, but affection ran between them as she spared a glance his way every so often with a smile just for him or re-arranged his napkin or refilled his iced tea, that sort of thing. Just like she did for Todd. And for her. As if they were family.

Jolie sputtered into her iced tea.

“Are you okay, dear?” Mrs. Gray asked, her eyes all warm and concerned.

Jolie nodded , but couldn’t get a word out, half afraid to answer because of what might come out.

A family. The one thing she wanted above all else in this world.

But one kiss did not a fairytale ending make and she had to remind herself of that. Of what it felt like to hope, only to have those hopes crash and burn.

She’d survived it once—barely. And bare or not, she didn’t think she’d survive Todd.

***

“So, my dear, tell me how you’ve found working for Todd.” Mrs. Gray pounced on Jolie not two seconds after the men departed the kitchen—and in no way was that a surprise.

“He’s pretty easy to please food-wise.”

“I know. That’s why this is such a perfect job for a young girl like you, though I’ve told him time and again I’m perfectly capable of feeding him.” She stacked the plates in the sink and made a big production of scrubbing them.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to take advantage of you?”

Mrs. Gray shone a grateful smile to Jolie, complete with little sparkling drops in her eyes, and clutched the dishtowel to her chest. “Oh, that’s so sweet. And he is, you know. Sweet.”

Jolie nodded, pretty much in agreement there, though she would’ve added hot and sexy too, but she’d go with sweet for now.

“You do know about his wife?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Gray clicked her tongue. “We practically raised Trista, you know. Parents always traveling so someone needed to be at home when the dear thing came home on break from boarding school. She didn’t have much of a family. All those trappings and ritzy vacations and high-end schools added up to one lonely life. I felt so bad for her. You can imagine how happy we were when she met Todd.”

Jolie nodded, but why was Mrs. Gray telling her this?

“Her parents weren’t, though. He was a poor, starving artist. Not someone worthy of a Pennington in her parent’s estimation.” Mrs. Gray sniffed. “Hogwash. Why, he was perfect for her.”

Jolie’s stomach thudded. Just rip her heart out right now, why didn’t she? Todd was perfect for Trista, ergo, he couldn’t be for Jolie. Why the torture? Though, if she were honest with herself, this was just what she needed to hear to banish those aforementioned hopes—but honesty wasn’t ranking high on her list of wants and needs at the moment.

“And the two of them, they proved her parents wrong. Beautifully wrong. I was so proud.” Mrs. Gray sniffed and Jolie was right there with her. “And then for her to… to… “

She covered her face with the dishtowel for a moment, composed herself then continued, “Well, you can see why we’re so protective of Todd. He’s family, and family’s important.”

Ah. Protective. Got it.

Jolie stood. “Mrs. Gray, really, I have no designs on replacing Trista in Todd’s life. Honestly, I just want to do a good job and—”

“Oh, no, my dear.” The plump little lady had some muscle under that skin when she grabbed Jolie’s my wrist. “That’s not what I meant at all.” She tugged Jolie back into her chair and covered Jolie’s hands with her own. “Where is Todd right now?”

“The west wing. I mean, in the garage attic.”

“And what’s he doing?”

“Painting. Well, sketching actually. I think the painting part comes next.”

Mrs. Gray smiled, squeezing Jolie’s hand. “You’re the first person to get him to even mention the word ‘painting’ again without a growl, let alone pick up a brush. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Really, it has nothing to do with me.”

Mrs. Gray raised her eyebrows.

“Honestly. He said it’s been percolating in his head for a while. I think it was Mr. Griff’s book about portraits that really did the trick.”

The housekeeper did the hand-patting thing again and nudged Boots’s laundry basket with her foot, which woke the little puffball up, causing him to leap to the kitchen floor like the devil was on his tail. “Mr. Griff, was it? If you say so, dear.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jolie wasn’t sure what it was she and Mrs. Gray accomplished with their girl-talk, but apparently she’d gotten a seal of approval on something so farfetched it’d be laughable if it weren’t so desirable. But just because Todd was painting again—and it was her he was painting—and they had some chemistry (Mrs. Gray surely didn’t know that), did not mean there was anything more to it than painting. But just in case…

“Todd?” Jolie opened the door to the west wing, kitty in hand, er, crook of her arm.

Todd was deep in concentration with another charcoal stick between his teeth and hair mussed again, but his arm was moving furiously over the canvas. More canvases were stacked on the floor beside the running shoes he had yet to re-don, with one canvas leaning against a leg of the easel.

Wow. When he said he was going to start painting again, he wasn’t kidding. It looked like he had enough canvas prepped for a marathon session.

She should go. This probably wasn’t a good idea, whether or not Mrs. Gray condoned it.

She was just about to close the door when Boots jumped from her arms with a “meow.”

Todd looked up, his eyes all deer-in-the-headlights.

“Um… hi?” Jolie did a little finger twiddle.

Todd whipped the charcoal out from between his teeth. “What’s up?”

“I, uh… never mind.” Darn cat. She tiptoed in. “Sorry to have bothered you. I’ll just get Boots and be out in a jiffy.”

He sighed and sent her pulse streaking through her veins as he did the hand-through-hair move again. “What do you need, Jolie?”

“Need?” She could think of quite a few things, but none were appropriate at the moment.

“The reason you’re here?”

“Oh. That.” Wanted to see you in action? No, that didn’t sound right. Missed you? Definitely not. “Um, just wanted to see how it’s coming?”

“Jolie, I told you no one sees these. Not even you, okay?” Todd stood with a soft smile on his lips.

“I guess.” But she really did want to see that picture. Or, did he say these? There were more than one? How was that possible? She was with him the whole four hours—and she knew four hours of stool-perching when she did them—and he had not changed canvasses at all. “Will I ever get to see them?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. If I’m satisfied. Otherwise I’ll just paint over them and start over.”

“So, are you satisfied?” Jolie gulped. Count on Naughty Girl to show up for that comment. “With them, I mean. Are you satisfied with them?”

“Not yet.” He looked back at the canvas, his arms crossed over his chest, a charcoal slash on the faded t-shirt, the sun highlighting the blond hair on his forearms.

Forearms? First knees, now arm hair. She was noticing a lot more detail these days. Perhaps she should take up painting.

“It is my first day, after all,” Todd continued, oblivious to the minutiae that so fascinated her. “I’m working on form, perspective. Plus there’s an essence to you I want to capture. I haven’t gotten it yet.”

“An essence?” That ended the minutiae pondering.

“Something. I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t get it to come out of the charcoal, but whatever it is, it’s you. Who you are. I can see it in you, just below the surface, but I can’t replicate it on canvas.”

He walked toward her, the gray painter’s shorts hanging low on his hips, and he stopped a hair’s breadth too far away. His finger traced her cheekbone. “As if you’re a rose just waiting to bloom, the moment before the petals unfurl. One touch of the sun and you’ll burst into beauty.”

Oh my.

His fingers traveled softly down to her jaw line, just dancing on the surface of her skin, but every soft touch swirled her tummy like a waltz and she was powerless to say anything.

Speech might have left, but Touch and Smell were alive and well and working overtime. He was so close she could almost taste the warmth of his skin, the slightest hint of perspiration, that maddening Grey Flannel that wrapped its own essence around her like a warm mist from a hot spring. She could drown in the scent of Todd and die a happy woman.

His fingers slid under her chin and with very little urging she tilted her head back. He closed the distance between them and his height was just perfect to stand over her, to thrill but not intimidate.

Which was fine because her feelings were doing their own intimidating.

Jolie took a deep breath, both to infuse her mind with essence du Todd and also gather her bearings because if she was ever going to have a prayer of a happily-ever-after, she had to risk her feelings at some point.

His eyes swirled with every different shade of green there was, a stormy ring of dark gray around the pupils, and she was caught in their snare. Here, too, she could drown in those depths and not mind at all.

Todd invoked one churning sea of roiling emotions in every fiber of her being and she swayed into him, as natural as breathing.

“Jolie,” he whispered, doing some swaying of his own.

It didn’t take much before they were within each other’s sway, and arms became involved. And lips. Man, did lips become involved, and this kiss was every bit as spectacular as yesterday’s.

And she was in so much trouble.

It wasn’t just a kiss in the general sense of the word. It was another Kiss. One she’d never forget.

And would probably never duplicate with anyone but him.

It was that thought which gave her the strength to pull back. Well, that and maybe just a tad bit of abject terror of getting hurt.

“Todd, I… “ What? Needed his kiss for her very breath? Would never kiss another man as long as she lived? What? “I… wonder where Boots is.” Oh boy, was that lame.

“Boots?”

She could so identify with his disbelief.

“Um, yes. My kitten?” She tucked some un-tucked hair behind her ears and looked away. “He’s here somewhere.”

“Boots.”

“Yes, Boots.”

Todd took a big breath and ran a hand through his hair.

At some point she really needed to ask him to stop doing that or she might be back in a clinch with him again, this one of her own doing.

“Jolie, you’re not worried about Boots.”

“I’m not?”

“No.”

“But I am.”

“No.” He took her hand. “You’re not.” He tugged her over to the sofa. “You’re avoiding what just happened.”

“I am?”

That got a smile out of him. Good. That made one of them.

“Yes, you are.” He sat and patted the seat next to him. “Sit.”

Any other time she would have said, “Woof,” or “Yes, master,” but not now. Instead, she re-tucked that un-tucked hair then put her hands beneath her thighs and sat.

“Jolie.”

She bit back the sigh at her name and, instead, bit her lip as she faced him. “Yes?”

“I’m not sorry I kissed you.” His eyes were all solemn.

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m not. Today or before the picnic.” He tugged on her hand, and reluctantly—okay, not that reluctantly—she gave it to him. The man had just said he wasn’t sorry he kissed her. That could only be good.

Hopefully.

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but that was because, well, I was surprised that it had happened. But I’m definitely not sorry.”

“Surprised?” She was sounding more like a parrot by the minute.

“I haven’t kissed anyone in two years.”

“Then why did you? Kiss me, I mean?” Oops, Naughty Girl jumped out of her hiding place.

“Because it felt right.”

Okay, Legs were melting.

“And because I wanted to.”

And there went Tummy.

“You did?” Sheesh, what was next? Polly want a cracker?

“Yes. And you wanted to, too.”

And there was the tidal wave of a blush. Of course she’d wanted to. He had to know that, so why was she acting like a teenager with her first crush?

Because he truly was her first crush.

And she was more than a little worried that it might end differently than how she’d like. When she allowed herself to think about what she’d like, that was.

So she wouldn’t. Think about it. Scarlett did okay in the end and she would, too.

“Jolie? You did want to?”

Lying by omission was one thing, but to his face? Not quite. “Yes, you’re right. I did. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” He laced his fingers with hers. “I’m flattered.”

She was hoping for more than flattered. Turned-on, unable to live without you, thinking of forever, take your pick. Flattered fell way down on her list. “Well, that is, I, um, work here and—”

“This has nothing to do with our working arrangement. Nothing at all. It’s not like I’ve kissed every woman who’s cooked for me in the last two years.”

“You haven’t?”

He brushed something from her forehead. “No. I haven’t. Not a one. But with you, I may want to again.”

There went Heart. “You will?”

He nodded with a twinkle in his eye. “Any objections? And no strings attached, no matter what your answer. Promise. Your job is secure, regardless.”

Now there was an offer. Full of possibilities. One of them being heartache.

What would the heroine of her story do?

That probably wasn’t the best question to ask since everything always worked out in romance novels and this was her life she was talking about, but Todd wasn’t like any of Mom’s losers, so she’d be foolish to not take the chance. Of course, she might be foolish for doing so, but nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that. “Nope. No objections.”

He un-tucked her other hand and linked all four of them together. “I’m not sure where this will lead, I want you to understand that. But since yesterday morning, I’ve had a hard time concentrating on anything besides what it felt like to hold you in my arms. Sketching you today was that much harder, I think, because I was trying to capture what I felt when we kissed.”

She wanted to ask him what exactly he had felt, but would she like the answer? What if it didn’t measure up to what she felt? She couldn’t be the one to feel more. She just couldn’t. She’d done that too many times in her life and, while she’d survived the crushing disappointment up to this point, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to this time.

“Will you be able to capture it, Todd?”

His smile was soft and melted-bones inducing. “I’m sure going to try.” He wrapped his big strong hands around hers and her skin sizzled and tingled in every good way. He placed a soft kiss to the back of each hand. “But I may need you to sit for me some more.”

“You will?” She wasn’t all that enthused about the idea. Charley Horse Leg twinged in agonized remembrance.

“I promise to give you something more comfortable than the stool, okay?”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? No twenty-questions on what we’ll use? No dissertation on the merits of cotton fiber versus wooden furniture?”

He got her. Totally. And managed to make her laugh so easily. “Anything has to be better than that stool.”

“Hey, I gave you a pillow.” Oh, so now he was doing insulted.

She could, too. “And, for that, Tush thanks you. The rest of me, however, is pretty jealous of Tush, so you’ll have to make all of me happy next time.”

There was a heartbeat—or seven—of silence.

But Naughty Girl was fist-pumping all over the inside of Jolie’s brain.

Todd unlaced his fingers and cupped her cheek. “I’ll try.”

Whoa.

So, they were leaning in, lips just about to make contact, when who should appear? And she wasn’t talking eight tiny reindeer.

“Meow.”

“Boots,” they said in unison, laughing as a whiskered white face appeared between them. Kitty-boy was doing his own leaning in—off the back of the sofa to get his muzzle between them. Now the cat had an agenda, too?

Boots might want to talk with Mrs. Gray because apparently his agenda was in direct opposition to hers.

Todd picked the kitten up. “And where have you been? Kind of interesting you choose this moment to interrupt.” He plopped Boots onto her lap and the little moment-ruiner did a few circles with some finely honed claws before curling himself into a powder puff, staring at the two of them, his tail flicking her leg, one black paw forward, almost drumming his kitty fingers on her skin.

“I’ve heard of guard dogs, but a guard cat?” Todd laughed.

“Do I need guarding?” Naughty Girl just couldn’t mind her own business.

“I—” Todd reached out for her hand and Boots swatted it. Chuckles escaped from both of them as Boots pulled his paw back to lick it.

“I guess he thinks so.” Todd nudged her chin up to look in her eyes. “But I have no idea. This is all new to me, Jolie. I haven’t found myself wanting to kiss anyone since I met Trista. I can’t promise anything, because I have no idea what’s happening.”

“No idea?” There was Naughty Girl again, but Jolie was with her on this one. He certainly had some idea because his body parts were all in perfect alignment with hers a few moments ago.

“Other than I want to kiss you again and I like being around you, no. I never thought I’d want to feel even that again. And now I do.”

“And now you do.” His lips were beautifully shaped, the fuller bottom one just right for taking between her teeth and give a little tug before—

“What are you thinking?”

“Thinking?” Please don’t let that be her Anne Bancroft voice.

“Yeah, what were you just thinking?” He had his own Barry White going, mesmerizing her. Honestly, she could just stare at his mouth all day.

“Your mouth,” she answered.

“My mouth?” He groaned. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Easy?”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so monosyllabic before.”

He started to reach for her hand again and Boots shifted on her lap, his raised paw fending off approaching fingers.

Todd did the “hands-up” stance. “Okay, Boots, I give up. She’s your property. Got it.” He looked at her. “But I’m going to be trespassing whether that cat likes it or not.”

She couldn’t stifle the shiver that raced down her spine until Boots dug his claws in her leg, ending that delicious moment.

“So.” Todd sat back and folded his hands on his (flat, sculpted, toned, hard, six-pack) abdomen. “Guard cat aside, what was it you came in here for in the first place?”

“Um… “ Yeah, what exactly had been her motivation? At this point she was lucky she remembered her own name, let alone motivation. “Oh, I was wondering what I should make for dinner tonight since Mr. and Mrs. Gray are here. Is there anything special they like?”

“Anything you want to serve is fine. I doubt if they’ll even stay. They just got back and they’re not as spry as they once were. My bet is they’re probably already on their way home to recover from their trip and get to bed early.”

Truly he did not understand women. That whole Venus/Mars dichotomy. After that conversation she’d had earlier with Mrs. Gray, she was betting the Grays wouldn’t be out of Todd’s house until their stay was bordering on rude.

“Humor me.” She set Boots on the floor and stood.

Todd followed her up, giving Boots a nudge with his toe. “She’s a big fan of Italian food.”

“Okay, I’ll do manicotti.”

“Isn’t it late in the day for spaghetti sauce?” He traced her arm from wrist to shoulder.

“Trade secret.” Boots was doing figure eights around her ankles. All sorts of touchy-feely stuff she was suddenly finding more than bearable.

“Honestly, Jolie, don’t bother. I’m sure they’re gone. And, really, I’m not picky about dinner.”

“Trust me, okay? I have a feeling they’re staying so I want to make a nice dinner for them. Besides, cooking is what I do. Why I’m here, remember?”

His hand stilled on her shoulder and he searched her eyes. “You’re right. Jasmine will probably have a ton of pictures she wants to show me of her new grandson. It’s her fourth, but she treats each one as if it were the first. Family’s important to her.”

“I know. She told me.”

“She did?”

“Yep. And she considers you family. That’s why she’ll stay.”

Todd dropped his hand, shoving both in the back pockets of his shorts, and turned toward the easel. “Actually, Trista was more her family.”

“I know, she told me.”

He stopped. “That, too?”

“Yes. She told me how she pretty much raised Trista and how you—”

He turned around, eyes narrowed. “How I what?”

Oh darn. She didn’t mean to bring up his and Trista’s early years together. “Um, how much she cares about you?”

Todd shook his head and walked back toward her. “I’m not buying that. What’d she say?”

Okay, what happened to cajoling? His growl would rival a deadly panther’s on the prowl. And, yeah, maybe she was feeling just a bit hunted. And not in a good way.

She stepped around the corner of the sofa. “I don’t really remember.” And she didn’t—not verbatim. General gist? Yeah, got it. Word for word? Slipped her mind.

He followed her. “Jolie.” Definitely not cajoling.

“Oh, well, she might have mentioned how you weren’t exactly Trista’s parents’ first choice for a son-in-law,” she said, gripping the back of the sofa.

“I see.” The seconds ticked by, each one marked by a tic in his cheek. His jaw was clenched and, while that increased the masculinity aspect of his face, it wasn’t a good thing at the moment.

“I would prefer if you wouldn’t discuss my private life with Mrs. Gray. Or anyone, for that matter.” He rubbed his eyes with the finger and thumb of one hand, exhaling.

Really, he didn’t have to ask her twice. As if she’d go chatting him up with everyone—

Oh. Her manuscript.

Well, okay, maybe—in a way—he might see it as such. If he saw it, that was. But he wouldn’t.

Besides, it wasn’t really about him. It was more about his emotions and how Tom felt and acted. Todd was just the inspiration. Her muse, you could say.

She took a step back from him. “Look, Todd, it was just a conversation between me and Mrs. Gray. A lady, I might add, who cares for you a great deal. We weren’t carrying tales or gossiping. She just wanted me to know how special you are.” Not that she’d needed to be told.

Silence stretched from terse to bearable, but it was a long agonizing journey to get there. Especially because he kept his gaze on her the whole time and she was beginning to squirm under it.

That’s what a guilty conscience did for you. Interesting how Naughty Girl chose not to comment on any of this.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “It’s just that when Trista died there was so much press coverage. Like the other day with the phone calls and reporter on my doorstep. Everyone wanting to know how I felt, if I’d paint again.” He laughed and it wasn’t kind. “You know, that’s my favorite line. Your wife dies or your dream falls apart, or whatever tragedy has just smacked you in the face, and there’s a reporter with a microphone inches from your nose and he’s asking you how you feel. What’s he want, an I’m-going-to-Disney-World response? I’m all for giving people the news, human interest stories, but for chrissake, can’t a man grieve in peace?

“Um—” Honestly, what should she say?

“Sorry. I overreacted. I realize Jasmine was just staking her claim. She tends to do that with anyone new around here.”

Somehow Jolie doubted Mrs. Gray had quite those same words to say to just any chef who worked there, but he didn’t need to know that.

“It’s just that any threat to my privacy touches a nerve. A few, actually.” He did the hand-raking thing and for once she was unmoved.

Maybe she ought to toss her manuscript.

But that was ridiculous. No one would ever know she based the emotions on his. It wasn’t like he was ever going to read the darn thing, so, not a problem. Right? Right.

“Well, Todd, it’s not as if Mrs. Gray is—”

“MEOWWWW!”

Kitty terror grabbed their attention fast. Poor little Boots was tangled up in a drop cloth and running around in circles, which made the straightjacket he was working himself into even tighter.

Todd and Jolie did some pretty fancy dance steps to cut off the kitten’s access to more of the cloth, then they sat on it to untangle him without losing a finger or an eye. Terrorized kitties were a touch manic.

Finally, with a bit of laughter, some catching of breaths, and avoidance of Kitty Scissor-Paws, they managed to calm the little guy down just as the attic door swung open.

“Oh, Todd.” There beamed Mrs. Gray, a vase of pink roses in her hand.

“Hi, Jasmine.” They stood, managing to kick the drop cloth out of the way as Mrs. Gray sashayed into the room. “What brings you here?”

Boots dug his claws into Jolie’s forearm and when she looked down at him, she could have sworn the cat was gloating. She wouldn’t blame him, actually, because this was the second time he’d saved her from a potentially embarrassing situation. Well, three if she counted that moment on the sofa, but she’d consider that scenario more exciting than embarrassing had it been allowed to play out, but maybe it was a good thing it hadn’t; they’d had the chance to talk some more. Get to know each other better.

She did want to get to know him better. And if that wasn’t more than a little scary, she didn’t know what was.

“I brought these roses for the kitchen,” said Mrs. Gray, holding up the flowers, “and thought you might like some to brighten up your studio. Although, it is pretty bright already.” She spun around. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

“I better start dinner.” Jolie wanted to extricate herself from the impending little tête-a-tête. One was her limit for an emotion-laden day like this was turning out to be.

Back in the house, she secured Boots in her room because, even though he might have saved her pride, kittens and spaghetti sauce were not a match made in heaven. And she had a lot to do to get the manicotti in the oven in time.

She also had a lot to think about.

Jolie replayed the scene from the attic in her head. Todd liked kissing her, wasn’t sorry he had, and would probably want to again. How’d she feel about that?

Honestly, part of her wanted to hope. Wanted to take a chance. The part of her that had lived without hope for so long was feeling like a drowning person grabbing for a life preserver. But was that a good thing? Was Todd her life preserver?

And why did she need one? Why wasn’t she happy with her life as it was? Stick to her plan?

She slid the dish into the oven and set the timer. She was happy with her life as it was.

But she wasn’t going to deny that it could be better. Yes, she had her plan and would continue to study and save for her pastry shop, and finish her story, but why couldn’t she throw a relationship into the mix? Just because Mom’s love affairs (not that any of them had been based on love) had been disastrous, with men parading in and out, knocking the two of them around a few times, and Mom turning to booze to drown the pain and sorrow, but Jolie was an adult. She knew the dysfunction of those types of relationships. Recognized it for what it was and knew she didn’t want it. Even Chucky… For as disappointed as she’d been, she’d known their relationship wasn’t the for-real one she’d wanted. He wasn’t the type of man she wanted.

Todd, however, might be.

And that was the big question mark. Was he worth risking her heart for? Her barely-held-together psyche? She’d overcome a lot, but the family thing… The love everlasting, the til-death-do-us-part, that was what her soul ached for. The security of knowing someone was in her corner. Someone would be there to care for her. Love her. That’s what she wanted in the deepest, darkest part of every lonely night she’d ever had.

It also scared the heck out of her.

There’d been a time when not having a family had really bothered her. But then she’d realized it could be useful. When you had no one around who really knew you, you could be anyone you wanted to be. So she’d decided it was up to her to be responsible for every aspect of her life: financial, professional, emotional. She’d knew what could happen when she tried to depend on others who weren’t dependable, and had decided, at the ripe old age of eleven, that she wanted more.

But she knew, eventually, she’d want her own family, someone to love who’d love her back. So why not now? Was there a law that said she couldn’t work toward all her goals simultaneously?

Other people did it. Even though Mom had taken the wrong train to Happyville with any one of a host of male counterparts, it didn’t mean she had to.

Todd wasn’t pushing her away. He’d purposely—on several occasions—reiterated his desire for her to stay, had said she was good for him, liked kissing her, wanted to kiss her. Plus, she had Mrs. Gray’s seal of approval. He wanted her, she wanted him; when was the last time that had happened?

So, okay, it was risky. She got that. But with the first of her paychecks leaving a hefty sum in her bank account and the promise of more to come, if she had to pick up and start over, it wasn’t as if she’d be destitute. And it wasn’t like she’d never done it before.

And, heck, she was even light on the personal property front due to the fire. It seemed the planets were aligned for her shot at the brass ring. With such indicators, she’d have to be the ultimate pessimist not to take the chance.

She’d take baby steps with this “thing” with Todd. Allow a relationship to happen if it was going to. They’d already passed the “like” stage. He got her and they laughed at the same things. God knew they certainly found each other attractive.

So what if nothing had lasted “F” before in her life? Other people had it all—why couldn’t she?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Seven a.m. came way too early after last night’s dinner where, much to Jolie’s delight, she’d been proven right. The Grays had stayed. With a little cheating on her part (Signore Arena’s already-made homemade sauce and manicotti), she managed to whip up a nice meal. She added her own tasty loaf of garlic bread and a pretty salad—curlicues included. And with ice cream sundaes—whipped cream included—for dessert, Mrs. Gray had the perfect excuse to haul out those baby pictures.

Todd had played with the carrot strips while Mrs. Gray waxed on and on about her son, Charles, and their new grandson, but luckily, she steered clear of The Trista Years, though the possibility had been there. But they managed to escape that, and Todd had had a huge look of relief on his face when they’d left.

Which had been late. Later than folks their age should be out, but they wouldn’t consider staying—as Mrs. Gray made sure to tell Jolie on the sly.

The implication had made for a pretty interesting dream. Unfortunately, with the alarm singing the latest Top 40 hits, she didn’t have the luxury of lounging around in bed replaying it, so she made her way to the kitchen to answer the call of Eggs Benedict.

Todd walked in from the pool, mid egg-poaching, all dripping wet again, and she stared. She couldn’t help it because now she knew exactly how that chest felt against her breasts, the strength in those nicely defined biceps and exactly how she fit against the whole set of gloriousness.

“Where’s the cat?” he asked.

Not exactly the greeting from her dream, but whatever floated his boat. “In my room. Apparently ice cream acts like a sleeping pill. He snored all night long.”

“Good.”

She had about two seconds to register the “good” before Todd swooped in and planted one on her. Really planted. That kiss grew roots which wound around her heart then branched into all four limbs.

She did some winding of her own. Her arms went around his neck and, yeah, his muscles were rock solid and his stomach twitched whenever her breasts made contact. Tongues renewed their acquaintance and, if it weren’t for the humming of the blood through her body, she’d swear she’d died and gone to Heaven.

He slid his hands from her waist to cup her face and he pulled back just inches, his mossy green eyes full of warmth and maybe, just maybe, something more. “Good morning,” he said, nudging her nose with his.

“Is it? I think I might still be dreaming.”

“If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

He kissed her again, a soft one this time. He tickled her lips and she felt that tickle in her tummy, all fluttery and jittery. Then her knees went to mush again.

“Wow,” she said once she could breathe again.

“Wow works.” Yeah, that was arrogance in his smile, but who cared? The man was entitled to it.

And since it was her kiss that put the smile there, she was entitled to some of her own.

“I’ve forgotten how nice it is to get a greeting like that in the morning.” He linked his hands behind her waist.

“It is?”

“Honestly, Jolie, is that all I had to do to render you speechless? Kiss you? You should have told me that at the beginning and it would have been quieter around here a lot faster.”

“Are you saying I talk too much?”

He kissed her nose. “No. I’m saying you talk a lot. There’s a difference. And—”he resettled his lower body against hers and she took a trip into outer space for a moment because there wasn’t much left to her imagination with wet swim trunks plastered against her nether regions—”even though I like the kissing part, I’m missing the chatter. So I think I’m going to have to curb some of the kissing.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She yanked his hair to bring their faces within smooching distance. “I’ll talk your ear off all you want, but you don’t get to quit the kissing thing until all parties involved agree.”

“Oh, so we’re involved, are we?”

Good question—and not one she was going to be the first to answer. “Well, if you’re not involved, then who the heck am I kissing? I could swear it’s you.”

“It most definitely is.” Which he again proved quite nicely.

Until the Canadian bacon started to smell funny. Great. He really was going to sexy himself into starvation.

“Oh, no!” Jolie pulled out of his arms to turn off the flame and catch the hollandaise right before it scorched. Didn’t matter though. Lightly scorched or burned, once hollandaise went bad there was no redeeming it.

So now she had rubbery poached eggs, burned bacon, and hellacious hollandaise. What a day this was shaping up to be. Oven mitts, clanking pans, banging oven door, their quiet interlude was shattered. And then the smoke detector kicked in.

“It’s never a dull moment with you, is it, Jolie?” Todd laughed as he grabbed a dishtowel and swatted the smoky bacon air away from the detector. “Don’t tell me. Excitement Jolie?”

“Ha ha, very funny. I wanted breakfast to be perfect.”

The alarm went silent and Todd flung the towel over one shoulder. He took the pan out of her hand, removing the mitts with it, then tilted her chin up. “It is.”

The heck with scorched hollandaise. Her skin was on fire, her bones were melting all over again and pretty quickly they were in another lip lock that could’ve gone on forever, if not for the little pitter-patter of petite paws. Well, actually, claws on limestone tiles. And said claws pouncing on her sandal-clad foot and Todd’s naked one. (The man did like naked in the kitchen.)

“Boots!” they yelled in unison as they jumped apart.

Boots, the little meddler, catapulted into the air, executing a perfect full-twisting inward somersault, and landed on all four of his black, claw-bearing paws as if nothing had happened.

“I think that cat’s got it in for me,” Todd mumbled, rubbing the naked foot.

“Or perhaps he thinks our time would be better spent with you at the easel and me on the… sofa?”

“Fine, you can have the sofa. But you’ve got to promise not to fall asleep. It’s a pretty comfortable sofa.”

“Cross my heart, witches’ honor, Girl Scout promise, take your pick.” She made the accompanying hand motions and got him laughing again.

“I pick getting changed out of these wet clothes. I’ll be right down.”

She wasn’t going to think about him stripping off his clothes. Nope. Not her. “I’ll whip up some French toast in the interim.”

“Really, Jolie, Whe—”

“I know, Wheaties would be fine. But sorry, buck-o, you’re stuck with a hot breakfast.”

A moment—or maybe an eternity—of silence before his wicked, wicked grin reappeared. “A hot breakfast. Ah, how well you know me.” And on that note, he sauntered out the doorway.

Did she know him well? She knew he kissed like nobody’s business—and that she’d like to keep it nobody’s business but her own. She knew he was a decent guy who had a bad thing happen to him. She knew he had reached a turning point in his life and she admired that he wasn’t afraid to move forward.

And… she knew that she’d fallen in love with him.

***

Todd took the stairs two at a time. He hadn’t had this much energy for as long as he could remember. Well, in the last two years, anyhow.

He stripped off his bathing suit in the shower, marveling that he hadn’t made a conscious decision to not leave it in a wet heap on the floor as he usually did, but had just done it. Jasmine had nagged him all last summer, but back then, he couldn’t seem to remember even the simplest of things.

But now, with Jolie here, it was like he’d gotten a new lease on life.

He grabbed the shampoo and worked it into a lather. Oh, he knew it was his attraction to her that had woken him from two years of just existing. He wasn’t going to kid himself that it was something he’d done, some decision on his part. There was just something about her. She was so wide-eyed in spite of how shitty the world had treated her, so hopeful, so ready to believe, that his psyche couldn’t help but tap into those emotions.

Today, for the first time in too long, he’d woken with a smile on his face. It’d been all he could do not to open her door and wish her a good morning, but they weren’t at that point yet.

He ran the soap down his body and had to re-think that. A certain part of him was there, but that was just a physical response—although, he wasn’t going to knock it. Jolie had brought on the first physical response he’d had since the funeral. Another thing to thank her for.

He had a lot to thank her for, though it wasn’t the reason he’d kissed her. No, he’d kissed her because he’d had to. Because he’d wanted to—nothing more, or less, than that. Which said a lot.

But, hell, he didn’t want to blow this. She wasn’t a light affair kind of woman and he wasn’t in any emotional shape to examine forever; he’d been up front with her about not knowing where this “thing” between them was heading.

But did anyone ever really know where it was heading? With Trista, he’d been pleasantly surprised that a woman of her background would go out with him; he’d asked her mainly to give himself incentive to “show her” when he made it big—someone from the other side of the tracks.

But then she’d been real to him. She’d been her own person and had given him a chance.

The same kind he wanted to give Jolie.

Todd leaned his shoulder against the tiled wall and let the water sluice over him, cleaning the chlorine residue from his skin.

That it also felt like a cleansing of his soul wasn’t something he could ignore. He’d carried the pain with him for so long, had wrapped it around himself to keep out the world. Yet somehow, with her smart phrases and her soft admissions, and that incredibly upbeat outlook of hers, Jolie had found a tiny gap in the pain and wormed her way in.

He wasn’t going to let her get away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Staring at the man she’d suddenly discovered she was in love with put a whole new spin on posing for him. There she was, staring at him while he concentrated so intently on the canvas and not on her, and all she could think about was what she was going to do about her new-found feeling.

First and foremost, she couldn’t tell him. It was one thing to risk her heart in the privacy of her own body and soul, but to put it out there for public trampling, well, she wasn’t that brave. No matter the reward.

For all she—and he—knew, she could be Rebound Girl: the girl a guy went out with right after the love of his life broke up with him and he had to prove to himself he still had “it,” whatever “it” was, and that Old Girlfriend didn’t know what she was missing and he’d show her. That would be Rebound Girl and Jolie so did not want to be her. Since all the parameters were right for rebounding, she’d just stay mum on the whole subject and see where it led.

Especially since he was willing to let it lead where it may. She couldn’t expect any more positivity out of him at this stage in his recovery. She could always hope, of course, but Jolie, she was a realist. A newly optimistic realist, but a realist just the same.

So there she was, lounging on the sofa, once again posing for more long hours, staring at the cute lock of hair that fell in his eyes (when she was supposed to be staring at the window), doing the eye-averting scenario whenever he looked like he was going to glance up from the canvas.

“Jolie, can you please stop moving your eyes? It changes the lines under them.”

She had lines? She huffed. She did not have lines.

“And don’t huff. It puffs out your lips. Angelina Jolie is over-rated anyway. Hey, Angelina Jolie, you Jolie... “

Laugh it up, yuck-ball. She was still hung up on those lines.

“What’s with the frown?” He sighed and put the charcoal down. “Something bothering you?”

“I have lines. Under my eyes.”

“Oh, that.” He shook his head, as if to say “women.” “Light filtering in through the window creates streaks of shadow and light on your skin. Like lines. I want to capture them before the sun changes.”

“Oh.”

He left his easel and sat on the sofa next to her. The not-very-wide sofa.

“Don’t you remember me telling you that your skin is flawless?”

She nodded.

“It is. Peaches and cream.” His voice got deeper. “Honey smooth.” Honey smooth all right. “I’m hungry again.”

He leaned in and voila! another clinch. She couldn’t help herself, and, apparently, neither could he.

What a difference to the kiss when the man she was kissing was the one she could do it with for the rest of her life. She savored every nuance of his mouth, the play of muscles beneath her fingertips, the scent of his shampoo as his hair brushed her cheek. Her body strained toward him and, God, the relief when he leaned over her, pressing her into the softness of the sofa. He shifted, almost on top of her and, oh, it felt so right. So different from any guy before.

This man was The One.

He angled his head, his tongue stroking hers, and she groaned. Then his hand caressed her breast and she almost exploded with relief. She hadn’t even realized she’d wanted him to touch her there.

Of course, if she’d thought about it she probably would have realized she did, but thinking was not happening at the moment. Feeling was. Majorly.

She leaned into his caress, her nipple front and center in the middle of his palm, just begging for attention and, sweet man that he was, he obliged. His other hand combed through her hair, twirling the strands around his fist and holding her head in just the right place for maximum effect.

Her hands slid under his shirt, brushing the fine hair there and stroking his sides. He groaned, his stomach muscles clenching as she feathered her fingers near his navel. Then she was sliding them up his chest to do some of her own obliging—

Todd ripped himself off of her with a howl.

“What the hell?” He turned and there clung a white Boots on Todd’s red t-shirt. Ouch. That had to hurt.

“Get the damn thing off me, Jolie!” He reached over his shoulder, spinning, but it was futile. Boots had picked the exact spot where Todd couldn’t reach him.

“Hold on.” Jolie pulled herself off the sofa and the moment her hands touched Boots, the little hell-cat let go and plopped into her palm.

Todd glared at the cat who was now purring contentedly in her arms. “We need to get some Found posters out. I want that menace out of here.”

Boots snorted.

Todd glared at him. “I’m the only person I know with an attack cat. How ridiculous is that?”

She reached out to rub his back just as the studio door opened and in walked Mrs. Gray.

Jolie shot Boots a glance. The cat just smiled at her.

Wait. He smiled at her?

“Good morning, all. I thought I’d bring some brownies up today.”

Brownies. Of course. Todd loved brownies. Jolie knew that.

And so, apparently, did Mrs. Gray.

Jolie would’ve thought—and actually did—that after their little gabfest, Mrs. Gray would want Jolie to be the one to butter the guy up—or brownie him up as the case may be. ‘Course Mrs. Gray couldn’t have known Jolie was doing just that before she thought to arrive with said brownies, but still, wasn’t the way to a man’s heart through his stomach?

Which just put a whole other spin on her reasons for becoming a chef.

She’d let Mrs. Gray do the brownies today.

“I’m just so thrilled you’re painting again, Todd,” Mrs. Gray waved those brownies like a red flag at a bull, all the while working her way oh-so-nonchalantly toward the easel. “I thought we should celebrate.”

The woman was good, Jolie had to give her that. She might actually succeed in seeing what Todd was working on because his eyes were glued to that plate of chocolate.

“Take one more step, Jasmine, and those brownies won’t taste very good when we scoop them off the floor.”

Or so Jolie had thought. Nice try.

Mrs. Gray conceded gracefully. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying. I have been with you almost since the beginning, you know.”

He took a brownie. “I know and you didn’t get to see them until they were finished then either. Nothing’s changed.”

“Oh, but I think it has, dear.” She offered Jolie the tray with a very pointed look.

What’d I do? Jolie was, after all, following the woman’s implied orders.

Maybe she’d misunderstood.

Not wanting to face that possibility, Jolie located her sandals and slid them on. “It’s almost lunch time. I better head into the kitchen to get started.”

“Oh but I wouldn’t mind, dear—”

“I know, Mrs. Gray, but after four hours of sitting here, it’s past time for my muscles to earn their keep.” Scooping up Boots, Jolie made a beeline for the door.

She’d let Todd explain to Mrs. Gray exactly why it was her hair looked like a tornado had blown through the studio, and why his shirt was hiked in the back.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bright and early—too early—Monday morning, Jolie was in her usual pose staring at the window trim, a repeat of the weekend. Seemed that the Grays liked to spend a bit of every day with Todd. It could be because their son lived farther away than an easy driving distance and they were lonely, but Jolie was betting Mrs. Gray was working on keeping the new chef out of the kitchen and in Todd’s line of vision as much as possible.

Sadly, while she might be in his line of vision, it was with a canvas between them. At least the tedium of modeling allowed her to plot out the rest of her manuscript. If only she could bring her notebook and pencils, but he’d get suspicious. As if anyone had cookbook ideas burning in their mind with such intensity that they had to get them on paper before the ideas crumbled.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t explain a burning desire to write without blowing her cover. But when they were finished for the day, she was fully intending to put Annie, her heroine, and Tom in some pretty interesting conflicts, maybe even—

“Jolie, can you push your shirt off your shoulder?”

Remove clothing? Now there was a new twist.

“Um, why?” Not that she was opposed to the idea, but just to get all the information upfront before she made a complete boob of herself. Or showed a complete boob.

“I’ve got your neckline curving just right, but I want to include your collarbone and I need the perspective as it relates to your shoulder.”

So clinical, yet she was melting again. Him, her, body parts, disrobing… This would be so good in her manuscript—if her brain cells didn’t fry before she got to the notebook.

She pulled the little cap sleeve down her shoulder, but the neckline started choking her.

“Perfect,” said Todd.

Not if she wanted to breathe it wasn’t.

“Todd,” she gasped, “it’s choking me.”

Really, the man could look more concerned as she gasped her last breath on this earth.

“Can you hold it for just a minute or two please? I’ve almost got it.”

Obliging Jolie tried.

“You’re turning blue.”

Obviously not successfully.

“Breathe, Jolie.”

She shimmied the cap sleeve back into place, allowing the neckline to reclaim its position and Lungs inhaled.

“Did you get it?” She rubbed where the neckline had chafed her throat.

“No,” he sighed and it was a heartbreaker. “I didn’t have enough time.”

“Can’t you just draw a line with a little hook on the end?”

He quirked that eyebrow again and her tummy shifted. “How about if you stick to cooking and I’ll stick to painting? Of course I can’t draw a line with a little hook on the end. Your body’s not a roadmap.”

Though it could lead to some interesting places.

But she was mum on the subject. Which could be because she was incapable of speech at the thought of him discovering those interesting places.

“No, I need the image. Maybe if I were used to painting the human form, but it’s been a long time.” He looked around the studio. “Maybe if we… “ He left the easel to rummage in a pile of drop cloths by the sofa. “Aha.” He flourished a—gee, what a surprise—drop cloth her way.

She arced an eyebrow at him. (Hmmm, she’d picked up that little trick of his.)

“For you.” He gave the cloth a little fling like he was shaking water from it.

“Obviously. The reason is unclear, though.”

“To wear.”

“Sorry, Todd, but I believe my budget allows for something slightly more expensive and with more coverage than a towel. I may have lost everything in the fire, but I believe clothing can be purchased.”

He exhaled. “Jolie, for today. Right now. Take off your shirt and wrap this around you. Then I can see your collarbone, the shadows there, and get the proper perspective to your shoulder.”

He was looking pretty pleased with himself, but Jolie was still at “take off your shirt.” Somehow she’d hoped if this day ever came that there’d be a few murmured words, perhaps a kiss or two, maybe even some help with said shirt, but apparently not. She got the doctor’s orders version. Take off your shirt and cough.

Did wonderful things for her libido.

Not.

“Is this really necessary?” she grumbled as she rose from the sofa.

“Yes, it is. Now where’s Good Sport Jolie today?” He teased a reluctant smile to her face.

“She wants to go shopping with Spendthrift Jolie and make sure they have enough of a wardrobe to never need to wear a drop cloth again.” She yanked her new apparel out of his hands. “Turn around.”

Boots was asleep on the comfy chair—apparently Mr. Meddler didn’t find nudity a reason to interrupt them. That cat’s priorities were a bit skewed.

She shrugged out of her shirt, whipped the bra off and the towel around her in one motion so quick it’d make Boots’s head spin if he were even watching. But the little turncoat was snoring.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She resumed her position on the sofa.

Todd turned around. “Grea—”

He stopped mid-word and she stopped mid-breath at the heat burning in his eyes. She knew that look. Had seen it up close and personal.

The silence in the room was booming.

Todd recovered first, though the state of that recovery was in serious question. He snapped his jaw shut, ran a hand over his mouth, then puffed out a long breath. “Okay, then. That should do it.”

Do it? Do what? Naughty Girl could conjure a whole lot “it”s to do.

“Now, ahem, Jolie.” Todd settled on his stool. “Can you, um, lower your left shoulder a little? That’s it. Now roll it forward, yeah, like that. Tilt your chin up and back. No, a little lower. There. Um, could you, um, drape a few strands of your hair over your shoulder? Not that many. Okay, that’s good.” He shifted, resting a heel on the rung of the stool. “Could you, that is, could you have it, move it a little to the right? You know, sort of resting across your, um, breast, rather than alongside it?”

He picked a good spot for her hair. It could cover the nipple poking through the thin fabric. The nipple he’d fondled—

“Like this?” She willed Naughty Girl away.

He swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he rasped out, “that’ll do.”

It sure did “do.” She was a mass of fluttering nerve endings about to combust. And if his blazing green eyes were anything to go by, he was right there with her.

And she did wish he were there with her. But he was ten feet away behind a tripod of wood and canvas and charcoal. An amazing barrier when she thought about it. So flimsy physically, but metaphorically as strong as a castle wall.

Castle walls have been breached before.

She wasn’t going there.

The temperature was up in the studio, though cold air blasted from the air conditioner. A fine sheen graced Todd’s forehead and her body was damp in some pretty provocative places, her skin and his eyes separated by one very thin, very flimsy piece of cotton. Talk about a turn-on.

If only she knew where she stood with him. Obviously he was attracted to her, and she knew he liked kissing her, knew he liked her, but did he like her like that? Or was she just the woman in the right place when his hormones came out of hibernation?

“Todd?”

“Hmm?” The charcoal rasped over the canvas.

“What will you do with these pictures once you get them the way you want them?”

“I don’t know. I’ll probably just end up painting over them.” He rubbed a finger on the sketch.

“Do you think… that is… could I have one?” That got his attention. “It’s just that no one’s ever painted me before and I think it’d be kind of cool to have one.”

“A Todd Best original?”

“Well, sure, since you’re painting it, but no, that’s not why. I’ve just never had a portrait done and it’s something all mine that I can take with me when I get a new apartment.”

“Jolie, I told you. You don’t need to get a new apartment. The room’s yours.” He looked back at the canvas, smudging something else. Why couldn’t she at least take a peek?

“But what about when I get another job?”

His arm stopped and he leaned back, poking his head around, his brows vee-ing inward. “Are you quitting?”

“Of course not. I never quit, remember? I’m talking about when you, you know, don’t need me here anymore. You said yourself you don’t need someone to cook for you. Once I’ve overstayed my welcome, I’ll need my own apartment and a new job. I’d like to have one of these pictures as a souvenir. To remember this by.” She almost said, “remember you,” but caught herself at the last minute. It wasn’t like she’d ever forget him.

He put down the charcoal and stood. “Jolie, I can’t see you wearing out your welcome for quite a while. And I’ve also told you I like having you around, and that I have four unused bedrooms and my house needs some life in it. You have enough life in you for ten people. And have you forgotten what I said when I kissed you? Why would you insist on thinking I’m going to want you to leave?”

Maybe because in her world good things were always too good to be true. But he didn’t see that in her so no way was she going to point it out. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s, well, that is…”

“What?” He walked around the easel.

“Well, what if you find… you know… someone? You’re not going to want me around. And she, um, she’s sure as heck not going to want me around.”

“Ah.” He sat next to her on the sofa, the not-very-wide sofa, and traced her cheek with his fingertips. “Jolie, I’m not going to find someone. Not now.”

“You can’t know that.”

“But I’m not looking, so I can know it.”

She shook her head. “But that’s when it happens, Todd. The minute you stop looking is when you find them.”

The words sat between them and Todd’s fingers stilled as he replayed her words.

Once again, she’d put his life into perspective.

Her violet eyes darkened to plum as they widened, her lips forming a small “O” and he realized—

She was right. He had found someone. Without even looking.

The revelation settled on him like oils on canvas, smooth and rich with vibrant color.

He traced her mouth. “Jolie. I told you I have no idea where this thing between us is going, but if it is going anywhere, I’m not going to be looking for someone else.” Her eyes widened. He hadn’t read this wrong. She was as attracted to him as he was her. He knew that. But was she thinking along the lines he was? Hell, he’d been out of this new-relationship dance for too long.

But if he had to take the dance floor, there was no one else he’d rather waltz with than her. “For all intents and purposes, Jolie, you’re the one. That’s all I can promise right now. That and the fact that I don’t want to find another woman. Okay?”

Her smile burst into the room, radiating her warmth through every part of it. Trista had never lived in this house, had never visited this studio. With that one smile, with the acceptance and joy in it, Jolie forever imprinted her essence, that thing he wanted to capture, in this room and in his home.

And his heart.

“Meow.”

And now the cat decided to wake up.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jonathan Griff yawned and stretched his paws out in front of him, kneading the pungent earth beneath the rose bushes as the sun hit the garden the next morning. Life was good. Jolie and Todd were on the road to a forever after, Jasmine was aware her prayers had been answered, and if he didn’t quite feel his wing buds starting to grow, at least his eye twitch had stopped.

All in all, everything was going according to plan.

Well, he’d had to improvise a bit. Jolie and Todd had been getting a little too hot and heavy before they’d delved into the deeper issues facing them. Sure, making love could move things along, but it’d also make things more tenuous. More complicated. The old does-she/doesn’t-he dilemma. He didn’t want them to have to face those questions just yet. Best they figure out where they stood, then take that big step.

Then there was the fact that Jasmine was a little too helpful, always showing up at just the wrong moment, and he’d had to intervene before she saw something she really hadn’t needed to see. He’d been planning to have a discussion with her about her “helpfulness” last night, but by the time she and Earl had left, it’d almost been today and everyone had sacked out immediately. Separately. They’d sacked out separately. Jonathan had been a little disappointed, but, then again, those two needed to move at their own pace. They both had so much to overcome.

In the meantime, since his chaperon services were only necessary to run interference with Jasmine now, he decided to just hang out here and enjoy the sunshine and let Mother Nature take her course where Jolie and Todd were concerned. After all, Mother Nature had kept the human race in existence for all these years.

***

“Where’s the kitty from hell today?” Todd asked as Jolie settled herself on the sofa for the morning.

“Actually, I think he’s more heaven-sent.”

“And what, pray tell, has given you that idea? He’s carrying his own pitchfork around with him—four of them, actually.” Todd swiped at his shoulder in memory.

She wagged a finger Todd’s way, enjoying the new depth between them, the new camaraderie and understanding. And kisses. Definitely the kisses. “If it weren’t for his interruptions we’d probably be visiting Mrs. Gray in the cardiac unit. She has walked in at some pretty momentous moments if you recall.”

“Oh I recall all right.” His smile was as broad as his shoulders.

“Stop that.” She tossed a pillow at him. “Or you’re not going to get your sketching quota done today. Besides, aren’t you finished yet? When does the paint go on?”

“Jolie, this isn’t paint-by-numbers.” He tossed the pillow back and she executed a one-arm catch that’d make a quarterback proud. “I can’t put a timetable on it. I won’t start with color until I’m ready.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll just turn into an old maid on your sofa.”

“Hardly. Now, enough with the drama. Hold still.”

And so it went. She never had the chance to tell Todd that Boots wasn’t with her for the simple fact that she couldn’t find him when she was heading out to the studio. Of course, she didn’t get to tell Todd much of anything because of that no-talk rule.

And she really wanted to talk. Well, that wasn’t what she really wanted to do, but what she really wanted to do wasn’t quite appropriate at this stage in their relationship.

Relationship. There, she’d said it. They had a relationship. A fledgling one, yes, and perhaps a bit tentative, but she was “the one” for him (even if it was just for this moment in time), and he was most definitely “The One” for her, the caps saying it all. If she could just get this stuff on paper, it’d make the perfect poignant moment for her hero and heroine.

“Todd?” He hadn’t looked at her in recent memory and, really, he had to know what she looked like by now. “Do you mind if I call it quits? You haven’t looked up in the last half hour and I’ve got a few things to do. You don’t need me here, do you?”

It was to her eternal chagrin that he didn’t get the innuendo at all in that question and waved her from the room. Fine. She tied up the straps to her halter top (no longer needing to use a drop cloth since this style of top performed the same function though in a more socially acceptable way), slipped her feet back into her tan sandals, and closed the door behind her.

Now, before yesterday, she might have been in a bit of a dump since he’d elected to barely respond, but with what he’d said yesterday in that very same spot, well, she couldn’t ask for more than that.

Okay, actually, she could ask for more, but it wouldn’t be the right time. He was still healing and she, well, she was still leery. But willing to risk it.

Because the reward was so worth it.

Which was why she wanted to get it on paper in her story. No longer was she going to try to publish Annie and Tom’s story—oh who was she kidding? It was hers and Todd’s, thinly veiled, and she was going to watch that happy ending come true.

She opened the door to the kitchen.

“Now, Jonathan,” Mrs. Gray was saying, “I really can’t see—oh hello, dear.” Mrs. Gray gathered… Boots? off the kitchen table and spun around.

“Mrs. Gray? The cat’s name is Boots.” Jolie removed the kitty from her arms. “And where have you been, you little monster?”

“Oh dear, that’s no way to talk to your… er… cat.” Mrs. Gray’s hands were all flippy. “Besides, um, Boots was just keeping me company.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I thought he might have run away.”

Mrs. Gray laughed as if it was the funniest idea she’d ever heard. “Oh, I highly doubt that.” She poured out a bowl of milk and added a touch of vanilla.

“I don’t know that the vanilla is such a good idea, Mrs. Gray.”

She went to pick Boots up to keep him away from it, but Mrs. Gray shook her head. “Nonsense, dear, that’s how he likes it.”

Boots made a beeline for the bowl, proving her right.

All the same, Jolie was glad she’d bought the glycerin-based version, otherwise they’d be making an emergency trip to the vet since any other kind could be kitty hemlock.

“You’re here early today, Mrs. Gray.” Jolie leaned back on her elbows on the granite surface, crossing one ankle over the other.

“I have some catching up to do.” Mrs. Gray refolded the dishtowels on the countertop.

“Catching up on what? The house is spotless.” No doubt due to the bi-monthly cleaning company Jolie had recently found the receipt for.

“Oh, a few things around the house, that’s all.” She placed all but one of the dishtowels in a drawer by the sink then turned to Jolie. “And what are you doing back so soon? You two aren’t usually finished in there until just before lunch.”

Jolie pushed off the island and walked around it, absently straightening the barstools. “Oh, I got bored. And restless. It’s so blah in there, staring at the window.”

“The window? Why on earth would you stare at the window when you’ve got a perfectly good specimen of a man in front of you?” Mrs. Gray huffed and grabbed the remaining dishtowel, shaking it like she was cleaning an area rug. “Honestly! What is the world coming to today when two attractive young people, together for hours on end, studiously ignore one another? What do I have to do? Lock you in a broom closet together?”

Jolie was halfway to the fridge when those words had her spinning back around and plunking her butt on a barstool. “What?”

Mrs. Gray shoved her hand to her hip and wiped some wisps of hair off her face. “What what?”

“What you just said. What did you mean?”

Mrs. Gray patted her bun and her eyes got all squinty. “Oh, nothing, dear. Just the ramblings of an old woman. Don’t pay me any mind.” She frittered her fingers. “Just go about what you were doing. Doesn’t mean anything at all. Really.” She whirled around, refolding the dishtowel again.

“I’m not buying that, Mrs. Gray.”

Mrs. Gray’s shoulders slumped as she rested her hands on the edge of the sink. “Fine. It’s just—” she took a deep breath—”it’s just that it’s been over two years. And he’s so… I don’t know, alone? No—lonely.” She looked over her shoulder. “There’s a difference you know, alone and lonely.”

Jolie knew. Firsthand.

Mrs. Gray turned all the way around. “And, well, you were available and alone, too. The two of you could use someone like each other in your lives.”

“Wait a minute. I’ve never met you before, Mrs. Gray. How do you know this about me?”

And there Mrs. Gray went, spinning back to the sink. “Oh, well, you know, from your employment application at Domestic Gods & Goddesses.”

“How do you know I work there?” Jolie was pretty sure that’d never come up in conversation. She recalled mentioning it only to Mike and Barbie.

“Because I’m the one who hired you.”

“Wait. I thought Mike did?”

Mrs. Gray shook her head. “No. They left it up to me.”

“But why? Todd really doesn’t need anyone to cook for him.”

It was a sad older lady who cared an awful lot for Todd Best who now faced her. “Not now he doesn’t. He did before. Now he just needs someone in his life and I thought… “

“You mean you’ve been personally selecting chefs to set him up with?”

“Terribly silly, I know. But a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you know, plus I thought the proximity… “ Sad little puppy dog eyes implored, “You won’t tell him, will you?”

Guilt scissored up Jolie’s spine. She had her own secrets—who was she to criticize? Plus, Mrs. Gray obviously loved him and Jolie was such a sucker for that kind of familial love. “I’m not going to lie, Mrs. Gray.” Unless it was by omission. That, she could do. Especially when the omission had such wonderful motivation behind it. And she was the direct beneficiary of it. “But I won’t say anything unless he asks.”

“Thank you, dear. I knew you’d be perfect for this, er, job.” She reached down to pat Boots’s head, sending loud purrs rumbling from the kitty’s belly.

“Mrs. Gray, what’s with calling Boots Jonathan?”

“Oh, that.” Mrs. Gray stood and patted her bun again, then wiped the countertop with the folded dishtowel. “I must have slipped up and called him the name of my old kitty. Yes, that’s it. My old kitty, Jonathan, who’s no longer with us.” She took off her apron. “Now, I have a few things to tidy up in the other rooms, so I’ll leave you be.” She patted Boots once more. “I’ll see you later.”

Jolie might have believed her if Mrs. Gray hadn’t removed the apron. Who cleaned in their good clothes?

She stared at Boots, who was sitting on the tile floor, licking milk from his whiskers and swatting dust bunnies with his tail. Or cat-fur bunnies, because the place was too clean for dust.

“Why do you suppose it is, Boots, that I think there’s more to your little furry face than meets the eye?”

“Meow.”

Jolie’s cell phone rang. Jolie studied Boots’s blank stare a moment or two longer while the phone trilled again.

“Saved by the bell,” she muttered, glancing at caller ID. She recognized that number. “Hi, Bella.”

“Jolie! Thank God. I need your help.”

“What’s up? You sound worried sick.”

“I’m understaffed for that big gig I was telling you about. Bruno’s out of commission and Giuseppe didn’t get clearance from his doctor to come back to work. Reese said he’d help out, but you know what happens when he shows up at events.”

Bella’s husband was a famous ex-professional football player. He usually became the event through no fault of his own. Yeah, low key didn’t exactly happen around him. “What happened to Bruno?”

“He broke both his legs chasing a cat out of the kitchen, if that doesn’t sound weird,” Bella answered.

“You don’t say.” Jolie glanced at Boots. Mr. Innocent was playing with cat-fur bunnies.

“Yes, and Drew’s taking care of him, so she’s out.”

“Drew? I thought Drew was dating Jimmy DeLeo? What’s he have to say about that?”

“Not much I’m guessing. She said it’s hard to have a relationship when Jimmy’s studying abroad. So, is there any chance you could help me out?”

As if she’d turn Bella down. When there’d been nowhere for her to turn, Bella had opened her door. And given her more than a boost to where she was today.

Jolie glanced out the kitchen window, a perfect view of the gorgeous swimming pool—and a catty-corner view of the west wing. Where Todd was.

Yep, this was a pretty darned nice place to be.

“Of course I’ll help, Bel. When is it?”

Boots seemed to have tired of bunnies and was working on sheep. He wound his tail around his body and fell asleep faster than humanly—or cat-ly as the case might be—possible with some serious Zs coming from that itty bitty kitty mouth.

“Friday. I know it’s last minute—”

“Hey, no problem. I don’t have any plans. Do you need help with the food, too?”

“Oh, God, really?” Bella sounded more than a little relieved. “You’re a godsend, Jolie.”

Not what dear old mama had had to say, but whatever. “Of course I’ll help you, Bella. You want me to come by on Thursday for prep?”

They agreed on one o’clock and Jolie fluffed off Bella’s profusion of thanks as she hung up. She owed her friend more than she’d ever be able to repay, what with the job she’d given her years ago, the encouragement to go to culinary school—not to mention the loan—plus a bed when there hadn’t been enough money for a place to sleep.

Speaking of sleep… “Is there some reason you’re ignoring me, Boots?”

Nothing—not even a whisker flicker. That cat was good. Or she was out of her mind. He hadn’t really caused Bruno’s accident—had he?

“Was that Bella Casteleoni, dear? Earl and I so enjoy her restaurant. “ Mrs. Gray walked back in the kitchen and Jolie shook of the ridiculous thought. Boots was a kitten, not some imp in disguise.

She turned her attention to Mrs. Gray and explained about Bella’s dilemma.

“This Friday?” Mrs. Gray wrung her hands. “Oh dear.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Well, you see, Charles wanted us to come back this weekend and babysit so he and his wife could go away for a few days. The new baby and all, you know. And, well, since you’re here, I called him yesterday and said that it wouldn’t be a problem. But now Todd will be all alone.”

“You mean Todd hasn’t been alone in two whole years?” That might be a bit obsessive for everyone concerned. “Wait a minute. Yes, he was. The morning I got here. You’d left already.” She stopped—the condition he’d been in when she’d gotten here didn’t bolster her argument.

Perhaps leaving him alone wasn’t such a good idea.

“It’s not that, dear. But Earl and I won’t be around and you could both be here, all alone, over the whole weekend… “

“Mrs. Gray, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” It was one thing to be in the moment with Todd, to wish and think what-if thoughts, but to actively pursue something she wasn’t sure was in her best interests—

Mrs. Gray wrung her hands. “Oh, but Jolie, one can hope, you know.”

Oh, Jolie knew all about hoping and Todd.

“Mrs. Gray, really. I’m here to do a job and that’s it. Regardless of who hired me. It’s awfully nice that you consider me worthy of Todd—” and, gosh, it truly was—”but I just don’t think he’s at that point yet.” Though, apparently his body was on the mend quite nicely. But Mrs. Gray didn’t need to know that.

I notice you didn’t say a thing about you not being ready for the match, Naughty Girl mocked.

Go away. Maybe that’s because I am ready.

You did not just say that!

It wasn’t often she could pull one over on Naughty Girl.

“Please, Mrs. Gray, go to your son’s house. Let him and his wife have their weekend. Think of it as matchmaking for them. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get another grandchild out of the bargain.”

Mrs. Gray smiled. “Now wouldn’t that be nice.”

“I’ve got it!” Todd shoved open the French door to the kitchen behind her, almost sending it—and Mrs. Gray—careening into the wall.

Jolie cringed, expecting to hear the shatter of glass at any moment.

“Got what, dear?” asked Mrs. Gray.

He strode in, picked up the older woman, spun her around, gave her a kiss on the cheek, then repeated the whole exercise with Jolie.

“I’ve got it,” he said again, smiling away.

“Got what?” Mrs. Gray repeated.

“It,” he said as if “it” were a common everyday occurrence one got.

“It?” Poor lady was so confused.

“It,” he repeated.

“Oh, I get it,” Jolie jumped into the “it” fray. “It.”

Todd smiled her way and crossed his arms in front of him. “It.”

She beamed back, happy for him.

“Would one of you kindly explain to me what ‘it’ is? All sorts of horrible medical possibilities are running through my head.” Mrs. Gray leaned against the granite counter with a hand over her heart.

They laughed as Todd gave her another hug. “Not to worry, Jasmine. Nothing deadly. I’ve simply gotten that elusive something I’ve been trying for when I’m sketching Jolie.”

Mrs. Gray looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “And what exactly is that, Todd?”

“Can’t explain it. It’s an essence about her. Part of her. And I couldn’t get it. Until—” he wagged a finger at Jolie—”I added the paint. Oil, in this case.”

“Oh really? So I’m right, am I?” She was entitled to her moment of triumph.

“Go ahead and gloat. I feel like I’m on top of the world.” His fingers traced up her arm. “Just like I did the day I painted my first sunset and the colors blossomed before my eyes and I could feel the heat of the waning sun.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Todd.” Mrs. Gray clasped her hands together, her eyes darting between the two of them.

With her honing in on the location of his hand, Jolie was wondering what exactly the “that’s wonderful” was about.

“It does feel pretty wonderful,” he said, his pearly whites gleaming. “So wonderful, that I’m just going to grab a sandwich and head back into my studio. I probably won’t make it out for dinner.”

“We’ll send a tray up then.” Mrs. Gray looked at Jolie, pointedly. “Jolie can bring it up.”

Nah, she wasn’t matchmaking much, was she?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

With Todd at work in the attic and Mrs. Gray doing whatever she was doing (“catching up”—yeah, right), Jolie sat down to give Annie and Tom some of Mrs. Gray’ words of wisdom.

One can hope.

Well, sure. One could. But hope alone wasn’t going to work everything out, not without some help from “one.” In order for Annie to have her happily-ever-after, she was going to have to metaphorically straighten her backbone and tell Tom what she wanted out of life and where he fit in. Proactive instead of reactive. No more waiting for life to hand her the lemonade—she was going to make her own.

Hmmm. Make lemonade. She’d heard that analogy before.

Well, heck, she could “make lemonade,” too. Or, if she chose not to, she could let the ingredients sit and rot.

One can hope.

Hope hadn’t done anything all by itself at any point in her life. Hope had always needed a nudge. And if she was going to write Annie with determination, she darn well better take her own advice. It was all well and good for Todd not to be sure, to “take it as it goes,” but she was done being buffeted by others’ wishes. It was time she stood up for hers.

“Mrs. Gray.” She strode into the den where Mrs. Gray had situated herself for an afternoon of lust, lies and improbable plot lines—AKA the afternoon soap lineup. “Would you mind watching Boots for me?”

“Who? Oh, Boots.” Mrs. Gray slid in the recliner, straining her eyes from TV’s top vixen who held a gun on yet another unsuspecting husband. Couldn’t the woman be more inventive? “Well, certainly, dear, but why don’t you join me?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.” Jolie had had enough with improbable plot lines in her own reality to want to watch them on television. Besides, she had lemonade to make. “I have errands to run. I’ll be back in time to take Todd’s tray in to him.”

“All right. Just plop Jonathan on my lap, then. Have a nice time, dear.” It was probably the fact that the vixen decided to pull the trigger that had Mrs. Gray so distracted to call Boots after her old cat. She must really miss him.

***

Melanie zoomed Jolie on over to the local mall in search of figurative lemonade. With Todd’s house as sterile and empty as it was, her first step if she wanted to envision herself in his life (and she did), was to be able to envision herself in his home. But at present, it wasn’t really a home. Just a shell where he bided his time. So, as an investment in her future, albeit small (to be in line with her budget), she was setting out to make his house a home.

In a fine arts store she found a nice selection of discounted art deco pictures, two of which would go in Todd’s den, another for the dining room, and another for her bedroom. His landscapes were understandably off-limits, but surely all pictures couldn’t be.

Just as she was leaving, she found a group of decorative plates with a French bistro theme that would be perfect in the kitchen.

A fabric store down the way had some pre-made tab curtains in a bold splashy material that would look really cute in the studio. Not feminine at all and certainly busy enough to hold her attention during four hours (groan) of sitting.

Next door to that was a bath store. She loved scented candles and potpourri. Niceties she never had growing up, which was why she’d had a large selection in her apartment before the fire, so she picked up some lavender candles for her bathroom, some sandalwood ones for Todd’s (not that she’d been in there, but, as Mrs. Gray said, one could always hope) and some vanilla ones for the kitchen. Boots should like those.

She returned in time for the dinner preparation. She looked in on Mrs. Gray (a familiar theme song blaring away on the telly), and found that the older woman and Boots had decided to take a nap. Mr. Gray was in there on the sofa, too. No wonder Todd offered them a room. Picture-hanging was out for the moment, though the candles did make it to their respective rooms, which was more than she could say for the three sleeping in the den.

She threw together a light and fluffy dinner of a Spanish potato omelet, tomato/cucumber salad, and focaccia with pesto.

“It smells wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Gray said, rubbing her eyes, waking at just the right moment. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Nope. We just have to wait for the omelet to cool to room temperature. That’s how it’s best. In the meantime, I’m going to hang the pictures I bought.”

“Earl, go help the girl.”

“That’s okay, really. I can do it.”

“Nonsense, Jolie. We want to help.”

Jolie shared a smile with her. She knew all about the help Mrs. Gray wanted to give.

“Perhaps I could use a step ladder,” Jolie conceded.

Mr. Gray went on his merry way to get a ladder while Mrs. Gray gave her a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” Jolie really did not want the hug to end.

“For trying to make this house a home.”

“Oh, well, they’re just a few things, nothing—”

“I’m not talking about the pictures, Jolie, though they are a nice touch.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” Mrs. Gray smiled and stepped back, linking their hands. “I’m thanking you for loving him, of course.”

“How… how do you know?” Was it written on her face? Jolie hearts Todd?

Mrs. Gray cupped her cheek just as her breath hitched and her throat closed with something suspiciously like tears.

“It’s perfectly obvious and perfectly understandable, dear. And perfectly acceptable.” Boots twined around their ankles as Jolie’s insides went all warm and mushy. “Even your gua—er, kitty here can tell.” Mrs. Gray picked him up. “Right, Boots?”

Boots stretched out to lick Jolie’s nose. There was something weird with this animal.

“So.” Mrs. Gray handed the kitten to Jolie then assembled a dinner tray for Todd. “Why don’t you take this up to him? Earl and I can handle hanging the pictures.”

Somehow the woman made the switch of kitten for tray all the while ushering Jolie toward the door which, conveniently was opened by Mr. Gray at just the right moment.

“Have fun,” he said with a wink.

***

Jolie opened the door to the attic and saw Todd’s face shadowed like a black and white photograph in the light cast by the chrome floor lamp. He was bent over the canvas, one paintbrush between his teeth, another whipping over the canvas, a palette in his other hand, deep lines of concentration crisscrossing his forehead. He dabbed at the palette, then back at the canvas, and that lock of hair fell forward again. He flicked his head to move it out of his way.

His eyes met hers.

Wine sloshed over the edge of the glass as the tray trembled in her hands. “Dinner.”

Eloquence personified.

“Gweat.” He slid the brush from his mouth. “I mean, great.” Down went the palette and brushes onto the stool, and he headed toward her.

She held out the tray like an offering at church, and, yeah, worship came to mind. She couldn’t help it. He looked so darn yummy all rumpled like that, with a rainbow of paint slashes on his t-shirt, mussed hair, and another pair of brushes sticking out of his shorts pocket. But most of all, there was peace in his eyes. The haunted look she’d first met was gone.

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” He took the food, his fingers brushing hers. “Thanks. This looks delicious. Want to join me?” He looked around, then smiled sheepishly. “I guess I need to get a table. Sorry, I hadn’t thought about eating in here.”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll, um, eat later. I’ve got some writing to do.”

He raised the tray, tomato salad corner a tad higher than the rest. “This?”

“What?”

“Are you including this in the cookbook?”

Yeah, guilt razored down her spine. “The cookbook. Right. Yes.”

He squinted at her, all six-foot-four of him hunkering down to meet her gaze. “Are you okay?”

Define okay. “Certainly. Fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’re not your usual foaming-at-the-mouth self. And I mean that in the best possible way.” A dimple glimmered in his cheek.

Of course she smiled. She liked that he teased her. She liked that he liked to tease her.

Oh, heck. She liked that he liked her.

“Now there’s my Jol… ie.” He lowered the tray and the smile faded from his face.

Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

And was she his?

It was one thing to make lemonade out of her own lemons, but what if his were sour?

“Actually, I am fine. Just have a lot on my mind.” And there went Mouth off and running. “I just remembered I’m supposed to go to Bella’s Thursday afternoon to help her prepare for Friday night’s party. Mrs. Gray said they’re going away for the weekend, but I’ll be sure to have your dinner ready before I go, and— “

“Jolie.”

Her lips clamped shut.

He took a sip of his wine. “Do whatever you need to. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

A soft smile flickered across his lips. “I’m sure.”

Now that “sure” sounded sure.

Chapter Thirty

After a busy two days helping Bella, Jolie dragged her tired toes across the driveway into Todd’s house. Thankfully, he’d moved on to the painting portion of his career comeback, so he hadn’t needed her in the studio, but Bella sure had.

The hostess of the big party called Bella with the last-minute news that the guest of honor was allergic to shrimp, so Bella and Jolie had no sooner had everything prepared than they had to do it all over again. The honoree couldn’t touch anything that had even breathed the same air as the shrimp, so to be safe, they’d scrubbed down the kitchen and utensils and donated everything they’d already prepared. Chloe’s girls and the people in a few homeless shelters were going to go to bed on very full tummies.

And while the hostess admitted her error and agreed to reimburse Bella, it was still an amazing feat to come up with more menus, more food, and more time to put it all together.

But they had, and they’d done it well. However, it had done Jolie in. She was so tired she could barely stand when she entered the side door.

Boots stretched on the kitchen chair, then pounced down to rub around her ankles.

“Hey, buddy,” she whispered, picking him up. He purred, settling beneath her chin. “Did you get dinner or was Todd too busy to feed you?” She checked the fridge. Sure enough, half a can of cat food remained. She put it on a plate, warmed it in the microwave, and was just about to set it down by the kitchen sink when she looked out the window. Light shone from the studio.

She checked the clock. It was after midnight. Had he been in there all night? Maybe he’d fallen asleep—the sofa was inviting enough. She should go check on him, turn out the light, lock the door, that kind of thing.

She gave Boots his belated dinner. “You stay here. I’ll be back in a bit.” She locked the door behind her and followed the path to the studio.

It was a beautiful night, a full moon shining brilliantly white in the star-lit sky. The gurgle of the waterfall in the pool whispered along the path and that frog plopped into the pond again. The crickets were quiet, merely a low hum on the air, and the faintest of breezes rustled the leaves. A hibiscus blossom had fallen onto the path and Jolie picked it up. They had such a beautiful scent, even when their one day of life was over. She sniffed it, then tossed it back onto the garden. Maybe it’d be the start of a new hibiscus plant tomorrow.

She tiptoed up the wooden stairs and pushed the door open. There he was, asleep in the chair, an empty plate on the floor next to him, a beer bottle on its side beside it. Mrs. Gray must have sent dinner up before she left.

Jolie carried one of the orange throws over to him. He looked so peaceful. His face was relaxed, even the laugh lines by his eyes were almost gone. She bit back a laugh, remembering how indignant she’d been that she didn’t have any lines. His certainly added something to his face. Character? Wisdom? She wasn’t sure, but she did know she’d like to see those lines deepen over the years.

That lock of hair was finally out of his face, curled above his forehead, sitting there, just waiting for Todd to change position so it could fall down again. His arms rested in his lap and she had to stop herself from picking up his hand. Such talented fingers, so finely muscled and strong, yet so gentle on her skin.

His legs flared, heels touching. The man even had nice feet. Naked, of course, but that was to be expected.

She smiled. Thank goodness he was asleep because she was sure everything she felt for him was visible in her eyes at this moment.

She took one last lingering look—and a slightly unsteady breath—then draped the blanket over him. He murmured something and she froze in place.

“What?” was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“My Jolie,” he murmured again. This time there was no mistake.

The blanket slipped from her fingers and Todd nestled into it.

The man was dreaming of her?

***

Jolie tried to rein in the bounce to her step as she skipped up the stairs to the studio the next morning. It was entirely possible he wasn’t awake yet, but her? She’d been awake for what seemed like hours, after a tough time falling asleep. Heart kept wanting to re-examine the meaning and ramifications of him talking in his sleep about her. And that oh-so-significant “my” before her name. Even though she’d ordered every hormone, every emotion, every nerve cell in her body not to overreact, Heart was break-dancing in her chest like it was Valentine’s Day.

She looked in the window. He was just starting to stir. She knocked.

Green eyes lit up when he lifted his head. And so did her heart. It had to have been a good dream for him last night.

He shuffled to the door, all rumpled and sleepy-eyed, and that curl was back on his forehead. He ran both hands through his hair, then brushed the shadow on his jaw and gave her a one-sided grin as he opened the door. “You really haven’t seen me at my best in the mornings.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” said Jolie, not Naughty Girl. She brandished the plate she’d brought. “Breakfast is served.”

“Are you and Jasmine trying to keep me locked in my tower? I swear, I think I’ve had the last five meals in here.” The supposed lock-down didn’t seem to have any effect on his appetite, shoveling in the fried-eggs-over-easy, Canadian bacon, and whole-wheat toast as he was.

“Perhaps you should think about coming up for air, then.” She locked her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels.

The eyebrow went up again. “Are you kidding? It’s flowing, Jolie. It’s working. All of it. Light, perspective, shadows, depth, you… It’s as if I’ve never stopped, yet I’ve never painted like this before.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

He scooped up another piece of egg, downed the entire glass of o.j., used the napkin she’d provided and nodded. “Better than a good thing. I didn’t really think it’d happen like this. I started this to see if I could do it. Now, I’m inspired. I want to try all sorts of things, super-imposed images, sepia tones, black and white, profiles, the list is endless.”

“So I’ve outlived my usefulness, then?” She was glad for him. Truly, but if he was so inspired, he could paint anyone.

He set the plate on the floor and when he stood, he was six inches closer and had hold of her hands. “Outlived it? I don’t think so.” He took another step closer. “If anything, you’re more important than ever.”

She tamped down the surge of hope. “More important?”

His eyes caressed her face. “Definitely.”

A silence so fraught with unspoken words swirled around them, stealing her breath.

Todd squeezed her hands. “Which is why I was thinking… “ He exhaled.

“Of?”

He closed his eyes for a second, then shook his head. “I want to paint all of you.”

“Um, how much ‘all’ are we talking about?” She snaked her hands from his into her pockets.

“Not a nude, Jolie.”

She wasn’t sure if she was happy with that or not. “What do you have in mind?”

He slid one of her hands from her pocket and cradled it in both of his, running those long strong fingers across the tips of hers. “Just you, as you have been these last few days. The essence of you, your grace and energy, the fire just beneath the surface. All of this I’ve found in your face, but there’s so much more. I want to capture the you I’ve seen on the sofa. Dreamy, soft, enticing, someone a man can dream of, would die to call his. I want to do justice to all of you.” He pulled her un-protesting body against his.

Someone a man could dream of. An essence, grace and energy. Fire beneath the surface. And Todd holding her.

There she went melting again.

***

He stared down into that face he’d come to know so well over the last few days. It wasn’t much effort to see past the skin to the woman beneath.

Todd’s throat tightened, amazed that this was happening. Amazed he could feel again, feel this again. Desire for her, and for his craft; two things he would’ve bet he’d never want or need in his life again.

But Jolie had changed all that.

And now he couldn’t stop the feeling. Didn’t want to. He wanted to be with her and look at her, and yes, paint her. There was magic between them, just as there’d been with Trista.

Jolie inspired him in so many ways.

But today was all about the painting, so he stepped back. “Can we do the drop cloth again? I want to drape it over you as if you’re not wearing anything.”

“You want me to take off my top again?”

In more ways than one. But this was about his art. But about them, on the other hand… Well, the truth was, his body was letting him know loud and clear he was ready to move forward. Just the thought of her taking off her top was enough to make him hard. But this was about the painting. It had to be. “I promise I won’t look.”

“I’m leaving my shorts on.”

“Are you saying that for your benefit or mine?”

She stuck out her tongue. “Turn around and I’ll strip down.”

He groaned and headed back to the canvas, loving that she was comfortable enough to tease, but it didn’t help when he was trying to see her through an artist’s eyes yet all he could see was a desirable woman.

But he tried. Over and over again, he drew the curve of her jaw, then smudged it out and tried again. He tried to detach himself from seeing the soft blush on her cheek as anything other than another color he had to capture. To not notice how dilated her pupils were from any perspective other than having to recreate them with a brush.

Or how the light rippled over her skin, smooth and unmarred, bathing it in warmth, the scent of her soap reaching him—

“I can’t do it.” Todd threw down the charcoal.

“Do what?” Jolie sat up, clutching the drop cloth to her chest like the heroine on the cover of some romance novel.

Yeah, don’t start thinking about that, Best.

“Um, your hip. There’s something wrong with it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my hip. Is this like the lines?”

“What?”

“The lines. Beneath my eyes? Remember?”

Ah. He chuckled. “Yeah, I remember the lines, but, no, this isn’t like that. I wanted those lines. Your hip has bumps and I can’t figure out where the actual curve of it is.” But his fingers were more than up for the chance.

Oh, hell. How was he going to get through this? Maybe painting her like this wasn’t such a good idea since he couldn’t seem to get beyond the physical. Her physical.

“First of all, my hip does not have bumps. It’s probably just this stupid drop cloth.” She pulled it tight.

Double hell. It outlined her breasts and followed where her waist dipped and her hips curved, and his salivary glands went into action.

“Oh, pooh. You’re right. There are bumps, but they’re from my shorts.”

He raised his eyebrows, incapable of speech at the moment.

“I’m taking those off too, aren’t I?” She sighed.

“You’ll remember later that it was your suggestion?” Whose benefit that question was for was a toss-up.

Speaking of… she tossed a pillow at him. “Trust me, I’ll remember.”

“It was not my idea.” That was definitely a reminder for him.

“I know, though it’s not as if I can resist a temperamental artist flinging his charcoal to the floor in disgust. Turn around.”

He was more than happy to. While she did some adjusting with the cloth and her shorts—don’t think about them hitting the floor and what that means—he did some adjusting of his own, amazed his libido had recovered so quickly when he’d thought that part of his life was over.

“Ready,” she said.

He almost groaned. The word took on new meaning with his new thoughts.

He turned around. Oh, yeah. She was ready.

And so was he. “Ahem, yes, well, that’s better.”

“Glad you approve.”

He grabbed the charcoal and set to work. Line, curve, shadow…

“So, Todd… “

“Hmmm?”

“What was it like when you sold your first painting?”

A good memory. “Unbelievable. We were so poor.”

“You were?”

“Well, I guess poor is a relative term. Trista came from money, but when she married me her parents cut her off, hoping to spite her into running home.” He remembered those days only too well.

“Obviously she didn’t.”

“No, she didn’t. But we had to really watch our money. I remember we used to have thirty-five dollars every other Friday for groceries. Luckily, a buddy of mine worked in a butcher shop and could help himself—with the owner’s permission—to a few of the lesser-quality cuts. He’d drop some off every now and then so we didn’t have to buy that. But we really had to stretch those thirty-five dollars and do some major coupon shopping.” Especially when they’d spend ten percent of that paltry budget on a cheap bottle of champagne. Ah, the memories of those nights—when they’d lived on love and not much else.

“One of Trista’s girlfriends came to visit and you should have seen the disgust on her face at our apartment. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was clean and well-cared for and we tried to make it homey. But Sheila was used to better; used to seeing Trista in better. So when Sheila saw my paintings and found out that I was trying to break into the art scene, she insisted on having one. I knew right away, of course, what she was doing and I refused to take any money from her. Charity was the last thing I wanted.”

A flash of something crossed Jolie’s face, pain perhaps. Ah, yes, she didn’t “do” charity. He understood.

“Anyway, thank God for Sheila because she was a true friend. Still is, though I only get the requisite Christmas card from her now. She and I kept each other propped up at the funeral and I think it’s just too hard for us to see each other without the memories.”

Usually it was even hard for him to remember Sheila without the memories flooding back, but now, today… Nothing. A quiet remembrance, but no gut-wrenching sadness.

“Anyway, she shopped that picture around behind my back until the manager of one of the galleries downtown saw it and contacted me.”

“And you sold your first one. Todd, that’s fabulous. How nice it is to have such a good friend.”

“Yeah. She’s a special lady. And, oh the celebration we had that night, Trista and I. A fancy dinner at The Mid—at our favorite restaurant, champagne, I bought her flowers and she went shopping for a new dress… “ He smiled, remembering her excitement. And his.

“The best part was watching Trista’s parents eat crow. And not for my sake. They owed her an apology big time. And she deserved it because she…” The memories were soft and sweet. For the first time in two years. “She never gave up on me.”

She never had. She’d believed in him and had given him the courage and strength to take a shot at it. All his success had been because of her. All his drive had been because of that faith she’d had in him.

That was why he’d thought he’d never paint again.

But along came Jolie, with her chatter and her optimism and her sunshine—things she’d be fully excused for not feeling with her hard life—and she’d shared that with him. Made him remember how it could be. Let him see the possibility in the future.

Dear God. Could it be… was he was falling in l—

“I always thought it’d be cool to be famous. To have everyone know who you are and make lots of money.” Jolie hiked the drop cloth and adjusted her seat on the sofa.

No. He couldn’t be falling. It was too soon. Too fast.

Physical. That was it. That was all. And the need to rise above his sadness that she did so well.

“Fame’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Jolie.” How well he knew that. He captured the play of her forearm as her fingers flexed on the cloth with the charcoal. “The money is nice, sure, and my in-laws suddenly found me worthy, but when Trista died it was hell. All the cameras, the reporters, the invasion of my privacy—I just wanted everyone to leave me alone, let me heal in peace. I don’t think I can ever go back to that.”

“But you’re painting again now.”

“I know. Because of you.”

“Me?” She looked utterly adorable.

“Yes, you. You pushed me just enough—”

“I didn’t push.”

“Okay, nudged then. Painting’s a part of me, of who I am, how I see the world. Always has been. A compulsion that made me feel alive. That’s why I couldn’t paint after Trista died. I wanted to die, too.”

“But now that you are painting again, does that—”she licked her lips—”does that mean you want to live again?”

Oh, hell yeah, he wanted to live again. And he was kidding himself sitting here trying to sketch her. He didn’t want to sketch her.

He wanted to kiss her.

“Yes, Jolie, I do want to live again. And I have you to thank for it.”

He set down the charcoal and walked over to her.

“Me?” Her eyes, big and violet and—yes—hopeful followed him all the way over as she scooted against the back of the sofa to give him room.

“Yes, you, Jolie.” He sat next to her. “It was your happily-ever-after speech that first day, mentioning sixteen-year-old unwed mothers and the mother who couldn’t spell your name right, and I saw you.”

“Me?”

“You.” He tucked a strand of her soft silky hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers over the rest of it, imagining it caressing him. “There’s so much life in you, so much fire, the desire to not let anything bring you down. And I thought to myself, how amazing it is that this woman who claims nothing and no one, goes on, driving ahead to carve out her place in this world, the past be damned. Nothing’s going to stop you from getting what you want, Jolie, and that invigorated me. It inspired me. And it awed me. It does that still. You do that still.”

“I do?”

He smiled, recognizing that it was all true. “You’re parroting me again.” He traced her lips. “I know one way to stop that.”

“You do?”

“Uh hmmm.”

He had to kiss her. Just had to. One soft kiss to capture this tenderness, this new, raw emotion. He cradled her head and brushed the barest of kisses on her soft lips.

She returned it tentatively. He understood. She’d been let down in the past; he’d been hurt. Two scared, battered people coming together.

He slid his fingers into that curtain of hair by her temples, angling her mouth to fit against his and he tasted the seam of her lips.

Desire shot straight to his groin, hot and fierce. She gasped against his mouth, opening, her tongue meeting his with the same intensity, and, in a second, the kiss changed.

Heat flooded him, his blood pounding in his ears, his cock standing to attention, and suddenly he had to get closer. He pulled her against him, but pain sliced down his spine.

“Jolie.” He pulled away. “My back. It doesn’t want to angle this way. Hold on.” He shifted on the narrow sofa, trying to pull her onto his legs without dislodging the drop cloth—more for her modesty than anything else—when Jolie put a hand on his.

“Todd.” Her voice, low and throaty, conjured pictures of her naked and sated.

“Yes?”

Jolie licked her lips. Quickly, unconsciously, her eyes staring into his, the tempo of her breathing matching his, her fingers trembling against the thin barrier between them.

It could have been an hour that they stared at each other; it could have been a lifetime. He’d never know. But it was as if they stood on a precipice, wind howling around them, a band of angry thieves rushing toward them, then—

Jolie lowered the drop cloth.

Chapter Thirty-One

She was beautiful. But then he’d known she would be physically because she was in every other way. “Jolie, are you sure?”

“I’m in l—I’m sure, Todd. The question is, are you?”

A gift. He’d been given a gift.

For the second time in his life.

He turned around on the sofa, his hip next to hers, and stretched out beside her, his eyes never leaving hers. He slid one hand beneath her to caress the soft skin at her waist; his other hand found her cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught just as he leaned in to kiss her eyes closed. “I’m sure,” he whispered against her lashes.

That was all it took.

Her arm went around his neck and he pressed her to him, her breasts crushed against his chest, their lips finding each other. Tongues meeting, stroking, Jolie groaned, the sound reverberating along his nerves and suddenly he couldn’t get enough of her mouth. He couldn’t get enough of her. It was as if a dam had burst. All this long-denied feeling, the desire for her, came pouring out of him, and he wanted to wrap her in a cocoon of aching need and want.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, fanning it over them, feeling the soft strands on his arms, imagining it raining down on his chest. He fisted some of it, tugging her head back, allowing him to trail kisses from her mouth over her jaw and down the long, graceful line of her neck. Her pulse fluttered against his lips; he could feel her shallow breathing as her breasts rose against his chest, and he wished he’d had the forethought to rip off his stupid t-shirt.

He cupped her, grazing the nipple with his thumb, desire tightening his balls as it pebbled for him. Her head fell back more, this time through no effort on his part, and he traced her collarbone with his tongue, kissing the soft hollow at the center. Her skin smelled of lavender, a soft sheen gliding against his cheek as his lips sought her.

“Jolie… “ He breathed in her scent, kissing every inch of her breast, mouthing the soft flesh down to the nipple. Rock hard, it perked upwards as if begging for his attention. He groaned, taking it into his mouth, and Jolie called out his name.

Desire licked through him as he circled her nipple with his tongue. She speared her hands through his hair, holding him close and he sucked, each of her breaths pulsing her further into his mouth.

“Your breasts are spectacular,” he murmured against them.

“And by the way, they’re real.”

The line from a Seinfeld episode made him laugh. He pulled back. “God, Jolie, there’s no one like you.”

“I certainly hope not, because you might mistake her for me.”

“Never, Jolie. No one can ever be you.”

***

Todd’s eyes were the dark forest green she remembered from the last time he’d kissed her. His golden hair, tousled—by her fingers this time—fell forward, framing his eyes, making them seem like the only thing in the room, and Jolie sank into their depths.

He wanted her.

She was almost afraid to believe it. But when she glanced down to see his tanned fingers against her breast, her nipple moist from the warmth of his mouth, the rise and fall of his chest, she believed.

And she wanted. She needed.

She desired.

And was desired.

It gave her courage. It gave her validity.

And it gave her the right to want him.

“I need to feel your skin.” She tugged on his shirt. Wanted to feel it against her, around her… in her.

Time had no meaning. One minute there was a shirt between them and the next, it was all smooth, golden bronze skin lightly dusted with more golden hair, and Todd was kissing her again.

The kiss claimed her. It wasn’t sexual in any foreplay way, but a “you are mine and there’s no one else here between us” thing and it was her undoing.

She ended up beneath him and they pulled and tugged the drop cloth from between them, all the while somehow keeping their lips and bodies in constant contact. Somehow Todd shed his shorts and, dear Lord, the man did go commando.

His fingers skimmed down her body from the sides of her breasts, around to her tush to dance along the band of her thong. “You’ve got a thong on.”

“Yes.” Way to state the obvious, both of them.

“Do you know how sexy that is?” His breathing kicked up more notches than she even knew there were.

“Why don’t you show me?” Naughty Girl left residual effects, apparently.

But Todd didn’t seem to mind. He growled and her insides got all quivery, then his very big, very hard, thrusting bit of evidence pulsed against her thigh and her melting insides flowed out between her legs. She had no defenses left against him, against this feeling—yes, this love—she had for him.

“Oh, God, Jolie.” He stopped.

Stopped?

“What?” He stopped? Her mind was trying to process this series of events while her eyes searched his.

“Protection. I don’t have any.”

Well, there was a mood-kill.

“Um.” Gosh, she’d never thought about that in any of her imaginings. “Well, I haven’t been with anyone in—” she did some quick mental calculations—”six years, and even then we used, um, protection. And I’m on the pill.”

“You are?”

She nodded. “Feminine reasons.”

He smiled. “Well, that’s good, I guess. For this. Now.” He swept some hair from her face. “I haven’t been with anyone but Trista since I met her, so I should be fine.” His eyes brushed over her lips again. “Should we, that is, do we risk it?”

Interesting how her pitiful dating life actually came in handy. As for the risk… no way was she stopping now. This might be her one and only shot at something that constituted happy in her life. “Yes. We do.”

“Oh, God, Jolie. What have I done to deserve this? You?”

She could give him a whole list, but he didn’t give her the chance before she was swept up in the artistry that was Todd. He touched her, caressed her, kissed her as if she was the only woman in the world and he couldn’t get enough of her.

His knee nudged hers apart. Not that they needed further encouragement. But the darned sofa was too narrow, so she lifted one leg along the back of it. Which had its recommendations, as his fingers danced along her inner thigh and her hips rolled against them.

His lips re-sought her breasts and she had a hard time breathing. His fingers traced the piping on her thong and she wanted to rip the darned thing off. For such a flimsy piece of material it sure could get in the way.

She couldn’t hold back the groan when he slipped inside the thong, finding the very heart of her desire. The man had dexterous fingers, which should come as no surprise considering his skill with a paintbrush. Truth to tell, she was beyond considering anything but the scent of him as she buried her face in his neck, the salty taste of his skin akin to ambrosia. She nipped the corded muscle there and it was his turn to groan.

“Jolie, you feel so good.” The words escaped his mouth as she licked her way up to his ear, twirling her tongue around the outer shell. His fingers circled and stroked, one slipping inside, continuing the circling and stroking, and she ground her hips against him, drawing his earlobe into her mouth.

His guttural moan set her heart pounding. “Todd.” She reached between them to stroke him. He pulsed against her hand and she had her own satisfaction growl happening. She’d done this to him. She and the person she was. The one worthy of being dreamt about.

She closed her fingers around him and he groaned again, his fingers stilling in and on her. “Like that?” she asked against his throat.

He nodded, then slowly slid his finger from her, her inner muscles protesting, clenching around him. Then she felt him smile against her as he thrust back in.

Ahhhh.

Her hand mimicked his and soon there was no telling whose heavy breaths were whose, which groans and sighs of pleasure belonged to which of them. They were both there together.

And it felt completely right.

So right it would scare her if she stopped to think about it.

But no way was she stopping. Thankfully, he seemed to be on the same wavelength.

His finger slid out of her to work the thong off and then she was as naked as he was.

Oh, did it feel glorious.

It felt right.

“Todd, please.” She couldn’t stop the whisper as his erection throbbed against her when he slipped between her thighs.

“I aim to do just that.” Strained laughter was in his voice.

“I hope your aim is true,” she joked back.

He pulled back and his eyes blazed into her, serious, ardent. “Very true.”

She couldn’t speak.

What was amazing wasn’t that he’d said it—though that was amazing enough—but what, a month ago, would have sent her screaming from the room, was now so natural, so right, it was like breathing.

She lifted her hips, giving Heart and Body over to Todd.

He nudged her mouth with the tip of his nose and she opened her eyes just as he claimed every part of her with a firm yet gentle filling completion.

“Todd… it’s never been like this, I’ve never—”

“I know, Jolie.”

He knew? What did he know?

“It’s perfect,” he answered her unspoken question. “You’re perfect.”

She could do perfect. But what about love?

Or was she asking too much?

“I never thought I could care for someone else like this again.” His eyes bored into hers while the rhythm he set put her insides on high alert. “Jolie, you are truly aptly named. Beauty. Both inside and out.” He placed a kiss above her heart and she melted all over again.

Melted literally, as there were tears leaking from her eyes. Todd kissed them softly and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

She considered saying something flippant, like “and away we go,” but she couldn’t. It was the most beautiful experience of her life as his skin stroked hers and their breathing kicked up to almost unbearable levels, their bodies moving in perfect unison.

Slick with sweat—yes, this time she was sweating; for him, she would sweat—and they glided against each other, every tantalizing hair on his chest doing wonderful things to her nerve endings. Murmurs and sighs and groans signaled each new height. Moving together faster, gripping each other tighter, suddenly, it was upon them. The wonderful flash of pleasure, the soaring feeling as if her soul had taken wing, rocketing through the heavens.

And she’d rather be on this trip with him than anyone else in the world.

***

Finally, the world settled around them, sounds came back, the musky smell of lovemaking mixed with the oil paints that would forever remind her of this night and she smiled into his chest.

She’d found a home.

Finally.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Good evening, Beautiful.”

There was no better way to wake up than with Todd’s smiling face mere inches from hers. “Evening?” She shook the cobwebs from her brain. “It’s that late?”

Smiling, he bore not a trace of haunted in those eyes. “Well, early evening, but close enough. What are you worried for? You don’t have anywhere to be, do you? Though I have heard your boss is a tyrant.”

“Yeah, a real brute. Likes to take charge, be in control, on top of things.”

“Things? Or you?” Oh, he was right there with her on the teasing and it felt so good.

She shrugged, doing a little come-hither from beneath her come-hither-less eyelashes. “Take your pick.”

“All right, I will.” He surprised her with a quick tongue attack to the left breast. “I pick this one.”

She threw her head back in sheer ecstasy. “You don’t play fair.”

“Ah, but who wants to play fair when one can just play?”

Good point.

Which he proved quite nicely over the next hour or so.

***

It was definitely on the long side of evening and heading straight into night when she stirred again. He twirled a piece of her hair through his fingers and she stretched like a cat after a long nap in the afternoon sun.

“Hi.” He tickled her lips with the ends of her hair.

She shook her head. “Hi yourself.”

“Hungry?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Ha.” He sat up and the drop cloth barely kept him presentable. Well, for public viewing. For private, it was covering way too much.

His fingers flexed on her hip. “How does Chinese take-out sound to you, Miss Gourmet?”

“Heavenly.”

“Okay, then.” He grabbed his shorts off the floor and stepped into them. “Let’s drag ourselves down to the pool and we can eat there.”

That glimpse of glutes nailed her to the sofa for a moment until she got her breathing under control.

“Jolie?”

“Um, okay. I’ll be right there. And I have to feed Boots.”

“Must you?”

“Of course I do! The poor little guy is probably starving.” She sat up and tucked the cloth beneath her arms, not that the modesty was needed. The guy had seen—and nibbled on—pretty much everything she had hidden.

He did a mock sigh. “Fine, if you must. I’ll grab a quick shower and run down to the restaurant. What do you want?”

Was a “side of Todd” on the menu? “Hunan Chicken, pork or chicken fried rice, lo mein. Really, anything’s fine.”

“Anything? And here—” he leaned over to place another bone-melting kiss on her lips—”I thought you had discerning tastes.”

“Hey, I do. I only go for the best.”

He tweaked her nose. Wow. Playful and happy. There should be a big fluffy Cloud Nine under their feet right now.

“Clever girl. You should think about writing a novel instead of that cookbook.” He walked out the door. “I bet it’d be a best seller.”

She groaned—both at his play on words and the actual truth behind his statement. Suddenly her little non-disclosure was looming large on the horizon.

So while Naughty Girl was away, Scarlett would come out to play—and worry about all of that tomorrow.

Boots stretched when she went into the kitchen. Honestly, in her next life she was coming back as a cat. Chase a few mice, cough up a hairball or two, take a nap, have someone feed you, and all you had to do was rub up against them and purr in their ear. Yeah, that’d be the life.

Kitty was eating, Todd was out getting dinner, and she was desperately trying to decide proper poolside attire. She still hadn’t bought a bathing suit. The magenta halter would have to do with a cute, black, flouncy skirt.

She heard the dream machine pull into the driveway as she stepped into her hot pink flats. Okay, she needed some kind of fun shoes in her new wardrobe and the store was fresh out of kicky yellow ones. A girl had to have a vice or two.

“Jolie, I’m back.” And there’d be one of hers.

“Be right down. I’ll meet you at the pool.” And she was—right down. She was not about to lose one more minute in his presence. If it wouldn’t have seemed too weird, she would’ve tried to finagle a double shower and gone with him for the meal, but she had to have some kind of self-control. Not to mention, there’d be the question of when they’d eat if there’d been the shower-a-deux.

She skidded through the kitchen (note to self: scuff up soles of new magenta flats) and managed a pirouette stop that looked as if she’d actually meant to do it.

“Hey,” she said, all breathy. Not the image she had in mind, but it seemed to work for him as his mouth snapped shut. But she saw the hanging open part. Little tummy flutters duly noted.

“Wow.”

Okay, big tummy flutters.

He stopped lighting the vanilla candle on the table—aww, he was lighting candles—and came over to her. “Jolie, you look beautiful.”

“Coming from an artist of such renown, I’ll take that as a compliment.” The words and tone were light, but there was nothing light about the thudding of her heart.

“Don’t take it from the artist. Take it from the man. You’re stunning.” He picked up her hands and kissed her knuckles. “Chère Jolie, voulez-vous diner avec moi ce soir?”

“Oui, mon chère.” If he could ask “dear Jolie” to have dinner with him, she could certainly call him “my dear” when she said yes.

That, and because it was true.

Did she dare hope he felt the same? So it was a bit too early for him to consider the “L” word, but that was okay. She had enough for both of them. She was just happy with being beautiful in his eyes.

“Where,” he asked as he scooched her chair beneath her, “did you learn to speak French? Some exotic little bistro on the French Riviera?”

She snorted then covered her mouth. Not an attractive sound. “Hardly. Try ‘Languages R Us.’” At his puzzled look, she explained, “A computer program. You?” She took a bite of the spicy Hunan chicken. Yum, they used just enough peppers for some kick, but not enough to overpower the veggies.

“A year, poor and starving, in Paris learning the ropes.”

She almost choked on a shitake mushroom. “Paris? You’ve been to Paris? That’s my dream.”

“Is it?” He swirled his glass of wine. “Why haven’t you ever gone? You’ve said there was no one keeping you here, right?”

“Money,” was the first thing she blurted out, unsure if the nonchalance beneath his question was feigned or not. “Well, that and I think Paris is the kind of place you should go with a lov—lover.” Yeah, she could use that word. Now.

“A lover, huh?” He was still swirling. “And the guy from—six years ago, was it? He didn’t want to take you?”

Again with the snort. She really needed to stop doing that. “Chucky? Are you kidding?”

“Not the Paris type, I take it.” A long swallow went down that long, taut throat of his.

Snort again. “Hardly. If it wasn’t some place you could get to and back during half-time, forget it. He wouldn’t even want to know where it was.”

Now the glass came down and Todd was looking right at her. “Then why were you with him?”

Another sucker-punch to the gut. She would’ve thought her abs would be rock hard from all the blows in her life.

But no. She took her time swallowing the food, which had suddenly lost its flavor. Why were they doing this? She didn’t want to revisit her past this way. She’d tried too hard to forget.

“Jolie?” He reached out to stroke her fingers. “Tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know. I want to know why someone as bright and funny and talented and smart as you would lower yourself to go out with a guy who wouldn’t at least share your dreams of Paris. Who earns not one, but two snorts from you when he’s mentioned.”

“Maybe because he’s the only one who asked who didn’t mention money and a motel?”

Well there was a zinger to brighten the moment.

“Really?”

If he said one more word in that soft, understanding tone, she was going to lose it.

“Why?” He picked her hand up, but she turned back to the sawdust that was her dinner. She couldn’t do this. “Jolie, you’re smart, beautiful, fun. Why didn’t guys see this?”

It was no use. She put down her chopsticks. “Todd, I can’t do this. Can we just let it go? I had a rotten past and I’d like to forget it.”

He laced their fingers, reaching for her other hand. “You yanked me out of the depression I’d been wallowing in, trying hard not to forget, and it wasn’t easy. But it’s for the better. I want to help you, Jolie. You deserve someone to care about you. Someone who thinks you’re worth something. Why won’t you talk about it?”

She pulled her hands away and clenched them in her lap. Maybe if she squeezed hard enough that pain would remove her focus from the pain tearing through her insides.

“Jolie, I care about you. I can see your pain. I know your pain. I’ve been there. Tell me.”

She shook her head, pressing her lips together. The words wanted to come. They were right there on the tip of her tongue.

But she couldn’t let them. Twenty some years of anguish, loneliness, hurt, betrayal… If she let it out, he’d be running for the hills and she’d be left alone.

Again.

“Jolie, talk to me. I know you’re thinking something, I can see your brain moving at warp speed in those beautiful eyes of yours. But you need to talk to me.”

She turned her head. “I can’t.”

He cupped her cheek, making her face him. “Why not?”

Oh, please, he wasn’t going to make her do this, was he?

“Jolie.”

Yeah, he was. So she took a big breath. Maybe if she just got it out there in one big rush without thinking about the words it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Because, Todd, if I start, I may not stop. I just might have a complete breakdown and I can’t do that. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, control it. The emotions, the feelings, the abandonment, the… hurt.”

Damn, it was that bad.

But he’d opened the floodgates so he was going to get drowned.

“Fine. Here you go. My mother was a drunk, and that was on a good day. She thought she could narrow down my father to three guys, which is always a refreshing thing to find out when you’re eight.” She gripped the edge of her chair, looking somewhere over his right shoulder. “You already know the name thing. And then, one day, she just walked. Out to a bar and the next time I saw her she was in a box in a church. And then the fun really started. Let’s see, shall I start with the foster father who thought it’d be fun to chase a teenager around the dining room table when no one else was home for a little touchy-feely? Or maybe you’d like to hear about the bread and water rations I got when the corners of my bed weren’t tucked in properly? Or, I know, how about—”

“What about Mrs. Carleson?” He handed her a napkin.

Damn. He turned on her spigot with that one. Mrs. Carleson, the brightest spot in her adolescent universe. “Mrs. Carleson was an anomaly. The kind of woman every foster kid dreams of. I was terrified to let myself hope. But she made it so darn easy. So I did. I hoped and I prayed and I believed. And then Mr. Carleson got transferred. And while I knew it was nothing I had done, it was one more person I cared about, believed in, who was leaving me. So, yeah, when Chucky offered me a home and monogamy it looked pretty damn good. At that point I was just glad to have someone who remembered my name.”

She was slobbering all over the darned napkin.

“I’m sorry,” Todd whispered.

But she broke down anyway. Somehow he managed to coax her wiped-out body from her chair and onto his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin, his strong arms wrapped around hers and he wasn’t letting go.

But she was. The tears were flowing into hiccups. Her stomach hurt from holding back the racking sobs.

Why was she doing this? At any moment, Todd could have enough and get up, put her in the chair, and walk into the house. Hell, she almost expected it.

But he didn’t. He just linked his hand that much tighter to his other arm and stroked her skin. Soothing little circles. The crickets were serenading them and the irony was deadly.

The agonizing words burned her throat raw with salty tears. All she wanted to do was crawl inside the safe haven his arms offered and forget the world.

“I’m sorry,” he said against her temple. “I had no idea how bad it really was.”

She shrugged. He probably wasn’t buying the nonchalance of that; he was a smart guy. Which was why he should’ve been running in the opposite direction.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, he rubbed her arms and kissed the top of her head, his heart thudding in her ear.

“Jolie, do you realize how strong you are? How much of a survivor?”

“What?”

He tipped her chin up until her mouth was a whisper away from his. He stared into her eyes, those green eyes all swirly, and her insides followed suit.

“What it must have taken for you to remain strong, independent, clean. I’m in awe of you.”

“You are?”

He nodded, sweeping a hand down her back. “Yes. Do you know how many people would have folded under those circumstances? Turned to drugs, alcohol, other means of escaping?”

She nodded. Yeah, she knew. Could probably name quite a few of them.

“But not you. Look at you. Successful, smart, a good head on your shoulders, trustworthy.” The tilt to his lips started one on hers. “You should be proud of yourself, Jolie. Really proud. To know you, no one would think you’ve seen the things you have, lived the life you have. You’re so wonderfully normal.”

“What?”

“Um hmmm. But you’re not just normal. You’re above it. You’re empathetic and that’s a special quality to find in a person.”

“I am?”

He smiled. “You’re going monosyllabic on me again. And, yes, you are empathetic. And kind. And optimistic and sunny. That’s how you got through to me. How you reached me beneath my pain. How you brought me back to myself.”

“I did all that?”

He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “That and so much more.” His fingers swept her brow. “You’ve made me care for you, Jolie.”

Care. She could do care.

Suddenly, the look in his eyes swept the past and its pain away. She was here, pretty whole if one didn’t look too closely into her psyche, and she’d helped this marvelous man back into life. And he cared for her.

No one except Chloe, Bella, and Mrs. Carleson had ever cared for her. Certainly no one of the male persuasion. Not in any way that mattered.

But he did and he was here and she was here and her emotions were so wild at the moment that she didn’t know if she was coming or going, but she did know she couldn’t wait one minute longer to grab this man’s face and mesh it with hers, to turn in his arms so she was front to front with him, plastered together, their hearts beating as one.

And apparently he was with her on this, because his hands went around her, rocking her closer to him, traveling up and down her spine as if he was trying to commit her figure to memory.

“Todd,” she gasped when his mouth scraped across her cheek to nuzzle her ear. “Show me. Here. Now. Show me you care. Make the bad memories go away, Todd. Give me new ones.”

And, Lord, did he.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jolie was sore in places she didn’t know it was possible to be sore. But one place that wasn’t was her heart. Todd had taken that deep aching chasm inside of her that she covered with every conceivable excuse, rationalization, and hopeful “what if,” and filled it in.

She was not Rebound Girl. No, he hadn’t used the “L” word, but pretty much everything else. As they attempted to regain the professionalism needed for Todd’s artistic sessions in the attic, Jolie realized that, for the first time in longer than she could remember—if ever—she had hope. Real hope.

The modeling session ended up being full of heated blushes, silly grins, and way too many kisses and hugs to encourage good artistry skills, so they gave up any pretense of Todd painting her on canvas. There were, however, some interesting moments with him, her, a palette of beautiful colors, and a paintbrush.

Actually, when they were “finished,” the drop cloth looked more like a work of art than a means of keeping paint off the floor. Not that they’d been too successful with that either.

Who knew? Maybe drop cloth art could be his next medium.

She’d volunteer to help him with that for, like, the next fifty years or so.

“Let’s go out to dinner,” he said as they studied the patterns the waning sun made on the ceiling of the studio.

“Fine with me. Where do you want to go?”

“Some place new. Some place all our own.”

Some place all their own. She liked that. Liked that he wanted to have memories with her. That she didn’t have to play second fiddle to Trista.

“How about your friend Bella’s place?” He ran his hands over her stomach.

Her belly tightened and fluttered, the nerves twitching under the heat. Good thing the paint was dry or there’d be a smear there. Well, another one.

“Casteleoni’s is nice. Very homey.”

“Will it seem strange since you worked there?”

She rolled over to face him. “No. That’s the last place that seems strange to me. It’s one of the few places I think of as home.”

He rolled toward her. “I hope this is another one.”

Her breath got sucked all the way into her toes with that. “You do?”

He tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger. “Crazy, isn’t it? We’ve known each other for what? Two weeks? But who cares? Time is irrelevant. So, yes, I do want you to consider this home. And we’ll go with a little longer than temporary, okay? I can’t promise forever, but for now and a little longer. Can you do that, Jolie?”

Uh, yeah? Hello?

Her “you betcha” got a big grin from him.

And yet another when she answered his, “Casteleoni’s, then?” the same way.

***

It was like a family reunion at Bella’s. They’d pulled up in the dream machine and Bella had drippy candles lit on the outdoor tables which were covered in red-and-white-checked tablecloths. The street trees’ twinkling lights were now year-round, the sky was that last shade of purple before it goes dark, and the ambiance was all Lady-and-The-Tramp-spaghetti-scene-romantic.

The whole crew had been there: Bella; her husband Reese; Giacomo and Giuseppe, the life-partner waiters who’d been there for like ever; Bella’s stepsister Staci and her fiancé; Bruno with the broken leg and Bella’s other stepsister, Drew. She’d known them all so long and so well they could’ve been her family. And she was there with Todd. Somehow everything just fit.

And now, sitting on the window seat in her room, with Boots snoring away smack dab in the middle of her four-poster, she was putting the finishing touches on Annie and Tom’s happily-ever-after. Amazing how easy it was to write theirs when she could feel her own coming together.

Her pencil rasped in the silence of the room, words flowing. She was going to finish this. She didn’t need to see how it ended since she already knew, but she’d worked so long on the story, had poured all her hopes and dreams into Annie and Tom, that she wanted them to find their happy ending before she put it aside. She had no intention whatsoever of trying to find a publisher. This was for her.

She never really needed to become published, she realized. Most authors didn’t become rich overnight with their writing, and, really, it was the hope she’d needed. The hope in a happily-ever-after in life. To see it was possible, and to know that she could craft one on paper, so she should be able to in her own life as well. And to do that, to begin her happy ending, she needed to finish theirs.

Just like Todd. He was in the studio without her. He had some kind of compulsion to finish the painting that had been consuming him ever since they’d woken up.

So they were both dealing with their compulsions, and Jolie could see the end in sight. Literally. All she had to do was finish the last scene, then tuck the manuscript back under her mattress to be taken out someday to share with her grandkids.

That she was even thinking about grandkids said a whole lot on the subject of Todd and her.

A few more sentences and voila! Annie and Tom were on the bow of a floating restaurant, two champagne flutes clinking together in the sparkle of the setting sun, a bottle of lemonade on the floor between them.

The End.

She studied the words. Maybe she should have written The Beginning.

Nah. It was Annie and Tom’s ending, but now off she was for her beginning.

She started to stash the notebook, but a whiney growl from Sleeping Beauty in the middle of the bed made her reconsider. She put it on the shelf of the bedside table so Kitty Boy could finish his nap while she ran over to Chloe’s to help with the girls.

She grabbed her cute little magenta purse—it’d been right next to the shoes at the store—and hollered up to Todd in the studio from the driveway.

“I’ll be a few more hours,” he called. “Think you can entertain yourself?”

“Sure thing. I’m going to run over to Chloe’s and take those leftovers Bella gave me. Then I’ll do some food shopping. Anything special you want for dinner tonight?”

He stuck his head out the second floor window, his hair falling around his ears in a bohemian, artistic sort of way. “You mean besides you?”

“Ssh, Todd. The neighbors will hear.” Not that that’d bother her too much, but she didn’t want to jinx any of this.

“Fine.” He brushed the hair back to no avail. “You did mention Lobster Newburg a while ago, didn’t you? Throw in a few oysters and a bottle of champagne, while you’re at it.” There was that wicked, wicked grin again.

“You don’t need ’em, trust me.” A spring sprang into her step on her way to Melanie.

“I do, Jolie.”

Something in his tone was awfully serious, causing the spring to fizzle to a stub-toed stumble. She turned around and stared at him. “Need them? Are you nuts? The last thing you need is an aphrodisiac.”

He shook that gloriously sexy hair. “Not that. I meant that I trust you.”

Forget quivery thighs—it was a good thing he popped back in that window or he might’ve seen her knees give way. Trust? He trusted her?

Those were words she’d never even dared to hope to hear from anyone before because no one had ever cared enough to give a damn whether or not she was worthy of their trust.

She would do everything in her power to prove she was worthy of his.

***

“So how’s life with Todd?” Chloe asked as Jolie stacked the last tray of food in the industrial-sized fridge.

That Jolie kept her face in the cool air had absolutely nothing to do with the question. Really. She just had to make sure the trays weren’t crushing each other.

“Jolie?”

Chloe had known her too long.

Jolie shut the door, trying to keep the silly grin off her face. From the one on Chloe’s, she guessed she hadn’t succeeded. “It’s good.”

“Just good?”

“Okay, it’s pretty great.”

“From what Bella said, it looked a bit more than great. Pretty amazing and homey, I believe were her words.” Chloe cleared half a dozen cereal bowls from the butcher-block island.

“Homey?” That had a nice sound to it. “Hey, wait a minute. What were you two doing talking about me anyway?”

Chloe snorted. “Come on. Like we didn’t gab ourselves silly during Bella and Reese’s courtship.”

“If you can call it that with her stepmother causing such havoc.” Jolie handed her seven glasses with residual amounts of orange juice in them.

“Whatever. You’re changing the subject.” She wagged one of the glasses at Jolie like a club. “So, what gives?”

Jolie raised her hands in surrender. “What gives is that he’s wonderful, and, well, I think he’s ready to move beyond Trista.”

“With you?”

“Well, if not me, then someone else is in the kitchen making some pretty awesome meals.” And in his studio and bedroom making some pretty awesome memories, but those were Jolie’s and she wasn’t about to share.

“And you? I thought you were all about starting your own shop, giving yourself some financial freedom and control over your life?” Chloe closed the dishwasher, leaning against it.

“Loving him doesn’t stop me from doing that.” Jolie leaned against the island.

“Loving him?”

Wow. She could keep her head up when she said it and there were no twinges of trepidation in her tummy. “Yes. Love. I love him, Chloe.”

“And he loves you?”

“Well, he hasn’t said the words, but I think the sentiment is there. If not just yet, the possibility certainly isn’t sending him running for the hills.”

Chloe pushed off the dishwasher and leaned her hip on the island next to Jolie. “Are you okay with that, Jols? I mean, I know all about wishes and dreams. And how they don’t always work out.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve got this home, the girls. It’s what you’ve always wanted.” Jolie waved her hand in the general direction of the gingham-cushioned, ladder-back chairs.

“You’re forgetting the pain-in-my-butt developer who’s trying to take it out from under me, which would then throw the girls back into the system.” She shook her head and gave Jolie a hug. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

“I thought you liked Todd?”

“I do.” Chloe straightened the placements on one side of the farm-style table. “I also remember him when his wife was alive. How much he loved her. I don’t know that he’s ever going to be able to feel that way about anyone else again and you deserve to have someone feel that way about you.”

Jolie fixed the placemats on the other side. “I’m not asking him to feel that way about me. Heck, I’m not asking him to feel anything about me. He did it on his own. And even if it’s different from what he felt for her, I can’t begrudge him the memories, those feelings. As long as his for me are true, I’m fine with that.”

They met at the head of the table. “But will it be enough?”

Jolie gripped the side rails of the chair. “Enough? Hello? If the man loves me, it’ll be more than I’ve ever expected. I’d thought what I’d read in books was an idealized version, but I see now, with him, it’s possible. I know I love him enough to want to give it a shot.”

“What happens if it falls apart on you?”

“Are you trying to make me sad?”

Chloe pulled out a chair, motioning to the one Jolie still had in a death grip.

Jolie pulled it out and sat down.

“No, Jols, I’m not trying to make you sad. But you have to admit, past experience does count for something. It’s not like we have some guardian angel hovering over us, making things right in our lives. I mean, if there’d ever been such a thing, I would’ve hoped it would’ve happened when we were kids when we needed that sort of thing, not as adults. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Jolie shook her head. “Too late, Chlo. My hopes are up and soaring right now. And the reason is Todd.”

Chloe studied her, care and love and worry in her eyes. But then she smiled and held Jolie’s hands. “Then I’m happy for you, Jols. I really am. I want it to work out for the two of you. There’s not another set of people I’d like more to see it happen to.”

“And you, Chloe. You’ll find your happily-ever-after someday.”

Chloe shrugged, her grin wry. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

Just then the girls walked in and the mood lightened as they regaled Chloe and Jolie with rope-swing incidents involving an oak tree, a creek, and a bank of mud with so much hilarity that Jolie was almost jealous of their childhood.

Almost, but not quite, because where she came from had led her here. And ending up with Todd was worth all the pain, loneliness, and heartache she’d endured.

***

After a couple hours at the grocery store, Jolie pulled into Todd’s driveway, picturing herself coming home to it—and him—for the rest of her life.

Oh, darn. That’s what she should’ve done with Annie and Tom. Not had them drift off with the tide into the sunset, but put them on the porch of their own home. A big farmhouse like Chloe’s with room for kids to run around, a big ol’ gnarled apple tree with a zillion branches to climb or hang a rope swing from or build a tree fort in. A fireplace big enough to stand in and roast marshmallows. And enough bedrooms for a full-size family of their own—and perhaps a few extras.

That was it. That was the ending they should have. She’d have to re-do the last part for Annie and Tom before she put it to rest permanently.

She bypassed the studio. She’d catch up with Todd once she fixed those last few pages. It was going to be great, just perfect. All she had to do was get it on paper.

She unloaded the groceries, putting only the cold stuff and champagne away, then bounded up the stairs to her room, running the ending scene through her mind. What they’d say, how they’d touch each other, the whole thing.

She skipped up to the landing, fingertips trailing off the railing onto the wall, tap-dancing with twitchy energy. She had to get this on paper. Her muse was bursting with it. She did a little hop-step to her room. One or two more, then she’d get the manuscript out and put the words that would finally finish her dream—

“Todd!”

In her room. On her bed…

But with an expression that was not the happy, I-can’t-wait-to-see-her look she wouldn’t lived to have seen.

He just sat there, looking at her without saying a word, and her chipper mood evaporated in the amount of time it took her to see—

Her notebook in his lap.

Oh.

No.

“ ‘A rose just waiting to bloom, the moment before the petals unfurl, one touch of the sun and you’ll burst into beauty,’ “ he read from the pages.

Her heart rate tripled.

He flipped to the last page. “ ‘You never gave up on me,’ said Tom. “

Todd looked up with haunted eyes and threw the notebook to the floor.

“ ‘I always wondered what it would be like to be famous.’ “ His lips curled as he threw her words in her face. “Is that it, Jolie? Is that what you did this for? Did you think you could take my story—my life—and make it fodder for the tabloids? Earn your own fifteen minutes? A big fat bonus from some tabloid?”

He pushed himself off the bed and strode to the window.

Away from her.

“Was that what the photographer at The Midnight Maiden was all about? Did you call him? Tell him you managed to do what no one else had—got me to go out in public? Tell him where we’d be?”

His reflection in the window glowered at her.

She couldn’t even shake her head. Not in the face of what he’d just read. Anything she’d say now would look like a lie.

He turned around. “My God. I trusted you. I opened up parts of me I didn’t even know existed. Laid myself bare before you. All my pain.” He raked his hands through his hair, then jammed them to his hips. He exhaled and it resonated with disillusionment, pain. “You’re good, Jolie. You knew just how to do it. A cookbook. Ha. I can’t believe I suggested you write a book.”

“Todd, I…” She didn’t know what to say.

Not that he waited for her to say anything. “I want you to leave.”

The words… She should say something.

But she couldn’t.

“I want you to leave now, Jolie.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

She wanted to—

And then—

But—

…

Chapter Thirty-Five

She would have liked to have left his house with dignity and grace, but she didn’t.

She would’ve liked to have come up with a beautiful speech about how he’d inspired her and she was so in awe of him and respected him and would never use him—that she loved him—but she didn’t.

She would’ve liked to have come up with something serene and pithy and mature to explain the pages he’d held, but, again, she didn’t. She’d given up explaining herself a long time ago and old habits not only died hard, they sometimes didn’t die at all.

What she did do was something she was very good at. She’d clamped the tears behind her clenched teeth, straightened her rigid shoulders, taken all her clothes—few though they were—out of the closet and shoveled them into her bag, picked up the manuscript off the floor, and walked out the door and out of that life.

That fantasy life.

Because the man was utterly and truly right. Who did she think she was to take his most private pain and lay it out there for the world to see? Whether or not she was actually going to carry through with trying to publish it was irrelevant. His life and his love story were his, and if he chose to share them with her, she should have taken them for the gift they were and left it at that.

She pounded Melanie’s steering wheel and the car coughed and sputtered. Great. Someone else she was losing in her life. She pulled over to the side of the road and rested her head on the wheel.

How could she have been so stupid? So utterly blind to what it would do to him? It wasn’t like she hadn’t had a clue. “I trust you.” Hello? What did she think he meant? “I trust you to do a good job of portraying me as a grieving emotional wreck?”

God, she’d even left her apron and Boots there.

And once again she’d been proven right. Nothing lasted forever. She’d always known it and should have started believing it could.

The car got a little less sputtery and she was able to make it back to Chloe’s, the only place she could think to go within sputtering distance. Good thing, too, ’cause poor Melanie ended up coughing her last at the end of Chloe’s driveway.

Jolie dragged herself to the front door and Dakota, one of the girls, opened it.

“You okay, Jolie?” she asked.

Jolie didn’t even bother to hide the truth. The kid was fifteen and could spot a lie a mile off. “No. I need to borrow a couch for a while.”

It was a damned shame that a fifteen-year-old had an instant understanding of complete devastation and the wherewithal to point her to the closest sofa, no questions asked. But then, Jolie would have at her age as well.

None of the girls asked why she was back for the second time in less than two hours and, for that, she was grateful. They just went about their normal Sunday, taking care of their home, helping Chloe when she returned from food shopping.

Food shopping. Oh crud. She’d left all the groceries on Todd’s counter. Well, she’d put the cold stuff away. He wouldn’t have a problem—

Forget it.

Right. She had no business worrying about him anymore.

“Jolie,” Chloe called out from the kitchen, “you want to warm up one of those dinner trays Bella sent? We’re going to have one band of hungry workers once we get all this stuff put away.”

“Sure,” Jolie answered. Typical of Chloe. If she didn’t acknowledge the pain it’d go away.

Typical of all of them who’d dealt with shattered dreams on a daily basis. And it usually worked.

But not now. Because she was responsible for this pain. If only she’d thrown the damned thing away!

That said, she pulled herself off the sofa, rummaged through her bag for the notebook, and tossed it into the kitchen trashcan. The “Best” phase of her life was now over. Time to move on.

As she’d done a hundred times before.

***

Jonathan paced inside Raphael’s office, the twitch alive and not so well and thrumming on the side of his head. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. He’d only been trying to help, but he’d ended up messing up worse than when he’d burned down Jolie’s apartment.

If only he’d let Jolie put the notebook away, but he’d known the ending wasn’t right.

If only he hadn’t kept pretending to nap to get Todd to leave the room. Who would have thought Todd would’ve tried to make friends with a “pitchfork wielding” cat?

If only he hadn’t knocked the manuscript when he’d leapt from the bed.

If only… if only… It seemed his career was one big series of “if only”s. And now Todd and Jolie were both alone and hurting because of him. Maybe he should ask for a transfer to the paperwork section of Heaven. He couldn’t screw that up.

“So, Jonathan, Angela tells me there’s a problem?” Raphael entered the room so silently Jonathan hadn’t had time to compose himself.

But he really needed the archangel’s guidance now. It didn’t matter how this looked on his personal record; he had to make this right for Jolie and Todd.

He removed his felt hat, clutching it to his chest. “Yes, sir. I, er, I ruined it for them, sir.”

“You?” Raphael took a seat by the window and motioned for Jonathan to do the same. “How could you do that? The only way would be with malice in your heart. Do you have that for them, Jonathan?”

“Oh, no, sir. Not at all. Why, I love all my Charges.”

“Then there is no problem, Jonathan, only obstacles.”

“But it’s a big obstacle, sir. You see, I—”

“No, Jonathan.” Raphael held up his hand. “No obstacle is too big for a Guardian. You have the goodness of the Spirit in you. You’ll find some way to make it right.”

“But how, sir? I’ve split them apart. I’ve ruined their trust in each other.”

“Jonathan, no one can ruin another’s trust in someone else. The doubt had to have already been there. What you must do is foster their belief in each other.”

“But how, sir?”

Raphael smiled and Jonathan felt the stress leave him. Raphael was always so good about instilling faith. Why, if he were everyone’s Guardian, there’d be no war in the mortal world. But such a job was too great a challenge even for an archangel.

“Trust your instincts, Jonathan. You brought them together once, I know you can do it again. Go back to the basics. Use what you know about them to help them see the real person in each other.”

“The real person in each other?”

“Yes. Who they fell in love with. What they saw in that other person that fulfilled a need in them. Show them again what they’ve already seen and let their hearts guide them. That’s all any Guardian can do, Jonathan. We don’t make things happen. We facilitate them.”

Raphael rose, his magnificent presence such a comfort to an insecure initiate-in-training. “Come, Jonathan. I know you can bring them together once more.”

Jonathan stood. If the archangel believed in him then he’d be foolish to doubt his capabilities. If Raphael thought Jonathan could fix it, then he could.

He just had to figure out how.

“Thank you, sir, for your faith in me.” He settled his hat upon his head and straightened his shoulders. “I’ll make it right, sir.”

Raphael patted him on the back, leading him to the office door. “Of course you will, Jonathan. I never had any doubt.”

***

Raphael couldn’t keep the smile from his face after Jonathan left. The man was coming along well; he just needed some confidence.

Raphael waved his hand over his desk and Todd and Jolie’s file appeared. Thumbing through the notes, he saw the notation about “Boots” scrambling from the bed, accidentally knocking Jolie’s notebook to the floor.

He read Todd’s reaction to seeing his own words there.

Well, yes, Jonathan did have his work ahead of him, but the experience would be worth it in the end. It wasn’t often they had such hurting people to heal—two on one assignment, no less—but when Jonathan pulled this off, he’d feel so much better about himself.

Raphael tucked the notes back into the file and whisked them to the file room with another wave of his hand. He needed to consult with Angela for any upcoming cases to see which one would best showcase Jonathan’s talents and his soon-to-emerge self-confidence when he was finished with this assignment.

Chapter Thirty-Six

He couldn’t believe he’d been so gullible. So damned stupid.

Todd stared out the kitchen window toward the garage attic. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks since his life had gone to hell. Again. Only this time it’d been his own fault.

He’d known not to get involved with anyone. He’d known it. People didn’t get a second chance like that. Not in the same lifetime. He’d gotten greedy and let it blind him to the truth. But he’d been so certain she’d been for real.

He gripped the edge of the countertop. She was good. Too fucking good. Had strung him along, even giving him good sex in the deal.

He swiped a hand over his face. That was an extra-special shitty part. The sex had been great. The sad part was, he’d thought it’d been making love, not sex. And now her story cheapened it. Cheapened him, what he’d felt.

God, could he ever trust anyone again?

Even Jasmine had turned on him. She’d been hiring the chefs, when all along, he’d thought it’d been Mike. She’d been hiring them to fix him up with them! As if he was some basket-case who needed a woman to make him whole. The utter gall of the woman still stung.

Well he was done with it. With everything.

Including painting. He’d tried to after he’d kicked Jolie out. Tried having the neighbor sit for him, Barbara, anyone but Jolie, but he couldn’t do it.

Even that was gone for him now. She’d taken it along with everything else.

The back of his eyes burned. No, damn it! He’d had enough pain. Todd pounded the granite countertop. Who cared if he broke his hand? Wasn’t like he’d need it anymore now that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—paint.

He raised his fist again, almost relishing the pain, when he heard the doorbell. Now what?

Too bad Earl and Jasmine weren’t here anymore to run interference, but he had asked them to leave. Jasmine’s heartfelt apology hadn’t changed anything. She’d betrayed him and his trust. She, of all people, had known how he’d felt about Trista. How could she have thought just anyone could replace her?

The doorbell rang again and Todd walked into the foyer. A quick word from him and whatever Girl Scout or newspaper salesman on the other side would get the picture.

He yanked open the door.

“Hello, my boy.”

The bookstore guy. What was his name again?

“Jonathan Griff. With the Holbein book?”

“Right. The book. I’ll get it.” He left the door open, took two steps, then turned around. “Actually, it’s in my studio. Why don’t you meet me there? Around the drive to the back.”

Mr. Griff tipped his hat. “Sounds good.”

Now he had to go into that studio. The one with half a dozen portraits of Jolie in various stages of completion. With Jolie in various states of undress. He should’ve stacked them all in a corner, or, better yet, burned them.

Todd’s running shoe caught on the tile grout and he almost stumbled. He couldn’t burn them. Who was he kidding?

Jolie might have disillusioned him—no might about it, actually—but she’d been the perfect model. Her portrait had flowed from his fingers as if he’d been tracing her—

He met Mr. Griff in the driveway. “If you wait here, I’ll bring it down.”

“Oh, that’s all right. The exercise will be good for me.” Mr. Griff plodded along after him up the steps.

Todd unlocked the room, keeping his eyes high on the walls, skirting the stacks of other canvases he’d tried and failed to paint. The ones of Jolie were lining the far wall. The Holbein book was back by the sofa. The sofa where they’d—

“What a lovely picture,” Mr. Griff said.

Todd didn’t have to look back to know where Mr. Griff was standing. The one finished portrait of Jolie was fourth down the line.

“I see you have a lot more of them.”

Todd grabbed the book from beneath a paint-spattered drop cloth.

The paint-spattered drop cloth.

Which he then kicked beneath the sofa.

“Here you go, Mr. Griff. Thank you.”

Mr. Griff’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed as he took it. “Did you find it helpful?”

Helpful? Todd snorted. Depended on what you called helpful.

“It was… interesting.” Todd headed back to the door. He didn’t want to spend one more minute here than was necessary.

“Eh, my boy? Todd?”

Todd turned around. Mr. Griff hadn’t moved from his spot.

“Yes?”

“These paintings—”

“Are going into a dumpster.”

“That’d be a shame. Pretty drastic, too, especially since St. Gabriel’s is having their auction. One of your pictures could fetch a nice sum for the church and its families. They did in the past, I remember.”

“I know, Mr. Griff, but these aren’t finished. The auction’s too close, and, frankly, I’m not inclined to finish these. Nor paint any others.”

“Well, like I said, it’s a shame.” Mr. Griff walked down the line of sketches and Todd bit back a groan. The man wasn’t going to let it rest.

When he got to the last, Mr. Griff turned around, those bushy eyebrows now raised. “Seems to me, it wouldn’t be much work to get a few more ready for the auction. The church could use the money, and so could the kids. They have so little as it is.”

Just like Jolie had had.

Yeah, well now she’d have a hell of a lot once she sold her book. Cookbook. Hell. He was an idiot.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Wonderful! And here—” Mr. Griff held something out with the auction flyer. “Promise me you’ll take a look at this. You might find it very interesting.”

“Fine, Mr. Griff.” Anything to get the man out of here so he could get out of here. And on with the rest of his life.

Alone.

Again.

***

Four and a half weeks after her life as she knew it (and wanted it to be) collapsed, Hark The Herald Angels Sing greeted Jolie as she opened the stained-glass door to the uber-plush office of Domestic Gods & Goddesses. She’d been helping out at Bella’s while Bruno was recuperating, but he was going to be back and she was now on a mission to get her degree done in record time, so it was time to become employed again.

But not, God willing, for very long. Once she got her degree, she was going full steam ahead with her pastry shop. No more of this chef-for-hire business. No more hoping to earn her way into someone’s life by providing meals for them. No more being on the outside looking in.

It was time for her to begin her life on her terms, no questions asked. And hopefully there wouldn’t be any questions asked.

Unless Todd had reported her? That’d been merely one of the reasons it’d taken her four and half weeks to show back up here.

Jolie straightened her shoulders. Time to face the music—Christmas carols notwithstanding—and take charge of her life.

“Yes, dear?” The little old lady—honestly, bluish tinge to the white hair, stooped and frail, wrinkles to rival a Shar Pei’s—greeted her from behind a polished cherry desk. The cream, satin-striped walls around them screamed Upper Crust, as did the Tiffany lighting and the bay window large enough to drive a truck through, with its draped golden window treatments and bird-luring crystal-clearness.

“Hi. I’m Jolie Gardener. I finished my last assignment and am looking for another one.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I mean, no, I mean… Oh, dear.” The lady—Angela, Jolie remembered—rose from her chair, hands trembling as she pushed it under the desk. “Just a moment, please.”

Angela patted the little bun on the back of her head, adjusted her lavender sweater over her shoulders and the slight hump on her back, then scurried toward an office in her orthotics, glancing back once before disappearing inside the room.

What on earth was going on? Had Todd actually told them what had happened? After all his privacy issues, he’d aired this dirty laundry? Was there going to be a lawsuit?

Oh, no. She hadn’t thought about that. Jolie tugged on the hem of the white blouse she’d paired with a functional gray skirt and matching pumps. What if he was suing her and she had to pay back all the money? And what if the agency didn’t want to send her on any more assignments? She’d never get tuition money then.

Jolie ran her fingers over her hair, slicking the strands back to the clasp at the nape of her neck. Maybe she should find another line of work. One where no one would know about the book or sleeping with the client or whatever other rules she’d broken with this assignment. God, when she screwed up, she really screwed up. Something she’d obviously inherited from her mother.

She was considering cutting her losses and leaving when the door on the right clicked and, to the accompaniment of soft Muzak—harp it sounded like—a gray orthotic emerged, followed closely thereafter by the rest of Angela. No surprise there. What was a surprise was the guy who followed her.

First off, he was huge. Arms-that’d-do-a-lumberjack-proud huge. Blond and built like Atlas. Or Hercules. She never could keep all those Greek myths straight, but whichever celestial being was the big, muscular guy, this one was him personified, down to the most beautiful face a man had ever sported this side of pretty. Was he the inspiration for the “Gods” part of the agency’s name?

Of course there was the smile to match, two slashes of dimples on each side, and blue eyes the color of heaven on a spring day. Boy, if someone stuck him on the cover of a romance novel, he could’ve sold more books than Fabio ever did.

But she wasn’t here to notice the hotness factor of the man who employed her. She’d tried that once and it hadn’t worked out so well.

Second, she hadn’t had a meeting with the manager when she’d taken the assignment with Todd, so why was she meeting him now?

“Hello.” A mammoth hand clasped hers, enveloping it like a warm blanket. “Ms. Gardener, is it?”

“Yes. Jolie Gardener.”

“Please, have a seat.” He pulled out a chair for her at the conference table in front of the bay window.

“Thanks, uh, Mr… ?”

“Please call me Raphael.” He smiled and steepled his hands in front of him after taking the seat next to her, his linen pants brushing her bare calf like a feather. “So, what can I help you with?”

That didn’t sound accusatory. Maybe this was SOP when finishing an assignment. “I’m here for a new job. My last one is finished.”

“Is it? Which assignment was that?”

“Um, Todd Best.” Just saying his name was torture.

“Angela, can you bring me the file, please?”

Angela pulled a file folder from the cherry credenza and handed it to him. Raphael scanned a few of the pages while Jolie tried not to glance over the top.

Raphael glanced up. “We have no record from the client saying you’ve completed the job.”

So Todd hadn’t reported what happened. “But I did. The job’s finished. He doesn’t need a personal chef.”

Raphael closed the file and handed it back to Angela. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t place you on another assignment until the client has signed off that he no longer needs you.”

Some of her sinking-heart feeling must have shown on her face because he studied her a minute longer before glancing back at Angela. “The form, please, Angela?”

He took the form, then slid it across the table. “Really, it’s not terrible. Simply have the client sign this, stating that he no longer needs you, and we’ll close the file. It should set you back only a day or two, no longer. Then we can have you off on a new adventure just like that. Piece of cake.” He snapped his fingers.

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t going to be that easy. First she had to find the courage to see Todd, then humble herself to ask him to sign the paper, and then pull her shattered psyche back together. Yeah. Right. Piece of cake.

She tried one last plea. “Can’t you make an exception just this once? Please? The man doesn’t need anyone to cook for him, most especially not me.”

Raphael shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t. Those are the rules.”

“Please? Sometimes rules are meant to be broken. It’s not like they’re etched in stone, right?”

“Actually, yes, some of them are.” He coughed. “I’m sorry, Jolie, but until we get that form signed by Mr. Best, we are unable to place you anywhere else.”

She mumbled a “Thank you,” dragged the form off the table, and left, all the while contemplating how to accomplish the feat with minimal re-opening of the scar tissue around her heart.

She still hadn’t figured it out when she reached Melanie, who, like Scarlett’s faithful friend, was back up and running, albeit with some heavy-duty damage to her bank account. Which meant she had no choice. It was either Todd or poverty. Or going through another round of background/reference-check-time-suck with another agency and hoping they didn’t contact this one for references.

She was still considering poverty.

A large, yellow flyer flapped beneath Mel’s windshield wiper. Jolie hated those things. Lose ninety pounds in ninety days, or Earn fifteen hundred bucks in fifteen minutes. Yeah, right. If life were that easy, everyone would be thin, rich, and Paris Hilton. Talk about a shame.

But this flyer, however, wasn’t about any of that stuff. It was—

Oh.

An art-show benefit for St. Gabriel’s Church and the main contributor was going to be—

Todd Best.

Todd was doing a show.

In public. Tomorrow night.

She glanced between the two pieces of paper in her hands. One Todd needed to sign and the other showed her where he was going to be—in public so there didn’t need to be any gut-wrenching explanations or confrontations. Just a simple, “Hello, Todd, would you mind signing this so I can get on with my life as you obviously have with yours?” That shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

One could hope.

Though she hadn’t really been having such great luck in the hope department lately.

Or ever.

***

“I’m not going.” Jolie held the dress against her chest and studied her image in the mirror.

Yes, you are.

Great. Naughty Girl was back from vacation.

You definitely should go.

Jolie checked out the dress again. Conservative black. Simple.

Safe.

“Go away.” The dress had been a post-Todd-days pick-me-up. She’d just never thought she’d wear it to see him.

Todd.

Oh, God. She had to go.

That’s my girl.

Jolie tried to ignore Naughty Girl, because, really, this had nothing to do with Naughty Girl and everything to do with Jolie and who she was. Who she’d always wanted to be.

From the moment she was old enough to realize her mother was calling the shots and they were all near-misses, she’d known she’d wanted to make her own decisions, wanted the chance to forge her own trail through life.

Well, she’d had that chance and look where it’d gotten her. She hadn’t made the best (no pun intended, but somehow it fit) decision with the manuscript. Yeah, her mom’s loser genes had shone through, but she couldn’t blame everything on her mother. She’d known what it’d do to him if he ever found out, even if the story wasn’t supposed to be for anyone but her.

Damn it! He needed to know that. Then, if he still opted out of what they’d had, it was on him. But she wasn’t going to try to sell that manuscript and he had to know that. She needed to explain it to him.

She’d make him let her explain it to him.

Just like those Regency heroines, it was time for her to take her fate into her own two hands.

And make that lemonade she was so fond of.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Normally, Jolie wasn’t a stand-in-line kinda girl. She had too many other things to do than wait for things when they’d be on eBay soon enough. But for Todd, for him, she would stand in line.

Many people had come out to see Todd’s work. She would have hoped the buzz in line would have been for St. Gabe’s, but it was all about him. A few young ladies even had the audacity to question if he had a new woman in his life.

If only.

Finally, it was her turn to enter the church hall. White fabric hung from the ceiling—perfect backdrops to showcase Todd’s use of vibrant colors. It was one of the things he’d been known for. If the colors on his palette—and then on her and the drop cloth—were anything to go by, he was still using them.

She caught snippets as she wound her way through the maze of tables set up to take donations. She’d write a check later because she was too close and too curious to stop.

Simply beautiful, elegant and winsome, great depth, and elemental were the descriptors being bandied about. He’d probably had a slew of models traipsing through his studio to earn those kinds of accolades. Though, really, he could’ve painted a sack of potatoes and made it look elegant and winsome.

Or grapes. Sour ones.

Someone offered her a glass of champagne and she took it, needing the fortification with the paper from Domestic Gods & Goddesses burning a hole in her black clutch—except it brought to mind the bottle she’d left with the groceries that last day.

She set the glass down.

“Have you seen him yet, Marsha?” One of society’s matrons giggled in a girlish stage-whisper to her equally matron-ish friend.

“No, Babette, I haven’t. There’s quite a crush around him. And who can blame all those young women? The man has returned to the land of the living looking vibrantly alive and well. If I were thirty years younger I’d be in that pack of she-wolves myself.”

Words Jolie did not need to hear.

Finally the corridor opened into the hall. Canvases hung in front of the white fabric, some on easels sprinkled throughout the crowd. He must’ve been painting non-stop since she’d last seen him. There had to be more than a dozen, each with a group of people ringing it.

The throng in the center of the hall told her all she needed to know. Todd was holding court center stage. Her heart sped up and she had to catch her breath.

He was here. She was here. Oh, lord.

She couldn’t face him. Not yet. She patted her upswept hair. Maybe she’d coast near the pictures and see who, or rather, what he painted, then work her way in from the edges to talk to him. Build her nerve up.

And to plan what she was going to say. “Hi Todd, I love you and never meant to hurt you” was kind of a big left hook to hit someone with.

A pianist tickled the ivories in the corner; champagne flutes clinked amid the little tinkling of artificial laughter as someone said something so witty and droll (insert heavy English accent.) All very chi-chi and hip. Upper Crust all the way.

“So vulnerable,” one lady murmured as she sipped her champagne, turning from the closest picture. “Quite lovely, really,” her date added.

Jolie stood on her tiptoes to see over everyone’s head. Nothing but frame.

“A wealth of feeling.”

“Better than he was before.”

“Who is his model?”

Well, the guy was back with a buzz. He was going to have a hard time keeping Mike off his case if the crowd’s reaction was anything to go by.

Jolie had no luck whatsoever getting close to the picture and the one little sip of champagne she’d had was bubbling in her stomach, making the butterflies there a little tipsy. She needed to get this over with. She’d catch the portraits on her way out.

She wormed her way into the groupies around Todd, her knees threatening to go on strike when she heard his chuckle. God, she’d forgotten how it vibrated through every nerve she possessed, lodging directly in the middle of her heart.

She reached into her clutch with shaky fingers and pulled out the crinkled Domestic Gods & Goddesses form, needing the tangible reminder of why she was putting herself through this pleasure/pain.

“The model’s lovely, Best,” an older man said with a whiskey-deepened voice. “Anyone I might know?”

“Now Jefferson, that’s part of the mystique. You know I never explain the nuances to my work.”

Except to her, but Jolie didn’t say it.

“She’s not real,” a woman by her elbow said. “That’s why, right, Todd? She’s your ideal woman, the one you’re searching for?”

Way to be sensitive, lady.

There was a curt silence. Jolie was hoping Ms. Foot-In-Mouth recognized her enormous faux pas.

“I could tell you, Margaret, but then I’d have to kill you.” Chuckles all around saved Todd’s heartache from becoming public and Margaret’s gaffe from dampening the mood. “But yes, she’s real.”

“So tell us, Todd.” That female voice was laced with way too many innuendos and husky come-ons than Jolie cared to count. “How do you capture that feeling? It’s intangible, yet you make her vulnerability a physical presence in the painting.”

Honestly, it sounded like she was sliding her phone number into his pocket as she spoke.

“Unfortunately, Buffy, I can’t answer that.”

Oh puh-leaze. The name sooooo fit Miss Come-On.

“I have no idea how I do it. One minute I’m trying to capture something about the subject, and the next, it’s there. I’ve simply got it.”

Why did this conversation sound familiar?

Jolie had no time to consider this as, all of a sudden, the crowd shifted and she was there, face to face with Todd.

He was dressed head-to-toe in black, and, oh how it made his green eyes shine like beacons from his face, calling her in. He’d lost some of his tan, probably from painting like a fiend to get these ready, but those shoulders were still as broad as ever and his hair had finally had a date with a pair of scissors. She was rather partial to the earlier “do,” though.

Everyone else was carrying on their conversations as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but Jolie, she felt like she was Alice down the proverbial rabbit hole.

“Jolie.” Apparently Todd felt the same way. He took a step back, blocking the picture near him.

“Uh, hi, Todd.” She started The Big Apology, then was jostled by some overweight, over-champagned, be-ringed, art connoisseur wannabe. Todd reached out to catch her elbow, stepping away from the canvas.

Oh.

My.

God.

It was her.

She was the woman in the portrait.

“Jolie.”

He was talking to her, but she couldn’t pull her gaze from the painting. There was a strange buzzing in her head as it registered that it was her back to the artist, her long dark tendrils of hair clinging damply to her spine, the swell of her hip peeking out from a white cloth covered in different colored slashes of paint, the curve of her breast visible beneath her arm. A swath of hair covered her face, but she’d recognize the tip of her nose anywhere. Pink rose petals covered her fingers.

He’d painted her and now he was showing that painting to everyone.

Just as he’d said he wouldn’t do.

Just as he’d promised he wouldn’t do.

“Jolie,” he whispered in her ear urgently as, suddenly, she was next to Todd and he had a vice grip on her wrist. “I can explain.”

Nothing. Not a single word escaped. Could be because she couldn’t breathe. She shook her head and pulled her hand to her mouth—the hand holding the form. It slashed her cheek and she welcomed the pain. It cut through the haze, making her realize she had to get out of there fast.

“Jolie, please. You’ve got to—”

“No!” Luckily, her breath was still AWOL or she was pretty sure she would’ve screamed it.

As it was, her voice came out raspy and stage-whisper-y. “Here.” She thrust the DG&G form at him and when he reached out to take it, she yanked her wrist back, turned, and pushed through the crowd.

She heard one “Jolie!” before she broke free.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

She ran. Again.

Out the opposite end of the exhibition hall and through a set of dark wood double doors, yanking on the old ornate brass handles with all her strength.

How could he have done that? How could he have put her out there for everyone to see?

The door closed behind her with a soft whoosh and she found herself in a moonlit courtyard ringed by a wrought-iron fence dressed in tiny white lights. A fountain gurgled to her left, an ornamental bamboo garden behind it. Two stone benches curved in front of the stone basin where a cherub poured fountain water. A café set of wrought-iron table and chairs filled the far side, another bench to her right. Across the courtyard, a set of stained glass doors led into St. Gabriel’s Church and next to it, a wall of ivy, honeysuckle and climbing roses, also draped in tiny lights. The gate was just visible beneath years’ worth of growth.

She headed that way, wanting the quickest way out. Of so many things.

She was almost there when she realized what she was doing. Again.

Running. Hiding. Pretending it would go away.

It wouldn’t. And therefore, she couldn’t. If she didn’t face him now, end this, she’d always be the one who ducked and ran. The one who’d be asking what-if questions for the rest of her life. She couldn’t do that anymore.

She was in charge of her life. Her. Not a social worker, not Mommie Dearest, not Naughty Girl, and most certainly not Todd Best.

She’d wanted him to be in her life, not in charge of it and he owed her an explanation every bit as much as she owed him.

She squared her shoulders and turned around, reaching for the back of one of the chairs as the heel of her new kicky yellow pump got stuck in a groove between the terra cotta tiles.

The door she’d come through slammed outward.

“Thank God. You’re still here.” Todd’s hair was mussed, those laugh lines at his eyes were decidedly frowning, and he pulled a big, paper-covered something in front of his heaving chest.

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Give me a chance to explain, Jolie.”

“Like you gave me?” Sorry Todd. She might still love him, but she loved herself, too. And she’d never be heart-whole if she didn’t stand up for herself.

His eyes closed for a second, then opened, all emerald and pained.

It hurt her to intentionally hurt him. Almost as much as he’d hurt her. “I’m sorry. I guess that was a low blow.”

He leaned the object against one of the curved benches. “No, it wasn’t. It was well-deserved, actually.” He straightened, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “Can we talk?”

There were two arguments there. She could A) say No and that’d be the end of anything—pain, hope, love, et cetera—or B) say Yes and see what happened.

Was there really any question?

She nodded and he swept a hand toward the bench and sat at one end.

Now, common sense would dictate she sit as far away from him as possible in, say, Nova Scotia, but nope, not her. She chose the other end of his bench.

She felt his gaze on her, yet hers was anywhere but on him. The fleur-de-lis top of the fence, the prism of color dancing through the cascading water, a cricket peeking out from the bamboo as it serenaded them—anywhere.

Unfortunately though, she’d gotten rather adept at her peripheral vision honing in on Todd while he’d painted her, so she saw every fidget and pant-leg-brushing he was doing.

“Jolie, I want to explain.”

As much as she wanted him to, now that the moment was here, her new bravado faded. What if it was just another relationship blown in her life? Again. Did she really want to take that chance? What-ifs were nice because she didn’t have to face the reality of a situation. What-ifs allowed the possibility to live on. The hope.

“You know what, Todd? It’s not necessary. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do, Jolie. I want you to understand why.”

She walked over to the stained-glass doors. The image beyond was distorted, but she saw a soft light shining somewhere inside. “Really, it’s okay. I get it. It’s a charity benefit and you had all of those paintings just hanging around, reminding you of the liar you lived with. I’d get rid of them, too.”

She turned, plastering some kind of a smile on her face as the cricket quieted down. She was going for a light-and-breezy, no-hard-feelings type of thing. “Don’t worry about it. I was surprised at first, but it makes sense.” Moonlight shone on his face and she turned back because she couldn’t keep up the pretense when those eyes that had burned into hers while they’d made love were burning still. “I’m over it. No big deal. I hope the church makes a lot of money from them.”

If she’d actually been looking in the door’s reflection as she was pretending to, she would’ve seen him approach. As it was, she jumped when she heard him behind her and looked up to see his eyes in the amber piece of glass.

“Don’t you ever stop being flippant? How can you just rattle off these little quips, Jolie? Don’t you feel anything?”

She spun around before better judgment kicked in. “Feel anything? I don’t feel? Are you out of your mind?” She put up her hand to ward him off. “I’ve always felt everything. Every little slight that’s ever come my way, every lonely night, every agony of a skinned knee with no one there to kiss it to make it better. Of course I feel. I am human, you know. But I can’t let it get to me. I’d be a mass of quivering flesh wrapped around a bruised and battered heart and I’d never get anywhere.”

She choked on the tears she refused to let fall. “And, yeah, I feel a lot about tonight. I have so much damn feeling it’s threatening to strangle me. But I’ve got to survive somehow. So don’t stand there and ask me if I feel anything, because let me tell you, mister, I feel everything so much it could overwhelm me. And if I let it, I might never recover.”

They stared at each other, and, Oh God, her heart felt like it was stopping. Something was squeezing her chest and she couldn’t breathe.

She had to get away from him. Put some distance. Gain some clarity.

She took a step around him back the way they’d come, but he grabbed hold of her arms and hauled her up against him. His mouth covered hers and, suddenly, she was breathing in the scent of him and she knew she was going to live.

Oh God, she shouldn’t do this, she shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t seem to help herself. She slipped her arms around his waist and hung on, literally for dear life, drowning in her own insecurities and fears and he was the one thing holding her afloat and safe.

And then he was holding her, all of her. She was swept up in his arms and he carried her back to the bench and somehow they were there together.

“God, Jolie, I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in there. I wanted to tell you beforehand, but I was finishing the pictures, framing them, arranging the details, and time got away from me. I was going to come see you yesterday, tell you, invite you, but I didn’t know where to find you. I even called Chloe but she wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

Because Chloe knew exactly what disenchantment did to a person. Jolie loved her friend for trying to protect her. “But you promised, Todd.”

His hand was shaky as he swept her hair from her face. The cricket serenade started again, softly this time, as if the moment was being orchestrated. “I know I did. And I regret that more than anything. I regret not discussing it with you.”

She shook her head. “You knew how I’d feel.”

He cocked his head. “Did I? You were the one who thought it’d be neat to be famous, to have everyone know who you are.”

“No. You don’t get to blame me.”

“You’re right. I don’t. And I’m not. But you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

She looked into his green eyes, which were open and honest and blazing. He meant what he said. It was who he was; every word was the truth.

Which was what he deserved as well.

“And I didn’t want to hurt you either, Todd, which is why I wasn’t going to get that book published.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Really.”

“Yes, really.”

His eyebrow didn’t settle back into place.

“Fine. Don’t believe me.” She squirmed, but he refused to let go.

“No way. You’re not walking away from me until we get this settled, Jolie.”

She stopped squirming.

She glared, but she stopped trying to get free. Running wasn’t going to solve anything. Not talking wouldn’t either. “Fine.”

His grip loosened. “So, if you had no intention of publishing the book, why did you? To spite me? To get your money’s worth after you left?”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t publish the book.”

“Really.”

“We’ve been through this.”

“Then what—” he pulled something from his back pocket—”is this?”

He handed her a thin paperback bearing the picture of a man with his arms around a woman on the cover. A golden haired man and a long-haired brunette. The title was The Best Man. The author was—

Her.

Her mouth dropped and she pushed to a sitting position next to him on the bench. Sure enough, the copyright page listed Jolie Gardener as the author.

She thumbed to the first page and wanted to die as she recognized every single word in the opening paragraph. Annie and Tom.

She flipped through more of the pages and scenes jumped out at her. Scenes she’d invented, wrote. There was Tom/Todd’s speech about a rose about to bloom, his “she never gave up on me,” and that big ol’ gnarled apple tree with the tree fort and rope swing.

She flipped the book over to read the blurb on the back, but then she opened it back again to that scene with the rope swing.

She’d never added that last part. She’d thrown the manuscript out without moving Annie and Tom off the bow of the boat.

“I don’t understand this.” She looked at him.

“That’s not your story?”

“Well, yes, I guess it is, but I didn’t do this, Todd.”

His eyebrow went sky-high.

“Really, Todd. I didn’t. I threw the manuscript in the trash that afternoon after I left.”

“So you’re saying a garbage collector went through the trash, found your manuscript, submitted it to a publisher, listed you as the author, and let you get the credit and royalty payments?”

“That’s what must have happened because I haven’t seen this since then. Honest.” It was as if she were in the Twilight Zone. “And, the ending is different.”

“That’s not the one you wrote?”

“No, and here’s something even more bizarre. This is the ending I was going to write. When I came up to my room and found you reading it, I was on my way to change the ending to this. But I never did.” She flipped a few more pages and shook her head. “I can’t figure this out.”

“So if what you’re saying is true—”

“It is.”

“Then how did it happen?”

“I have no idea.” She touched the cover. Totally surreal. Incredibly so. “Where’d you get it?”

“Your friend, Mr. Griff, gave it to me when I returned the Holbein book.”

“Mr. Griff gave you this?”

“Yes. Why?”

She tapped the spine against her mouth. Something wasn’t right. “I’m not sure, but I promise you I did not do this. I knew how you’d feel.” She set the book on the bench beside her, because, really, the physical book wasn’t what was important. “I knew, Todd, before I ever wrote that resolution between Annie and Tom. I knew you’d hate for me to use you as the model, but I had to finish the story.”

“But why, Jolie? Why did you use me? Us?” His eyes were full of hurt and she couldn’t let him think she did it out of spite.

“Because of how much in love you and Trista were. I wanted that kind of love in my life.”

A waft of honeysuckle drifted past them and his eyes widened. “But you didn’t even know Trista and me then.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Todd. The newspapers were always writing about you. They wrote about your art shows and your company and your successes. And they wrote about what a lovely and loving couple you two were. Every time there was a mention of you, Trista’s name was right there. And I just thought it was so wonderful how in love you two were. And when she died, my heart ached for you.”

“So you found a way to hire on as my help and use my life for your story.”

“It’s not as sordid as it sounds.” Again with the eyebrow. “Honestly, Todd. When I found out where I’d be working, who I’d be working for, the idea just kind of gelled. I’d been writing the story beforehand. You know how I like my happy endings.” She actually got a smile with that. “But the story wasn’t working. I didn’t find it strange because my whole life was like that, but when I found out I’d be working for you, I thought, maybe I could get to know you, see what there was in you that made Trista love you and you love her back, and give that to my hero. That’s all. I wasn’t trying to exploit you at all. I… admire you.”

He was mulling it over. And he was back to playing with the ends of her hair, so maybe he was losing some of his anger and hurt.

“I never meant to hurt you, Todd.”

“I believe you.”

He believed her.

“But it still doesn’t explain the book,” he added.

“I know. And I can’t. I honestly have no idea how that happened. Maybe we should buy up the rest in Mr. Griff’s store before anyone else sees it.”

Todd shook his head. “He only had the one. I went in and checked after I saw what it was. After I’d read it.”

He’d read it? “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”

“I know. Kind of like my show tonight.”

“Really? What’s weird about it?”

“Mr. Griff was the one who mentioned the church benefit to me.”

“What’s odd about that?”

“When I called the lady at the church office, Angie someone, she seemed, I don’t know, confused maybe, and had her boss call me back. I wondered at the time why she wouldn’t know about it, if it was such a big deal, but then her boss was all over it, so that put an end to my questions. Plus, I was suddenly too busy to really concentrate on anything else.”

“But why those pictures, Todd?”

He took a deep breath. “When I was passing your room that afternoon, I thought I’d heard someone talking. But it was just your cat having a daydream. I petted him to settle him down, but the damned thing ran from me and knocked your story off the shelf and onto the floor. When I picked it up, the words jumped out at me. Socked me right in the gut.

“After you left, I tried to paint someone else. Anyone. Jasmine sat for me, Earl, I paid the family next door, but I couldn’t do it, Jolie. I couldn’t get that something I had captured with you.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and she tried to ignore the warm, melty feeling it stirred. “Then, Mr. Griff showed up and suggested I finish the pictures for the auction. I know I should have discussed it with you, but, honestly Jolie, I was still stung by your story. Then I read the whole thing—” he nodded to the mysterious novel—”and—”

“And you figured since I had gone ahead and done this, you could too.” She sighed. “I can understand that. If I wanted my moment of fame, why not make it a big one and get back at me? I get it.”

He lifted her chin. “No, you don’t get it. That’s not it at all. That makes me sound selfish and shallow, and I’d like to think I’m above all that.” He put a finger over her lips when she started to speak. “No, I read that book and I thought about the title, The Best Man, and I saw the emotions in there, thought about you writing it, and then I thought about you, your life. I thought I’d known you, Jolie. Who you were, the person inside.” He paused while his eyes searched hers. “The person who wouldn’t intentionally hurt me.

“It took me more time than it should have to realize that. And with this benefit—a benefit for underprivileged and abused kids and homeless families, things you lived through, things that shaped you—I knew you’d want to help if you could. I had all these paintings of you taking up wall space—”

“You mean floor space.”

“No, I mean wall space. I hung every one of them, Jolie, once I finished that book. All around my studio. Where I could see you all the time.”

She had absolutely no comeback whatsoever to that.

“So, anyway, I had a bunch of completed pictures, a looming deadline and a cause near and dear to your heart. I honestly hoped to discuss it with you and get your agreement. I never doubted you’d approve.”

“You’re right about that.”

He nodded. “I know. I know that about you. That’s why I did the show, Jolie. Not to hurt you, but to help with a cause you care about. And I didn’t show your face. Just like you’d asked.”

Oh, the love she felt for him was flooding every cell of her body. He truly got her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I really don’t want that kind of fame.”

“I know that, too. For the masses, you’re just a nameless body on canvas. I want to keep what’s between us, between us.”

“What’s between us?” She was holding her breath.

“You’re parroting me again.”

She bit her lip to stop the tears. He was teasing her. That had to be good.

“I have something for you,” he whispered.

“You do?” What more could she possibly want than his belief in her?

He retrieved the paper-covered something, tore the wrapping, then stopped. “Jolie, this was never intended for the show. I started it that day… after the dinner at Bella’s. Before the manuscript. I never hung it. No one’s seen it but me.”

She turned to fully face him, holding her breath. She’d never seen him this, well, nervous.

He tore the rest of the paper away and turned it around.

It was her. All of her.

She was on her side on that sofa, propped against pillows, with the drop cloth draped over her thighs. Her hair was mussed, falling over her breasts. Her lips were just a bit swollen as if she’d bitten them—or someone had been kissing them moments before. Her bottom leg was bent slightly, the upper one raised as if in invitation to discover what was beneath the cloth. And there was no doubt the artist already knew.

Everything she’d ever felt while they’d made love was there, in her eyes, looking out from the canvas. That something he’d wanted to capture.

This was a painting by a man who knew his subject in all her moods. And felt quite a bit for her.

Did she dare hope?

“Do you like it?” His soft voice wrapped around her like the silence of a moonlit courtyard.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

The hope in his eyes faded and she couldn’t let the teasing go on any longer.

“I love it, Todd.” She touched his arm. “Almost as much as I love you.”

“Thank you, God.” He blew out a breath and set the painting aside, pulling her back into his arms.

She met him halfway, and then they were kissing each other as if they could make up for all the hurt and separation.

“I was so worried, Jolie,” he said after, oh, ten minutes or so. “When you saw that picture, I thought I’d blown it. I hadn’t had the chance to prepare you, and I knew you’d take it the wrong way. I would have.”

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows.

“All right, I guess I did with your manuscript. I get it now, though the book thing does perplex me. Perhaps Mr. Griff will be able to shed some light on it.” He linked his fingers with hers. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re together and that’s what’s important.”

“Together.”

“Forever.”

“Forever?” Did he say the “F” word?

He pulled back. “You don’t want forever? I thought you liked happily-ever-afters?”

“Is this one?” She was trying so hard not to get her hopes up in case she was reading too much into this.

He smiled. “Oh, yes, Jolie Gardener, this is one big happily-ever-after.” He traced her cheekbones, then her lips, his eyes going all soft. “I love you. I want you in my life. Always.” He slipped off the bench to one knee. “Will you, Jolie Gardener, marry me?”

Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh—

“Yes!”

She threw her arms around his neck, her body into his, and she mauled the guy’s lips as she almost crashed them to the terra cotta floor. He wanted to marry her! He loved her! They could have a family—

Oh boy. Now she was the one who pulled back.

“What?”

“Family,” she squeaked.

“Mike and Barb already love you.”

She shook her head as they resettled back on the bench. Good thing because Knees weren’t able to stand yet. “No. Family. You and me.”

“Ah,” he smiled. “Yes, I want a family. Dozens of kids.”

“Dozens?”

“Enough to have my own football team.”

“I’m not sure that’s physically possible for me, Todd.”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to adopt some, won’t we?”

Honest to God, she loved this man. She honestly and truly loved him and she needed to crawl inside his skin and show him how much.

But not here. Obviously.

They needed to be in his house. Their house.

Their home.

He was right there with her as he stood, tugging on her fingers. “Come on, Jolie. Let’s go home.”

“But what about the benefit?” Not that she was complaining, but still… niceties and all.

“The pictures were sold the minute I unpacked them. My work here is done.”

“Spoken like a true superhero.” Their shared joke earned her another smile, then his eyes went all mossy green velvet.

She knew that look. And this was not the appropriate place. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

His smile reminded her of the one between Mike and Barbara. Between Bella and her husband. That “This is our world and we’re the only two here” smile.

He picked up the painting as he intertwined their fingers.

“Where are you going to put that?” she asked.

“I thought since no one else will be sitting for me, I’d like to keep it in my studio.” He kissed her fingers. “To be inspired. Okay with you?”

“You know,” she said as they headed out the iron gate, dipping beneath shuttered honeysuckle flutes and traipsing through scattered rose petals, “I kind of like that idea.”

“And I kind of like the idea of having a naked woman in my studio.”

Yep, she tripped.

The End

The Beginning

M E M O R A N D U M

TO: Raphael, Archangel

RE: HEA, Case #TBJGB14215642360982019939.A8

As follow-up to reports A1-A7 concerning Charges, Todd Best and Jolie Gardener Best, I have the following updates:

1. Jolie Gardener Best has opened her own pastry shop, Très Jolie Pâtisserie, and continues to write romance novels. She has had fair reception from publishers and will continue onward to publication.

2. Todd and Jolie have four beautiful children—one for each bedroom in their home—and are in the process of adopting three more.

3. Jasmine and Earl Gray have moved in with them after Todd added an east wing to the house. The weekend the Grays went away was a bonanza for everyone: their son, Charles, and his wife are enjoying the set of triplets they added to the four children they already had. Not a spare inch of room for the grandparents, however. So Todd and Jolie forgave their well-intentioned interference and invited them to stay with them. Jolie has the family she’s always wanted.

4. I have put off their questions regarding the book, The Best Man, by saying the publisher, Beatus, Inc., went out of business.

5. Detective Phillips determined the fire that destroyed Jolie’s apartment was indeed an accident. Maurice in 2B, a deaf man, had been making his wife an anniversary dinner and didn’t hear the fire alarm when a stray white cat jumped in the window and knocked a ewer of oil that was sitting on the window ledge into a saucepan, and it kind of… exploded. A dishtowel went up, which then caught the curtains and the rest, well… It actually worked out rather well, despite the missing photographs and personal items. The insurance money came through, with a large fine for the landlord for having too many apartments in a building that wasn’t up to code. A developer took over and built brand-new, affordable, good-sized condos for the residents. There is talk, by the residents, of thanking the mysterious white cat.

6. Speaking of cats, Jolie was upset to find Boots missing, so St. Francis created a replica for them. I think Jolie may be suspicious, but since she thought she was imagining things when I was Boots, the replacement hasn’t raised any untoward questions. No one ever came forward from the Found posters.

7. And, last, but by no means least, my wing buds have begun to itch.

Respectfully submitted,

Jonathan Griff, Guardian

Acknowledgments

If I were to thank everyone who helped with this book, I honestly think the list would be longer than the book itself. This story was part of the American Title Contest (III) run by Romantic Times BookReviews Magazine, and I have to thank everyone who voted for it, as well as Leah Hultenschmidt, who chose it for the contest, and the wonderful Romantic Times staff for the contests and the conventions, especially Jo Carol Jones, Carol Stacy, Faygey Levy, Giselle Hirtenfeld/Goldfeder, Elissa Petruzzi, Stephanie Klose, and Liz French for all the fun over the years.

To the folks at Gather.com for their First Chapters Contests, and everyone who voted there for this story. I’m so glad you finally get the chance to read it in its edited form.

To the Wisdom of Wombats, in particular Beth Hill and Jill Lynn Anderson. Thank you thank you thank you to all of you for your help, your encouragement, and all that wisdom!

As always, to my family. Thank you for being you.

And to Stephanie Julian, convention roomie, eye-roller supreme, and critique partner extraordinaire, who keeps my half full cup from running over when it really shouldn’t. And for not snoring.

And thank YOU for reading Beauty and The Best. I hope you enjoyed it.

About the Author

Judi Fennell has had her nose in a book and her head in some celestial realm all her life, including those early years when her mom would exhort her to “get outside!” instead of watching Bewitched or I Dream of Jeannie on television. So she did—right into Dad’s hammock with her Nancy Drew books.

These days she’s more likely to have her nose in her laptop and her head (and the rest of her) at a favorite writing spot, but she’s still reading either her latest manuscript or friends’ books.

A PRISM Award and Golden Leaf Award winner, Judi is the author of the Mer series: In Over Her Head, Wild Blue Under, and Catch of a Lifetime; the Bottled Magic series: I Dream of Genies, Genie Knows Best, and Magic Gone Wild; and the Once-Upon-A-Time Romance series featuring: Beauty and The Best, If The Shoe Fits, and Fairest of Them All; and, her latest, a contemporary series about 3 sexy brothers who lose a poker bet to their sister and have to pay up by working for her company: Manley Maids, in What A Woman Wants, What A Woman Needs, What A Woman Gets, and What A Woman.

Check out her website at www.JudiFennell.com for excerpts, deleted scenes, reviews, and contests, as well as the chance to discover a whole new world!

Connect online at:

www.JudiFennell.com
www.JudiFennell.wordpress.com

Twitter.com/JudiFennell

Facebook.com/JudiFennell

Read on for a preview of If The Shoe Fits
another Once-Upon-A-Time Romance

If The Shoe Fits

by,

Judi Fennell

Once upon a time…

a long time ago
in a land far, far away,
there lived a girl by the name of Cinderella.

This is not her story.

This is the story of Lucinda Isabella Casteleoni,
who, like her namesake,
has a wicked stepmother, two tacky stepsisters,
and countless hours of hard work to (not) look forward to.

But unlike that fairy tale princess,

Bella’s Prince Charming is nowhere to be found.

Until a little old man with sparkling green eyes
opens a shoe store down the street.

Then the magic begins...

And it begins…

Where was a fairy godmother when she needed one?

Bella Casteleoni gripped the railing on the steps outside the law office. Her stepmother was not going to send her little sister to boarding school if Bella had anything to say about it. Unfortunately however, the language she needed to speak was Cash since a custody battle required lots of it. And while Bella had been saving for one, she hadn’t counted on it happening just yet. But Madeleine’s latest threats had upped the stakes.

That witch had been using Sophia—as well as the family business—as a pawn for years. And now the woman wasn’t just threatening to sell off the family restaurant, but also to send the fourth-grader away merely because, in the six months since Dad’s death, she’d found single parenthood counterproductive to the life she’d become accustomed to since marrying their father.

Bella would show her counterproductive…

She picked up her pace, her pumps clicking on the stone steps. First thing tomorrow, she’d tell Giacomo and Guiseppe that the catering business she’d started on the side out of her family’s restaurant was going to be more than just a side thanks to the discussion she’d just had with Uncle Vinny’s lawyer. Without the resources she wouldn’t be able to stop Madeleine from selling the business, but she could make sure she still had a business when it all shook out so she could still fight for custody.

She was going to have to ramp up the word-of-mouth campaign and set up sample tables at local events. Put out flyers. Build a website. Give referral discounts. Yes, she had a lot of ideas and she was going to do whatever it took to earn enough money to knock Madeleine’s feet out from under her.

Like the dove that flew in her face did to her…

Bella missed the next step, stumbled down the last one, and found her skirt ripped up the middle when she landed butt-first on the pavement with one of her pumps flying off to God-knew-where.

Two seconds later, something—make that someone—ended up sprawled across her lap.

“Ooomph!”

A very large, very male someone.

Bella groaned as the big hunk of maleness hefted himself off her and got to his feet while she yanked the torn edges of her skirt together. Great. Add mending to her To-Do list. As if she needed more on it.

A hand appeared in front of her. “Here, I’m sorry. Let me help you up.” The deep, husky voice resonated down her spine.

She looked up. Standing above her with broadly sculpted shoulders outlined against the afternoon sky, was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen. Coffee-colored eyes, perfectly molded lips, sleek mahogany hair that showed just a hint of wave as it blew in the afternoon breeze, and those cheekbones. Good Lord. This guy could’ve been the model for Michelangelo’s David, but with a much stronger jawline.

And clothing.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah. Yes. I think I am.” She looked around and spied her shoe on the next section of sidewalk. “Great,” she muttered, taking the proffered hand.

“I said I was sorry.”

At five-six, Bella wasn’t exactly short, but he dwarfed her by a good eight inches. Tall, dark, and handsome. Like something from a fairy tale. Too bad she’d stopped believing in those ten years ago when a drunk driver had killed her mother and put Dad in a wheelchair and downward spiral of depression that had led to her and Sophia’s current situation.

No. She couldn’t go there. Fighting Madeleine was going to take every bit of strength she had. And some she didn’t.

This guy looked to have some strength to spare.

She shook her head. Why drag someone else into her mess?

Speaking of mess… She brushed away a strand of blonde hair that had escaped the ponytail she’d scraped it into earlier. “I wasn’t talking about you. My shoe.” She nodded toward it. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, thanks. Hang on, I’ll get it for you.” Tall, Dark, and Handsome crossed the three feet of concrete with the grace and speed of an athlete. Filled out those slacks pretty nicely, too.

Bella bit back a smile. Good to know Madeleine and her machinations hadn’t sucked all the beauty from her world.

Then he rocked it with one hell of a sexy smile when he returned with her shoe.

Tall, Dark, and Potent.

Bella teetered on her one pump as she tried to put the other back on, the teetering having more to do with balancing on one thin heel than his potency. At least, that’s what she told herself.

The hand he put on her waist to steady her, however, made her a liar.

“Here, let me,” he said, slipping the shoe from her suddenly boneless fingers, then sinking to one knee and slipping it on her foot.

Charming, too. Prince Charming, maybe?

As his light blue dress shirt stretched across those strong shoulders and the unbuttoned collar gapped open to reveal a strong, corded neck, she took a deep breath. If only he really were Prince Charming…

She glanced heavenward with a silent plea, only to have to duck as the dove circled back around and nearly poked her in the eye with its wings as it headed toward one of the ornamental cherry trees lining the sidewalk.

Prince Charming stood and put his hands on his hips. “There. Shoe’s in place. How ’bout everything else?”

“Everything else?”

His eyes skimmed her body. “Yeah. Anything else broken? Missing?”

“Well, if you don’t count the skirt, I guess I’m in good shape.”

He quirked his eyebrows and she blushed at the double entendre she hadn’t intended. Oh, God. He thought she was flirting with him.

She so wasn’t. She didn’t have time to flirt now, much less date, Prince Charming or not. Sophia’s fifth grade year started in five months and Bella had to ensure that her sister stayed in that school. With all she needed to accomplish in such a short period of time, she’d be lucky to have time to sleep alone, never mind with anyone.

“I mean, yes, I’m fine. Thank you. Have a nice day.” She spun on that heel, willing the stupid tingle his interest had sparked to go away, and headed toward her car.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Prince Charming caught up to her and grabbed an arm. Awareness sizzled through her.

She took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I’m Reese.” His hand hadn’t left her arm and his fingers were doing all sorts of wonderful twirly moves on her skin.

She tugged. She did not have time for this. Not now, not in the next five minutes, nor the next five years.

“And I’m late. Thank you for your assistance. Have a nice day.” She gave him a slim smile and walked away. Another life, maybe.

“Hey, Cindabella!” called a nasal-y voice from behind her.

Drew. Bella missed a step, groaning while she tried to regain her balance. That stupid nickname. Her stepsisters found it funny. Bella did not.

But Drew would keep calling her until she turned around, so, resigning herself to three minutes of torture, Bella took another deep breath and turned around—

To find Prince Charming, er, Reese, with his arms folded, one shoe crossed over the other, and that mocking eyebrow almost touching his hair. “Cindabella?”

“Don’t ask.”

He uncrossed everything. “On one condition.”

“Huh?”

“I won’t ask on one condition.”

Drew was at the top of the courthouse steps and, even from there, the speculative gleam in her eyes was visible. Bella didn’t have much time.

“Fine. What’s the condition?”

“Your name. Unless it really is Cindabella?”

She laughed in spite of herself. “No. It’s Bella. Bella Casteleoni.”

When he smiled she’d swear his eyes actually twinkled. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Darn, she didn’t want to like him, but he was making it awfully hard not to. “I guess not.”

“So, Bella—wait. Casteleoni? As in Casteleoni’s Restaurant?”

“And Catering. Well, Bella’s Catering.” Might as well start the advertising now. She was going to need a lot of side jobs to fight Madeleine.

“Bella! Wait up!” Drew was a third of the way down the steps. “I need you to do something for me.”

Of course she did. Both of her stepsisters took that stupid nickname to heart.

Bella looked between Drew and Reese. Even though she wasn’t planning to get to know him, she didn’t want him witnessing whatever ridiculous minutiae Drew was about to spew. And it was always ridiculous minutiae.

Reese glanced back at Drew, then nodded to the platinum Ferrari by the curb. “I could give you a ride somewhere.”

Cool car, complete with convertible top and rearing stallion logo. Not one of those souped-up muscle-bound cars, but elegant, classy, and sexy as all get out. Just like him.

Which was reason enough to stay away. She needed to keep all her focus on the battle with Madeleine. “Thank you, but I can handle it, er, her.”

“You’re sure?”

They both looked at Drew who was now extremely interested in Reese. Which meant Bella could show no interest whatsoever. “I am. Thank you again.”

Reese took one last glance at Drew who had changed the angle of her descent to head right toward him. “Okay. Right.” In half a dozen steps, Reese reached the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. “Good luck. It looks like you’ll need it. See you around.” The engine gunned to life and he peeled into traffic with a wave just as Drew sauntered to her side.

“Who’s the hunk?”

“Oh, just someone I bumped into.”

“Hmmmm.” Drew flipped her hair back in that annoying affectation she thought made her look sophisticated. It didn’t. “Listen, I need you to cater a party this Saturday.”

Of course she did. Five days’ advance notice was nothing to Drew. Matter of fact, Bella should probably be grateful for that much.

“What kind of party?” She’d love to tell Drew to take a hike, but the fact of the matter was, she needed the money. Even Drew’s. And there was a certain irony in her stepsister contributing to the fight against Madeleine.

“Jimmy’s mom is having a dinner party and her caterer cut out on her. I told her you’d do it.” Drew had learned social climbing at Madeleine’s knee; Jimmy DeLeo’s mom was not only one of the wealthiest women in town, but also on every social committee there was—including the Arts board Madeleine was desperately trying to finagle her way onto.

Hmmm, this might just help her beat Madeleine at her own game.

###

Books by Judi Fennell

Manley Maids

What a Woman Wants

What a Woman Needs

What a Woman Gets

What a Woman

BeefCake, Inc. series

Beefcake & Cupcakes

Beefcake & Mistakes

Beefcake & Retakes (coming soon)

The Tritone Trilogy

In Over Her Head

Wild Blue Under

Catch of a Lifetime

Bottled Magic series

I Dream of Genies

Genie Knows Best

Magic Gone Wild

Once-Upon-A-Time Romance series

Beauty and The Best

If The Shoe Fits

Fairest of Them All (coming soon)

And check out her contemporary erotic novellas
under the name of Raven Morris

Tied With a Bow Series

Jacked

Jacked Again

Maxed

Marked

Rocked

Dicked

Tyed

The Internet Dating Chronicles (coming soon)

Flirting With Thirty

Thank you for reading!

Table of Contents

- Forever Freed by Laura Kaye
- Sins of the Flesh by Caridad Pineiro
- Spell Bound by Stephanie Julian
- Spellbound by Opal Carew
- Haunting a Cowboy by Randi Alexander
- Huntress for Hire by Terry Spear
- Dead Sexy by Paige Tyler
- Asmodeus by Sara Humphreys
- Beauty and The Best by Judi Fennell